Chapter 3 - The Grand Ballroom of the PlazaAt 8:00 PM that evening, the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan was bathed in the warm, golden light of thirty crystal chandeliers.
Over five hundred prominent business magnates, supreme court justices, high-society matriarchs, and corporate investors gathered for the Annual Founders' Gala.
Standing near the primary champagne fountain was Preston Vance, wearing a sharp tuxedo, holding a glass of vintage wine. Beside him stood Cassidy Vaughn, wearing an exquisite backless scarlet gown that proudly showed off her figure, her manicured hand resting smugly against her stomach.
"Is the disfigured monster coming?" Cassidy whispered maliciously, looking toward the grand double doors.
Preston sneered, sipping his champagne. "Are you kidding? I left the backless invitation on her desk this morning. She's probably locked in her bedroom right now weeping into her pillow. By Monday morning, she'll sign anything I put in front of her just to hide from the world."
Cassidy giggled, pressing her head against his shoulder. "Good. The baby and I need that penthouse."
BOOM!
The heavy mahogany entrance doors of the grand ballroom were pushed wide open by two liveried attendants!
The chatter of five hundred high-society guests vanished into an absolute, speech-bound silence.
Walking down the central red carpet, flanked by four broad-shouldered Ashford Security officers, was me.
I wore a breathtaking, custom-designed floor-length emerald silk evening gown crafted by Paris's premier couturier. The gown featured a plunge back that descended all the way to the waistline—exposing every single inch of the thick, raised skin-graft scars across my back for the entire room to see.
Maestro jewellers had woven delicate strands of crushed diamonds and real gold thread directly along the edges of the scars, transforming the evidence of my sacrifice into a sparkling, regal tapestry of unbroken triumph.
My dark hair was swept up into a majestic, polished crown, my hazel eyes burning with absolute, sovereign victory, inner peace, and queenly grace.
And walking right beside me, holding my hand with an unbroken, fierce, public pride, wearing an magnificent charcoal bespoke tuxedo, was Gideon Ashford.
Preston dropped his champagne glass.
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The crystal smashed flat against the marble floor, red wine splashing over Cassidy's designer shoes, as his face turned an ugly, paper-white shade of green.
"V-Vivian...?! GIDEON ASHFORD...?!" Preston stammered, taking three panicked steps backward, his eyes darting from my sparkling back to the billionaire titan walking at my side. "WHAT... WHAT IS THIS?!"
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