Chapter 2 - THE LOCKED BALLROOM
The heavy thud of the brass bolts sliding into place rang through the ballroom like a gunshot. Panicked gasps echoed among the three hundred guests as security guards in charcoal suits stepped away from the exits, their hands crossed firmly in front of their belts.
Ethan looked up at the balcony. Arthur Vance stood leaning against the polished mahogany railing, his silver hair catching the light of the central chandelier. He wore a crisp tweed suit that looked entirely preserved from a decade past.
"Arthur," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a register that made the nearest guests back away. "You were buried in St. Jude's Cemetery five years ago. My father attended your funeral."
"Your father buried an empty casket, Ethan," Vance replied smoothly, resting his withered hands on the railing. "He had to. It was the only way to protect the Harrington Global share prices after your grandfather's true will was drafted."
Victoria took two steps backward, trying to melt into the crowd, but Nora—still clutching Lily—stood directly behind her, blocking her escape toward the catering service doors.
"Ethan, he's insane," Victoria pleaded, her voice trembling, though her hands remained defensively clasped over her midsection. "He's an intruder! Call the police! Don't let him ruin our night!"
"Ruin your night, Victoria?" Vance chuckled dryly. "Or ruin your score?"
Ethan turned his gaze slowly back to Victoria. He didn't look angry; he looked dangerously focused. He reached out, his long fingers grasping the edge of the silk belt tied around Victoria's designer gown.
"Ethan, stop!" she gasped, her knuckles turning white as she fought to keep her dress gathered.
With a single, deliberate tug, Ethan unknotted the belt.
The outer silk draped open.
The crowd gasped in unison.
Beneath the flowing fabric, wrapped around her waist with beige medical tape and heavy silicone straps, was a prosthetic foam belly. Tucked beneath the lower seam was a small plastic pouch filled with dark red liquid—one of the corners had torn against her zipper, leaking a thin line of artificial blood down the inner lining of her skirt.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Photographers who had been hired to cover the gala didn't even dare to raise their cameras.
Ethan stared at the fake belly. His face remained entirely expressionless, but a vein pulsed at his temple.
"A pillow," Ethan said quietly, remembering the little girl's words.
Lily looked up from behind her mother's apron. "I told you, Mr. Ethan. She put it on in the bathroom before the music started."
Victoria covered her face with her hands, sinking to her knees right there on the marble floor. The carefully constructed persona of the elegant heiress shattered into embarrassing, desperate sobs.
"I had to," Victoria wept, looking up at him through smudged eyeliner. "I loved you, Ethan! You were slipping away from me. You were going to break the engagement! I knew if I gave you an heir, you would stay. You'd have to marry me!"
"You lied about a child," Ethan said, his voice icy cold. "In front of my family. In front of the board."
"Oh, she lied about much more than that, my boy," Vance called down from the balcony, holding up a thick leather folder tied with yellow string. "Ask her who paid for that prosthetic. Ask her whose name is on the bank account that transferred two million dollars into her private trust last week."
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Ethan looked back up at his grandfather's dead attorney. "Who?"
Vance smiled, his yellowed teeth showing beneath his grey mustache. "The same man who ordered my fake death. Your uncle, Julian Harrington."
