The ballroom had not recovered from the shock.
Neither had Elara.
The murmurs rolled through the crowd like a rising tide—sharp whispers, half-suppressed gasps, the unmistakable sound of reputations being recalculated in real time. Cameras hovered, greedy and unblinking, waiting for her to crack.
Elara stood beside Lucas, perfectly still.
If she moved, she would shatter.
Vivian Cross remained near the podium, document raised slightly, as if savoring the moment. The board members exchanged glances. Investors leaned forward. This was not gossip anymore.
This was blood in the water.
Lucas's hand tightened around Elara's waist—not gentle, not reassuring. Possessive. Controlling.
"What is she talking about?" he asked again, voice low enough that only Elara could hear.
Every instinct screamed at her to deny it.
To play the obedient wife.
But the truth had already been weaponized.
