The champagne flutes stopped moving. Patricia coughed nervously. Elaine’s hand flew to her throat, clutching her diamond necklace as if she were suddenly choking on it.
Lena did not look away from the terrifying billionaire. She adjusted the sleeping baby in her arms. When she spoke, her voice was not the trembling whisper of a frightened, intimidated victim. It was the calm, flat, dead tone of absolute truth.
“I never received a single dollar, Victor,” Lena said clearly.
The air in the room turned instantly to ice.
Adrian immediately stepped forward, flashing a handsome, deeply poisonous smile. He reached out and gripped Lena’s elbow. His fingers dug into her flesh with enough brutal force to instantly bruise, a silent, vicious threat.
“Grandfather, please forgive her, Lena is exhausted,” Adrian lied smoothly, attempting to construct a frantic wall of medical gaslighting. “The postpartum confusion has been terrifying lately. She’s completely disoriented. We’re actually looking into inpatient psychiatric facilities for her.”
