Chapter 8: The Confrontation
Vivian entered the gala just after ten.
She did not arrive with noise or spectacle. She walked in wearing the black suit, her hair neatly pinned, her expression unreadable. For a moment, only a few people near the entrance noticed her. Then recognition spread through the ballroom in a low, rising current.
Vivian Albright was not at home ill.
She was here.
Christopher saw her first. The color drained from his face so quickly that Brenda turned to follow his gaze. When she saw Vivian, her fingers tightened around the champagne flute in her hand.
Vivian crossed the room without hurry. Conversations thinned around her path. By the time she stopped in front of Christopher and Brenda, a noticeable circle of attention had formed.
She looked at Brenda first.
“That dress,” Vivian said calmly, “was made for me. So were the earrings. The bracelet belonged to my grandmother. And the ring on your hand is my wedding ring.”
Brenda’s smile was stiff.
“Vivian, you’re not well. You should be resting. I only borrowed—”
“You drugged me,” Vivian interrupted, still quietly. “You undressed my life while I was unconscious. And then you stood here and allowed yourself to be introduced as his wife.”
A ripple moved through the guests closest to them.
Christopher stepped in at once.
“This is not the place,” he said under his breath. “You’re making a scene.”
Vivian finally looked at him.
“No, Christopher. The scene was made when you walked into this gala with another woman wearing my ring and said nothing while she was introduced as your wife.”
Brenda tried to recover.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Vivian’s gaze remained steady.
“Am I? Or are you embarrassed that the people in this room are beginning to understand exactly what you are?”
Luke appeared at his mother’s side then, silent and composed. He did not speak. He did not need to. His presence alone made the moment sharper.
May you like
Christopher glanced around and saw too many eyes watching.
The night he had intended to control was no longer his.
