Chapter 3

The walk back to the ballroom was the longest of my life. Each step was a conscious effort, my legs feeling like lead. The muffled sounds of the party grew louder, a festive roar that felt like a personal mockery. Inside my mind, there was only a deafening silence, the hollow space where my future used to be. Julian Thorne's words echoed in that void: *The only thing they can't take from you is power.*

I clutched the small, cool weight of the locket in my hand. It was a link to a love that had been real, my mother's love. It was a stark contrast to the counterfeit affection I was about to confront.

As I stepped through the arched doorway, the scene before me was surreal. The chandeliers seemed too bright, the laughter too loud. My family was seated at a table near the front, my father beaming with pride, my aunt dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. They were all so happy for me, so blissfully unaware that they were celebrating my sacrifice.

On the stage, Mark and Alex stood bathed in a golden spotlight. They looked handsome, confident, victorious. Mark tapped the microphone, the sharp sound cutting through the chatter and drawing all eyes to him.

"If I could have everyone's attention," he began, his voice smooth and practiced. "Alex and I would like to thank you all for joining us on this incredibly special night."

The crowd quieted, a wave of expectant smiles turning toward the stage.

"Tonight," Alex continued, picking up the cue seamlessly, "we are here to celebrate the joining of two families, the beginning of a new future. A future I am honored to share."

My stomach churned. The hypocrisy was so blatant, so audacious, it was almost impressive. They were masters of the game, and I had been their most willing pawn.

"And now," Mark said, his charming smile reaching its full wattage as he scanned the room, "we would like to ask the woman who has made this all possible, my beautiful fiancée, Clara, to join us on stage."

A ripple of applause went through the room. A hundred pairs of eyes turned to find me. My father caught my gaze and gave me an encouraging nod, his eyes shining. Sophie gave me a thumbs-up, though her smile faltered slightly as she took in my grim expression and the awful dress.

This was it. The precipice. I could walk up there, smile, and accept my fate as a well-kept prop in their corporate takeover. I could swallow the humiliation and allow them to win, preserving my family's dignity at the cost of my own soul. Or I could do something else.

In that moment, standing at the edge of the crowd, I made a silent, life-altering decision. The hurt inside me didn't vanish, but it began to crystallize, hardening from a liquid grief into a sharp, cold diamond of rage. They would not break me. They would not have the satisfaction of my silent compliance.

I started walking toward the stage. My steps were steady, my back straight. I could feel the texture of the cheap polyester dress against my skin, a constant reminder of their contempt. I could feel the locket in my hand, a reminder of what was real. I wasn't the naive girl who had left this room an hour ago. She was gone forever.

As I reached the small set of stairs, Alex extended a hand to help me up. I ignored it, ascending the steps on my own. The warmth of the spotlight felt like an interrogator's lamp.

Mark wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me between him and his brother. The gesture, which once would have made me feel cherished, now felt like a manacle. His cologne, a scent I used to love, was suffocating.

"She's a little shy," he said into the microphone with a condescending chuckle, squeezing my waist. The crowd laughed indulgently.

I pulled away from him slightly, just enough to create a space of my own. I stepped up to the second microphone. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a wild bird trapped in a cage, but my hand was perfectly steady as I raised it to my mouth.

"Thank you, Mark," I said, my voice clear and surprisingly strong. It carried through the silent ballroom. "Thank you for that... introduction."

I looked out at the sea of faces-my family, my friends, the business elite of Veridia. Then I looked at Mark and Alex. I saw the flicker of confusion in their eyes, the slight tightening of their smiles. They sensed a shift in the script.

Instead of the gushing acceptance they expected, I reached into the small clutch purse I still carried. My fingers found my phone. With a few taps, I pulled up the audio file. I hadn't even consciously decided to record their conversation; my thumb had hit the button out of pure, instinctual shock. A desperate attempt to capture the truth, to prove I wasn't going insane.

"Before we continue," I said, my voice ringing with a cold fury I didn't know I possessed, "I think there's a conversation everyone here needs to hear. A little glimpse behind the curtain of this 'perfect' union."

I held the phone up to the microphone.

And I pressed play.

Mark's voice, tinny but unmistakable, filled the grand ballroom. *"-can't believe she almost made a scene over a spilled drink. So dramatic."*

A confused murmur rippled through the crowd.

Then Alex's voice. *"-I'll be glad when this is all over and we can drop the act."*

The murmuring stopped. A thick, shocked silence descended. I saw my father's face drain of color. Sophie's jaw dropped.

Isabella's cruel words followed. *"-she looked like a pathetic, drowned rat."*

Then the final, damning confession from Mark. *"-the real prize is her company's shipping contracts... Clara? She'll be a well-kept wife with a generous allowance, locked away in a big house..."*

The recording ended. The silence that followed was absolute, a heavy, suffocating blanket of disbelief and scandal.

I looked directly at Mark. The charming smile was gone, replaced by a mask of pure, murderous rage. Alex was pale, his eyes wide with panic.

I took a deep breath and delivered the final blow.

"The engagement between myself and the brothers Mark and Alex," I announced, my voice shaking but resolute, "is over. Furthermore, any and all business deals, mergers, or contracts discussed and contingent upon this union are hereby declared null and void."

I had just burned my life to the ground. But as I stood there in the ashes, for the first time all night, I felt a flicker of my own power returning.

The room erupted. It was instantaneous chaos. Shouts of disbelief, the frantic scraping of chairs, the horrified gasps. Mark's father was on his feet, his face purple with fury, shouting my name. My own father looked like he had been struck by lightning. Reporters who had been covering the social event were suddenly scrambling, their phones held high.

Mark lunged for me, his face contorted in a snarl. "You little bitch! You'll regret this!"

Before he could reach me, a figure calmly parted the surging crowd.

Julian Thorne moved with an unhurried, predatory grace. He ascended the stage as if he owned it, his imposing presence casting a long shadow in the spotlight. The sheer force of his personality, the cold, dangerous aura that surrounded him, was enough to momentarily silence the chaos.

He stopped directly in front of me, ignoring the sputtering rage of Mark and Alex. He stood between me and them, a human shield. His slate-grey eyes locked onto mine. In their depths, I saw not a hint of surprise, but a sliver of something that looked like approval.

He leaned toward the microphone, his voice a low, commanding rumble that cut through the remaining din, a pronouncement delivered to me, but intended for the entire world to hear.

"They offered you a shared title for your inheritance," he said, his gaze never leaving my face. "I'm offering you a singular marriage for your nerve."

He paused, letting the shocking words hang in the electrified air.

"Marry me, Clara," he declared, his voice dropping to a raw, intense whisper that was somehow more powerful than a shout. "And we will grind them into dust together."