Chapter 12 - The Vanguard Gala
The Plaza Hotel was a glittering spectacle of diamonds, champagne, and flashing cameras. Julian Vance stood at the center of the grand ballroom, holding a crystal glass, playing the part of the grieving, concerned husband perfectly.
"It’s been a difficult time," Julian told a prominent senator, feigning a sad smile. "Elena’s mental health declined so rapidly. We are doing everything we can to locate her and get her the help she needs."
Outside, a black limousine pulled up to the red carpet.
The press eagerly turned their cameras, expecting a celebrity. Instead, the door opened, and Elena Vance stepped out.
She wore a breathtaking, blood-red silk gown that hugged her figure, with a high collar that subtly concealed the bruising on her neck. Her hair was swept up elegantly, and her makeup perfectly hid the remnants of her split lip. She looked like a goddess of vengeance.
Gasps rippled through the crowd of photographers.
"Mrs. Vance! Over here!"
Elena ignored them, walking with regal grace up the steps and into the hotel. Behind her, blending seamlessly into the crowd of security guards and valets, were Dante and Silas in sharp tuxedos.
Elena entered the ballroom. The string quartet seemed to falter. Conversations died. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as the supposedly "unstable" and missing wife walked directly toward the center of the room.
Julian’s back was turned, but he noticed the silence. He turned around, his fake smile freezing on his face.
May you like
Elena stopped ten feet away from him. The entire elite of New York City was watching.
"Hello, Julian," Elena said, her voice clear and echoing in the silent ballroom. "I heard you were looking for me."
