Chapter 2 - Whispers in the Powder Room
The applause following Gabriel’s speech was deafening, but inside the private ladies’ lounge tucked behind the grand tier, the sound was muffled into a distant, rhythmic thrum.
I stood before the gilded triple mirror, running cool water over my wrists to steady the lingering adrenaline. In the soft light of the crystal sconces, my reflection looked unfamiliar. The hollow, exhausted woman who used to cry in the marble shower while Julian attended galas alone was dead. In her place was a woman with flushed cheeks, glowing skin, and a belly that curved proudly beneath black velvet.
The heavy mahogany door swung open and clicked shut with unnecessary force.
Through the mirror, I watched Dalia Fontaine stride into the room. She had kicked off her designer heels, holding them by their diamond-encrusted straps, her face twisted into a mask of pure malice.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she hissed, stopping three paces behind me.
I didn’t turn around. I reached for an embroidered linen hand towel and methodically dried my hands. “You should put your shoes back on, Dalia. The marble is cold, and you already look desperate enough without wandering around barefoot.”
“Shut up!” Dalia’s voice cracked. She threw her heels onto the plush velvet settee. “You staged this entire circus! Julian told me everything. You’ve been plotting this since the day the divorce papers were finalized. You knew Gabriel Lancaster was buying into the maritime sector, and you threw yourself at him like a common whore!”
I folded the towel neatly and placed it in the silver basket. Finally, I turned to face her.
Up close, the cracks in Dalia’s glamorous façade were glaring. The foundation around her eyes was creasing, her chest was blotchy with rage, and her diamond engagement ring—the one Julian had bought her with my family’s trust dividends—sat crooked on her finger.
“If I threw myself at Gabriel,” I said evenly, “he caught me. That’s more than Julian ever did for you. How does it feel, Dalia? Knowing that after two years of playing the devoted mistress, the only thing you’ve secured is a bankrupt fiancé?”
“Julian is not bankrupt!” she spat.
“Not yet,” I replied coolly. “He has about thirty-six hours before the European markets open. When they do, the default notices for Duval Holdings will hit the wire. Did he tell you about the mezzanine loans he took out behind his father’s back? The ones he guaranteed with his personal assets?”
Dalia’s jaw twitched. A flicker of real dread passed through her eyes. “You’re lying. He’s the CEO.”
“He was the CEO,” I corrected. “Until Gabriel bought sixty-two percent of his subordinated debt at four o'clock this afternoon. Which means, Dalia, that the penthouse you’re currently sleeping in doesn't belong to Julian. It belongs to Lancaster Capital. And I have half a mind to turn it into a nursery.”
Dalia lunged forward, her hands clawed, but she stopped dead when the lounge door swung open again.
Eleanor Vance, the matriarch of the Vance banking dynasty and Julian’s godmother, stepped inside. She stopped, taking in the scene: Dalia barefoot and trembling with rage, and me standing composed, radiant, and undeniably pregnant.
“Good evening, Eleanor,” I said smoothly, stepping past Dalia without a second glance. “Be careful on the tile. The manners in here have gotten remarkably slippery.”
“Khloe, darling,” Eleanor said, her eyes gleaming with wicked social delight. “A magnificent speech Gabriel gave. We must have lunch on Tuesday. My daughter-in-law is simply dying to know where you bought that exquisite dress.”
“I’ll have my assistant call you,” I smiled.
I pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the carpeted corridor. The cool, quiet air outside the lounge was a relief, but as I turned the corner toward the private elevators, a heavy hand grabbed my arm.
“Khloe. Stop.”
Julian stood in the dimly lit hallway, his bow tie undone, his dark hair disheveled. The smell of scotch was thick on his breath. He had abandoned his post at his corporate table.
“Let go of my arm, Julian,” I said, my voice dropping to ice. “Right now.”
Instead of letting go, his grip tightened, dragging me closer until I could see the burst blood vessels in his eyes. “You’re going to tell me whose child that is. Don’t lie to me. We were together for five years. We went to twelve fertility specialists. They all said your eggs were non-viable. Dr. Thorne said—”
“Dr. Thorne was on your payroll, Julian,” I whispered.
His grip slackened slightly. His eyes widened in momentary terror.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” I took a step closer to him, refusing to cower. “Did you really think Gabriel wouldn’t pull the medical records from the Swiss clinic? Dr. Thorne didn’t diagnose me with ovarian failure. You paid him to forge those lab reports because you were terrified your father would cut you out of the family trust if the board found out *you* were the one with a zero sperm count!”
Julian’s face drained of every drop of blood. He let go of my arm as if I had burned him.
“You… you don't know what you're talking about,” he stammered, stepping back into the shadows. “That’s privileged… that’s confidential medical data!”
“It was fraud, Julian,” a deep, terrifyingly calm voice came from the end of the hall.
Gabriel emerged from the darkness like a panther stalking its prey. He walked with long, measured strides, his hands casually tucked into his tuxedo trousers, but the raw violence radiating from him made the very air in the hallway turn frigid.
He didn’t touch Julian. He didn’t need to. He simply stepped between us, shielding my body entirely with his broad shoulders.
“You touched her,” Gabriel said softly.
Julian swallowed, backing up until his spine hit the paneled wall. “Gabriel, stay out of this. This is between me and my former wife—”
“She is not your wife,” Gabriel cut him off, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. “She is the mother of my son. And if your hands come within three feet of her again, Julian, you won't just lose your company. You will lose your freedom. The medical board in Zurich revoked Thorne’s license two hours ago. Tomorrow morning, the federal prosecutor is unsealing the indictment for criminal medical fraud.”
Julian slid down the wall an inch, his knees visibly shaking. “No… no, Father will fix it…”
“Your father signed over his voting proxy to me at seven o'clock tonight,” Gabriel delivered the final, fatal blow. “He was disgusted to learn what his son had done to an innocent woman. Now, crawl back to your mistress, Julian. Your time in this room is over.”
Gabriel took my hand, lifting it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to my knuckles.
“Come, Khloe,” Gabriel said gently. “The car is waiting.”
As we walked away down the grand hall, leaving Julian slumped against the wallpaper like a broken marionette, the baby moved inside me again—a firm, fluttering kick. I laid my hand over my stomach and smiled.
May you like
The nightmare was over. The reckoning had just begun.
***
