Chapter 4 - The Grand Entrance
The ballroom of the Greenwich Country Club glittered with crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, and whispers of malicious gossip. Everyone who was an employee of high society had gathered to watch Raymond Whitmore celebrate his liberation from his "barren, useless wife."
Cynthia stood beside Raymond in a plunging white designer gown, looking every bit the triumphant victor. Margaret held court near the entrance, draped in emeralds, accepting congratulations with a chillingly polite smile.
"Where is Clara?" a prominent socialite dared to ask Margaret near the champagne fountain.
Margaret gave a delicate, dismissive sigh. "Oh, my dear, you know how fragile Clara always was. When a woman realizes she has nothing to offer a man of Raymond’s stature, she simply fades into the background. Out of sight, out of mind."
Right on cue, the massive oak doors at the end of the ballroom swung open.
The low hum of conversation died instantly. The orchestra stuttered and ground to a halt.
Every head turned toward the entrance.
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I didn't come in wearing a tear-stained coat. I wore a custom midnight-blue velvet gown that clung subtly to the early, undeniable curve of my stomach. My hair was swept up in a cascade of diamonds—borrowed from Arthur’s private vault—and around my shoulders draped a vintage mink coat that belonged to Arthur’s late wife.
And walking right beside me, holding my arm with absolute, immovable authority, was Arthur Sterling himself.
