Chapter 2 - The Clearing of the Hall"CLEAR THE AUDITORIUM!" Vincent’s chief lieutenant, Marco, roared, sweeping onto the stage with ten broad-shouldered security operators in dark suits.
The Moretti security team moved swiftly, forcibly escorting the protesting journalists, photographers, and high-society guests out through the double mahogany doors of the convention center.
Within ten minutes, the grand hall was completely cleared of public attendees. The heavy doors were bolted shut, leaving only the primary players beneath the harsh, blinding spotlights.
Sophia rushed up the side stairs onto the stage, her high heels clicking loudly against the wood, her face contorted in an ugly, sweat-slicked rage.
"YOU SCHEMING BITCH!" Sophia screamed, lunging toward me. "You brought this bastard child here to steal my son’s birthright! Lucas is the only legitimate heir to the Moretti family!"
Before Sophia could reach me, I stepped forward smoothly.
THWACK!
My hand delivered a single, razor-sharp backhand slap across Sophia’s face.
The loud crack echoed through the empty auditorium like a pistol shot.
Sophia stumbled backward three paces, clutching her reddening cheek, gasping in complete, speech-bound shock.
"Keep your mouth shut, Sophia," I instructed flatly, my voice dropping into a cold, lethal register that made her shrink back. "Seven years ago, you took my husband and my mother's favor. But if you utter one more insult toward my daughter, I will strip every luxury you enjoy down to the shirt on your back."
My mother, Eleanor, hurried onto the stage, her voice trembling with artificial concern. "Claire! How could you be so cruel?! Your sister was under so much stress seven years ago! The family needed a male heir!"
I turned my head slowly, looking at my mother with a quiet, weightless coldness that stopped her in her tracks.
"You ceased being my mother the moment you stood in that hospital room and told me my daughter didn't matter," I revealed deadpan. "Do not speak to me ever again."
Vincent slowly stood up from the floorboards, his storm-gray eyes hollowed out by a profound, agonizing grief. He stepped toward me, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
"Claire... I will give you half of Moretti Global," Vincent offered frantically, clutching his lapels. "I will sign over the entire logistics fleet to Emily... I will put her name on every foundation building in Illinois! Just let me be her father... let me hold my daughter!"
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I looked at him with zero bitterness, zero anger, and zero fear.
"You cannot buy seven years of missed heartbeats with corporate stock, Vincent," I answered softly, every word dropped like a heavy slab of cold granite. "When Emily had her first fever, I stayed awake holding her alone. When she learned to walk, you were buying Sophia emerald necklaces. She does not need your blood money. She is already an heiress to her own grandfather's estate."
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