Chapter 5 - The Gala of Mirrors
The Metropolitan Winter Gala was the ultimate test. It was the night Greta had spent months planning back when she still wore the crown. She knew Tristan would attend; it was a mandatory appearance for his firm. Against all warnings from her father, Greta pulled a favor with an old contact and managed to secure a last-minute ticket, arriving in a vintage, slightly frayed gown—the only piece of luxury she hadn't sold.
The ballroom was a sea of black ties and shimmering diamonds. When Tristan walked in, he was surrounded by a wall of colleagues and admirers. He looked effortless, his gaze scanning the room with the precision of a hawk.
Greta waited until he was near the dais, then made her move. She stepped into his path, forcing him to acknowledge her. "Tristan," she said, her voice dripping with a pathetic attempt at sweetness. "I think there’s been a misunderstanding. We should talk."
The crowd quieted. The social vultures were hungry for the spectacle. Tristan stopped, looking at her as if she were a piece of furniture he had forgotten to donate to Goodwill.
"The only thing to discuss, Greta, is the settlement papers your lawyers have been dodging," Tristan said calmly.
"I’m not here for money," she lied, her eyes darting to the onlookers. "I’m here to show you that we’re the same. You didn’t pull yourself up from the gutter; you just traded one set of manipulators for another."
Tristan smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You see the world through a lens of 'us versus them.' But there is no 'us.' There is only the work, and there is the character you bring to it."
He stepped closer, leaning in so only she could hear. "Do you know who funded the gala’s main scholarship fund this year? The one that keeps the arts alive in the city?"
Greta froze. "No."
May you like
"I did," Tristan whispered. "I’ve been funding every charity you use to launder your image for the past three years. You were never the patron, Greta. You were just a prop I kept on the stage. And I’m closing the show tonight."
He signaled to the stage manager. A moment later, the screens in the ballroom flickered to life, showing the audit results of the very charities Greta claimed to support. The funds had been diverted by the Wallace family to pay for their private jets and jewelry. The elite of the city watched in horror as the names of the Wallace family appeared on a list of financial parasites. Greta wasn't just a social pariah; she was a criminal.
