Chapter 10: Walking Into the Grand Ballroom
The lobby of the Grand Plaza Hotel was a cavern of glittering chandeliers, polished marble pillars, and murmuring elites draped in diamonds and tailored tuxedos. When I handed my VIP pass to the security guard at the top of the sweeping double staircase, he paused, glancing from the card to my face with a flicker of recognition before stepping aside and pushing open the heavy mahogany doors that led into the main ballroom.
The wave of noise hit me first—the hum of polite conversation, the low murmur of string quartet music, and the heavy scent of champagne and expensive perfume. Hundreds of people filled the room, clustered in tight circles around the perimeter, their attention centered on the raised stage at the far end where the Erickson Foundation logo was projected in bright white letters against a silk backdrop.
As I stepped onto the parquet floor, the whispers began near the front tables. Heads turned. Necks craned. A few people who recognized me from the bridal salon or from corporate charity mixers murmured behind raised champagne flutes.
I kept my chin up, walking with a measured, steady pace toward the center aisle. I didn't look for Elena. I didn't look for the cameras flashing from the press box near the back. My eyes locked straight ahead on the stage, where Julian stood alone near the podium, wearing a dark tuxedo, his expression taut and pale under the stage lights.
He hadn't expected me to come. When he spotted me walking down the aisle, his breath hitched visibly, his hands gripping the edge of the podium so hard his knuckles turned white.
Before I could reach the front row, Elena stepped out from behind a velvet pillar near the stage. She was wearing a stunning silver-beaded evening gown, her hair swept up into the same immaculate chignon from the salon. Her eyes flashed with triumph as she blocked my path, stepping directly into my line of sight with a tight, glacial smile.
"I didn't think you actually had the stomach for it, Maya," Elena said loudly enough for the nearest tables to hear. "Coming here looking like that? Did you borrow that dress from the clearance rack on your way out?"
The surrounding conversation dropped to a sudden, tense hush. Several people stopped eating; cameras clicked rapidly from the back of the room.
I stopped two feet from her, my voice clear and steady in the sudden quiet. "At least I earned my clothes, Elena. And I didn't have to buy my marriage with my father's board seats."
Elena's face flushed with sudden, uncontrolled fury. She raised her hand, exactly as she had in the salon, but before her fingers could connect with my cheek, a sharp voice echoed across the microphone system from the stage.
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"That's enough, Elena."
Julian stepped away from the podium, his voice carrying effortlessly through the ballroom's sound system. Every head in the room turned toward him as he walked down the steps of the stage, heading straight toward us through the parting crowd.
