Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It felt like everyone had stopped breathing. Their eyes were wide, glued to me, waiting for me to shatter, to scream, or to storm the stage like a madwoman.

My fingers gripped the stem of my glass so hard my knuckles turned white, the cold glass biting into my palm.

My heart felt like it had been seized by an invisible hand, plunged into an icy lake, and then thrown directly into boiling oil.

The pain was sharp and suffocating.

For six years, I had stayed with him through the winters when the company was broke and couldn't pay salaries. I handled the nightmare investors and blocked the knives meant for his back.

When his chronic stomach issues kept him up all night, I was the one in the kitchen brewing herbal tea until dawn.

When he worked a week straight for our first big contract, nearly collapsing from exhaustion, I was the one who stayed up to organize his files and dragged him through the final pitch.

I thought we were partners in battle, lovers who had survived the trenches together.

Apparently, in Grant's eyes, I was just "sensible"―a background character he could dismiss with a "compensation" package while he built a family with someone else.

A wave of absurdity and cold fury crashed over me, washing away the lingering traces of heartbreak.

I let out a soft, low laugh.

It was a quiet sound, but in that pin-drop silent hall, it was terrifyingly clear, sharp with a hint of ice.

Under the confused and startled gazes of the crowd, I slowly raised my hand.

I didn't look at the golden couple on the stage, nor did I acknowledge the burning stares of the people around me.

With a calm, almost relieved indifference, I reached into my designer clutch and pulled out my phone.

My fingers tapped the screen, hitting a speed-dial number I hadn't touched in years.

"Hello?" A deep, authoritative male voice answered. The background was quiet.

My voice rang out clearly, not loud, but just enough for those nearest to me to hear. I sounded like I was reporting a mundane weather update. "Dad, it's me. That thing you mentioned three years ago? I agree."

There was a heartbeat of silence on the other end, followed by a faint sense of relief. "Good, Elena. I'm glad you've come to your senses. I'll handle the Miller family. When are you coming home?"

"Now," I said. I didn't look at Grant, whose face had turned a sickly shade of gray.

I hung up, placed my half-finished champagne on a passing waiter's tray, and watched the amber liquid settle.

Then, I turned around. I walked away in the high heels Grant used to love―the ones that now felt like they were made of thorns―keeping my back perfectly straight.

I moved through the crowd with a composure that stunned them, heading toward the heavy, crystal-adorned doors of the ballroom.

The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor was steady and rhythmic, like a countdown on everyone's nerves.

"Elena!" Grant's angry voice finally erupted behind me, distorted by the microphone. "Where do you think you're going? Don't be a child!"