A polite tug at his sleeve followed. Protocol. Sponsors. Optics.
Neville's jaw tightened, his words unfinished, heat still flickering behind his eyes. But he gave a curt nod and stepped back, the confrontation unfinished but temporarily shelved.
Just then—
"Daddy! Daddy! Look at me!"
Vivi, still wired with sugar and victory, bounced at the edge of the stage, flaring her jacket like a spring-loaded mascot.
Neville turned just slightly, irritation flashing across his face like a shadow. "Quiet, dumpling," he snapped under his breath. "This isn't your stage."
Her smile faltered. Her lip wobbled as she tugged at his sleeve again, hopeful. "But I wanna see trophy now…"
Neville exhaled—sharp, clipped.
Without a word, he reached down and pinched the glittery straps of her pink backpack, steadying her. Then, with practiced motion, he scooped her up—not gently, not roughly, but firmly—and deposited her into Theo's arms waiting just offstage.
"Ignoring a screaming child on stage is perfectly acceptable," Neville muttered, more to himself than anyone, before turning back toward the spotlight.
Theo met eyes briefly with one of the nearby staffers, then looked down at the girl in his arms, who had gone unusually quiet. "Shh, sweetie," he murmured, already moving toward the refreshment table. "Come along, let's give Daddy space."
Behind them, the crowd shifted its attention back to the moment.
Neville stood again with his team, the trophy now gleaming under the lights. Cameras snapped. Applause erupted. Sponsors hovered nearby, all perfect smiles.
And Neville?
He smiled too.
Cool. Collected. Picture-perfect.
Meanwhile, nestled safely in Theo's arms, Vivi watched the bustling celebration around her with wide, curious eyes. Her little legs swung back and forth as she sipped quietly from her juice box, the straw barely moving. From time to time, she stole a glance back toward her daddy, watching him accept congratulations, shake hands, and receive endorsements with that calm, confident air he always wore.
Her small face crumpled with frustration—pink cheeks puffed out, brows furrowed in confusion. She looked grumpy, and more than a little invisible. Because to Neville, caught in the whirlwind of the celebration, she was now just another accessory to the win—folded neatly into polite nods and brief smiles as he moved through the crowd.
The party buzzed on around them, filled with clinking glasses of champagne and bursts of laughter, but little Vivi sat silent, tucked in Theo's arms, waiting. Waiting for the moment her daddy might finally remember she was still there.
Later, Vivi perched herself on a stool by the refreshment table, her juice box now empty. The small frown that had settled on her face refused to fade. She watched her daddy from afar—mingling with fans, sponsors, teammates. The air buzzed with laughter and congratulations, all around him.
It felt like her whole day had been about cheering him on, giving him all her noisy energy, only to be gently set aside when the real spotlight hit.
The frustration inside her began to bubble, swelling until she couldn't hold it in any longer.
With a determined tug, she slipped free from Uncle Theo's gentle grasp and hopped down from the stool.
"I wanna play!" she declared, her voice clear and firm.
Ignoring the tables stacked with cupcakes, fruit skewers, and tiny desserts, she marched past them, pink shoes clicking boldly on the glossy floor.
Theo called softly after her, "Vivi, come back—Daddy's busy—"
But Vivi didn't stop. She was on a mission.
Slipping quietly through a side door marked Private, she giggled to herself. Maybe, just maybe, if Daddy wouldn't notice, she could find her own adventure—just like he always chased on the battlefield.
Outside the lively, buzzing party hall, the atmosphere shifted. The quieter VIP lounge felt like a secret retreat, a hidden gem away from the noise and excitement. Soft lighting bathed the room in a warm, gentle glow, casting a golden shimmer on the rows and rows of desserts laid out on the long buffet table. It was a treasure trove—an irresistible display of glossy cupcakes frosted with delicate swirls, fruity tarts gleaming with fresh berries, pastel macarons stacked in neat pyramids, and perfectly cut mini sandwiches arranged with military precision. To anyone else, it might have looked like just a fancy spread—but to Vivi, it was like stepping into a sugary dream come true.
Her eyes sparkled, wide with wonder as she tiptoed toward the towering buffet. Her tiny pink shoes made soft, almost imperceptible tapping sounds against the polished floor, a rhythm in tune with her excitement. She scanned the table carefully, searching for her prize.
There, just a little too far back on one tray, were the pink macarons she craved—the kind she'd seen only in pictures before, with their delicate shells and creamy centers. Vivi's heart quickened. She stood on her tiptoes, stretching her small arms as far as they would reach, reaching out, inch by inch.
"I can reach it…" she whispered to herself, a determined little voice that barely filled the quiet room.
But as she leaned forward, pressing her full weight against the edge of the table, something shifted beneath her fingers.
The plate wobbled precariously.
A tiny squeak escaped her lips.
The plate teetered, balancing on the edge like it was about to fall, threatening to send the whole tower of desserts crashing down.