Chapter 4 - A Public ExecutionThe sound of shattering glass echoed through the silent ballroom like a gunshot.
Every head turned.
Whispers broke out instantly, rippling through the crowd like wind through dry grass. Cameras flashed from the press box at the back of the room, automatically tracking the sudden disruption.
"Who is that?" "Is that a kid?" "Wait... look at the woman standing by the door. Isn't that..." "No way. That's Elena Vance. Chairman Vance's daughter."
I didn't wait for them to figure it out. I straightened my shoulders, looked straight ahead, and walked down the central aisle. The sea of wealthy elites parted before me, recognizing the walk, the posture, and the terrifying aura of absolute calm that radiated from my core.
Noah walked beside me, clutching his blue-wrapped gift box like a shield.
On the dais, Andrew looked like he had just been sentenced to the electric chair. His mouth opened and closed silently, his eyes darting wildly between me, the crowd of press photographers, and the woman clinging to his arm.
"Andrew," I said, my voice carrying effortlessly across the dead-silent room. "You dropped your glass."
We reached the foot of the dais. I stopped, looking up at my husband and his expensive little plaything.
Sophia recovered first. She squared her shoulders, plastered on a brittle, high-society smile, and stepped forward, treating us like annoying peasants interrupting a private club.
"Excuse me," Sophia said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "I don't know who you think you are, sweetie, but this is a private corporate event. Security must have let you wander in by mistake. And trailing a child behind you? Really?"
She turned to Andrew, batting her eyelashes with theatrical distress. "Andrew, darling, do something about these gatecrashers. It's embarrassing."
Andrew didn't move. He couldn't. His throat was locked, his pupils dilated with sheer, unadulterated panic. He knew. He finally, painfully knew.
I looked at Sophia. Slowly, deliberately, I let my gaze wander from her bleached curls down to her diamond tennis bracelet, and finally back to her eyes.
"Gatecrashers?" I repeated softly.
I turned my head slightly, catching the eye of the head of security, who was sprinting down the side aisle toward us with three large guards trailing behind him.
"Remove her," I said.
The head of security skidded to a halt two feet away from the dais. He looked at me, then at Andrew, who was standing paralyzed like a deer in headlights.
"Director Vance," the head of security panted. "W-what are your orders?"
"Take this woman," I pointed a slender finger directly at Sophia, "and throw her out of this building. Strip her of her guest badge, confiscate any foundation property she was given, and ensure she never sets foot within five miles of any Blackstone property again."
Sophia shrieked, her aristocratic veneer cracking instantly. "Are you out of your mind?! Andrew! Tell them who I am! Tell them I’m your wife!"
The entire ballroom collectively gasped.
Wife?
The whispers exploded into a deafening roar.
May you like
I turned my gaze back to my husband. I tilted my head, letting a cold, humorless smile touch my lips.
"Go ahead, Andrew," I whispered, loud enough for the front-row reporters with boom mics to catch every single syllable. "Tell them who she is. And while you're at it... tell them who owns the building we're standing in."
