Chapter 5 - The Grand Invitation
The dining room at the downtown apartment glittered under the soft amber glow of the crystal chandelier.
Twelve prominent guests had arrived for the dinner party hosted by the Whitmores—though it was Emily’s home. Among them were Marcus Vance (senior partner at Ethan’s financial firm), two prominent real estate developers, a society gossip columnist, and, of course, Rebecca and her weak-willed husband, Arthur senior (Ethan’s father, who spent the entire evening nervously drinking scotch in the corner).
Rebecca stood at the head of the dining table, holding a glass of champagne, her voice carrying across the room as she regaled the guests with a dramatic story.
“...and really, modern young women simply lack domestic instincts,” Rebecca laughed musically, gesturing toward Emily with her glass. “Why, just the other day, poor Emily was trying to cook a simple family roast and managed to burn herself so clumsily she couldn't leave the bedroom for two days! Isn't that right, dear?”
Every eye at the table turned toward Emily.
Emily sat near the center of the table, wearing a simple, elegant black dress. Her posture was immaculate. Her face was calm.
“Accidents happen when uninvited guests force their way into spaces they don't belong, Rebecca,” Emily replied, her voice ringing out crystal clear across the silent room.
A nervous chuckle rippled through the guests, unsure if it was a joke or a jab.
Rebecca’s smile tightened into a sharp grimace. “Oh, humor. How charming. But seriously, Ethan tells me you’re still adjusting to the financial realities of marriage. Putting your assets into the family trust is the first step toward true security, isn't it, darling?”
Ethan beamed with pride, raising his wineglass. “That’s right, Mom. In fact, we have a special announcement tonight. To solidify our union and streamline our household investments, Emily has graciously agreed to sign over the deed of this apartment into our joint family portfolio tonight, effective immediately!”
Ethan pulled a thick leather-bound document folder from beneath his chair and slid it across the table toward Emily, along with a gold-plated Montblanc pen.
“Sign here, babe,” Ethan whispered loudly, flashing a charming, theatrical smile for the guests. “Let’s make it official.”
The room held its collective breath. The society columnist leaned forward, pen and notepad ready.
Emily looked down at the document. Then she looked up at Ethan.
Slowly, deliberately, Emily pushed the leather folder away.
“I won't be signing that, Ethan,” Emily said, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp register that cut through the ambient music.
Ethan’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about? We discussed this.”
“We never discussed it,” Emily replied calmly. “You assumed. Just like your mother assumed she could walk into my home with a stolen code, insult my life, and pour boiling stew across my legs.”
The dining room erupted into chaotic murmurs.
“What did she say?” one of the real estate developers whispered.
“Boiling stew?” the columnist muttered, her eyes lighting up with professional glee.
Rebecca slammed her wineglass down onto the mahogany table, red wine sloshing over the rim. “Have you lost your absolute mind, girl? How dare you fabricate such hysterical lies in front of our guests!”
“Lies?” Emily asked softly.
May you like
She reached down beside her chair, picked up a thick, crimson-ribboned legal folder identical to the one Ethan had slid across the table, and placed it squarely in the center of the dining table.
“Let’s talk about lies, Ethan. And let’s talk about what brought us to this exact table tonight.”
