Chapter 3 - Table 27
"Ethan..." Eleanor’s voice trembled for the first time in her life, her knuckles white as she gripped the balcony stone railing. "Who... who are those children?"
Ethan couldn't speak. His jaw was slightly open, his gray eyes locked onto the three little boys standing down in the garden. The resemblance was indisputable. The subtle cleft in their chins, the exact shade of their eyes, the wave of their dark hair—it was like looking back in time at his own childhood photographs.
Down on the lawn, I smoothed Liam's collar and began walking down the aisle toward the seating area. Guests parted like the Red Sea, murmuring furiously behind their designer sunglasses.
"Victoria!"
An usher, trembling with nervous energy, scurried up to me holding a leather-bound seating chart. "Ma'am... Mrs. Montgomery... I mean, Ms. Vance. Your table is... it's this way."
He led us toward the far corner of the grand pavilion. As expected, Eleanor had placed me at Table 27. It was crammed against the double swinging doors of the catering kitchen. The air smelled of roasted garlic and dish soap, and the loud clatter of pans and shouting sous-chefs leaked through every time the doors swung open.
"Mama," Noah murmured, sniffing the air with a tiny scowl. "It's noisy here. And it smells like old soup."
"I know, my love," I said sweetly, pulling out a chair for him. "Your grandmother wanted us to have the best view of how the food gets made."
"Excuse me!"
Ethan came striding across the lawn, his tuxedo jacket flapping slightly with his rapid pace. He ignored the eyes of three hundred high-society guests tracking his every movement. He stopped five feet from our table, staring down at the three boys who were now calmly sitting up straight, unfoldling their linen napkins just as I had taught them.
"Victoria," Ethan choked out, his voice raw. "What is this? Who are they?"
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs with fluid elegance. "They are my sons, Ethan. Liam, Noah, and Caleb."
"They... they look like me," Ethan stammered, his eyes darting frantically from one boy to the next. He looked like a man who had suddenly stepped into a deep lake without knowing how to swim. "How old are they? Victoria, answer me! Are they—"
"They are five years old," I said coolly.
Ethan did the mental math instantly. His face drained of all color. "Five? You... you were pregnant when you signed the divorce papers? You were pregnant when you left?"
"I left because your mother threatened to destroy me if I didn't sign," I reminded him, my voice dropping to a low, lethal whisper that only he could hear. "And you stood right beside her, staring at the floor. You chose her money over your marriage. Did you really think I would let her raise my children to be as weak as you?"
"Victoria, please—" Ethan stepped forward, reaching out a hand toward Liam.
Liam immediately pulled back, looking at Ethan with a stern, icy glare that was so purely Montgomery it sent a visible shiver down Ethan’s spine. "Do not touch my suit, sir," Liam said firmly. "Mama said it's custom."
Before Ethan could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air.
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"Ethan! Get back to the altar this instant! The Senator and Caroline are arriving!"
Eleanor had descended from the balcony. She marched across the grass, flanked by two senior estate security officers. Her pristine blue dress swept over the lawn, but her face was a mask of sheer fury disguised as aristocratic dignity.
