Chapter 6 - The Charity Gala
Two days later, the high society of the city gathered at the Grand Plaza Hotel for the annual Sterling Foundation Charity Gala. Eleanor and Richard were there, projecting the image of grieving, yet resilient parents. They had successfully spun Clara’s disappearance as a "nervous breakdown."
"She simply couldn't handle the grief," Eleanor told a group of wealthy socialites, dabbing a dry eye with a lace handkerchief. "We had to send her to a private facility."
"How tragic," an heiress murmured.
The heavy mahogany doors to the ballroom suddenly swung open, silencing the string quartet.
The entire room turned to look, and a collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
Clara Vance stood at the top of the grand staircase. She was no longer the exhausted, terrified widow in a damp mourning dress. She was draped in a breathtaking, backless emerald gown that clung to her curves, her hair cascading in loose waves, diamonds glittering at her throat.
But it wasn't just her transformation that silenced the room. It was the man holding her arm.
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Elias Thorne, dressed in a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo, looked every bit the apex predator entering a pen of sheep. He guided Clara down the stairs, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back.
Eleanor’s champagne flute shattered on the marble floor.
