Chapter 2 - The Return to Lake Geneva
Saturday arrived with a sky so clear and blue it looked like polished glass. The autumn air carrying over Lake Geneva was crisp, carrying the subtle scent of pine and burning wood from the surrounding grand estates.
The Montgomery estate, known to locals and socialites as Eldenwood, spanned forty acres of prime lakefront property. It was built during the Gilded Age by Ethan’s great-grandfather, featuring soaring limestone arches, expansive manicured gardens, and imported Italian marble terraces. Today, it was draped in tens of thousands of white roses. A fifty-piece orchestra played soft classical arrangements near the central fountain, and servers in pristine white tuxedos glided through crowds of governors, tech titans, and old-money oligarchs.
High above the central courtyard, standing on the master balcony with a glass of vintage Dom Pérignon in her hand, Eleanor Montgomery observed her masterpiece. She wore a ice-blue silk gown tailored precisely to reflect her icy demeanor. Beside her stood Ethan, looking dashing in his formal wear, though a subtle shadow of fatigue darkened the skin beneath his eyes.
"She hasn't checked in at the main gate yet," Ethan muttered, glancing down at his watch. "Mother, are you sure sending that invitation was necessary? It feels... petty."
"Nonsense, Ethan," Eleanor replied without looking at him, sipping her champagne. "It is about closure. It is about establishing boundaries. The Hastings family needs to see that your past is thoroughly managed and utterly insignificant. When Victoria sits at the back near the service entrance, everyone will see where she truly belongs. It solidifies our dominance."
Suddenly, the ambient murmurs of the three hundred elite guests began to fade. The soft classical melody from the orchestra sputtered to an uncertain halt.
A convoy of four glossy, jet-black, armored Cadillac Escalades turned into the long stone driveway of the estate. They didn't park in the designated guest area half a mile away; they rolled directly up the central VIP rotunda, blocking the main walkway leading to the ceremonial alter.
Security guards rushed forward to intervene, but stopped dead when two tall, broad-shouldered private security detail officers stepped out from the lead and trailing vehicles, taking up disciplined defensive perimeters.
The rear door of the main Escalade opened.
First came a shoe—a sharp, blood-red Christian Louboutin heel that stepped firmly onto the gravel.
Then came the dress. I stepped into the sunlight wearing a custom emerald-green silk gazar gown with a dramatic trailing cape that caught the wind. My hair was swept up in a flawless, modern style, anchored by a diamond headband that caught the sunlight like a halo. I carried myself not with the quiet meekness Eleanor remembered, but with the posture of a monarch visiting a small vassal state.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Is that... Victoria?" whispered a prominent Chicago philanthropist near the front row. "My God, she looks like royalty."
"Look at her diamonds," another woman whispered loudly. "That's a thirty-carat unheated Burmese emerald around her neck. That costs more than this entire floral setup!"
From the balcony above, Eleanor’s hand tightened on her glass. Ethan took a step forward, his breath catching in his throat.
I turned back to the open door of the SUV and reached out my hands.
"Careful with your cuffs, boys," I said calmly.
Liam stepped down first, holding my hand with absolute composure. Next came Noah, dusting off his lapels with an air of miniature authority. Finally, Caleb stepped down, looking around at the grand estate with a cool, unimpressed gaze.
All three were clad in identical midnight-navy velvet tuxedos with silk bow ties. And as they turned to face the crowd, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the entire Montgomery estate.
It was like looking at three miniature carbon copies of Ethan Montgomery—except their posture was taller, their gazes sharper, and their presence undeniable.
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Up on the balcony, Eleanor’s fingers lost their grip. Her champagne glass slipped from her fingers, plunging two stories downward to crash and shatter against the cold marble floor below.
I lifted my head, met Eleanor’s wide, terrified eyes, and offered a soft, dazzling smile.
