Chapter 3 - The Murmurs in the Crowd
The silence that followed our entrance was heavy, electric, and utterly delicious.
As we walked past the first row of outdoor cocktail tables, the chatter died down completely. People leaned away from their conversations, their eyes darting from my face down to the three little boys marching beside me with absolute, unbothered confidence.
"Good afternoon," Lucas chirped politely to an elderly woman in a massive floral hat, flashing a blinding, gap-toothed smile.
The woman gasped, clutching her pearls so hard I thought the string might snap. She turned to her companion, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet lawn. "Did you see that? Good Lord... he has Edward Montgomery’s exact eyes. And the chin... it’s unmistakably Ethan."
"Who is she?" another voice hissed from near the champagne fountain. "I thought Ethan’s ex was some nobody from the Midwest who vanished into thin air. Why does she have three children? And why do they look like they were cloned in Ethan’s laboratory?"
I kept my chin held high, my stride steady. I didn't look at the staring faces. I looked straight ahead, toward the grand marble staircase that led up to the second-story balcony overlooking the entire estate.
And there she was.
Standing on the private VIP balcony, draped in ivory lace and diamond-encrusted silk, was Eleanor Montgomery.
She had been holding a glass of sparkling cider, surveying her domain with the smug, untouchable satisfaction of a queen who had successfully vanquished all her enemies. But as her eyes scanned the crowd and landed on the four of us standing near the base of the stairs, her expression froze.
The glass slipped from her fingers.
It didn't shatter—it landed with a dull, muffled thud on the thick velvet carpet of the balcony, spilling golden liquid across the pristine white floorboards. Eleanor gripped the wrought-iron railing so hard her knuckles turned the color of bone. Her face drained of all its carefully applied makeup, leaving her looking remarkably old, frail, and utterly terrified.
She knew.
Even from twenty feet up, looking down at the three little faces staring back up at her, Eleanor didn't need a DNA test. The Montgomery genes were a stubborn, aggressive curse. Those boys were undeniably, unmistakably Ethan's flesh and blood.
"Mommy," Liam tugged gently on my skirt, breaking my focus from the balcony. "Is that the grandmother lady? The one who looks like a grumpy owl?"
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. "Shh, Liam. We use our indoor voices, remember?"
"She looks grumpy," Leo agreed loudly, pointing an accusing finger straight up at the balcony. "And her dress looks like a giant marshmallow."
A stifled snicker rippled through the nearest cluster of guests. Several people turned away, pressing their hands over their mouths to hide their grins.
May you like
Up on the balcony, Eleanor looked as though she might actually stroke out. She whirled around, barking frantic orders at an assistant standing behind her, before storming off the balcony toward the interior staircases.
The trap she had set for me had just sprung—not on my neck, but around her own family's throat.
