“You’re insane,” he hissed under his breath, stepping into my personal space to block me from the view of the front row. “You’re ruining your own life, Victoria. Security is already on their way. If you don’t turn around right now, I will have you dragged out and thrown into a psychiatric ward before the night is over. Don’t think I won’t do it.”
From the front row, a sharp gasp cut through the murmurs. My former mother-in-law, Eleanor, stood up. She was dressed in an emerald green gown that perfectly matched the cold venom in her eyes. She didn’t look like the grieving grandmother who had wept on local television days prior. She looked terrified.
“Victoria,” Eleanor said, her voice dripping with artificial pity as she spoke loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. “Darling, please. We know you’ve been unwell since the birth. This postpartum delusion… it’s dangerous for the child. Give the baby to Julian. Let us help you.”
A collective murmur of sympathy rippled through the crowd. Some of the guests looked at me with genuine pity; others looked at me with disgust. They believed the narrative. They believed I was the unstable, broken woman who had abandoned her newborn in a blizzard.
I didn’t flinch. I looked down at Lily, who stirred slightly against my chest, comforted by the steady, calm beating of my heart. I looked back up at Eleanor, then at Julian, and finally at Chloe, whose “Director of Image” facade was rapidly cracking.
“I don’t need your help, Eleanor,” I said, my voice remarkably clear, carrying across the silent room. “And I am exactly where I belong.”
“Get her out of here!” Chloe finally snapped, dropping her bouquet entirely. “Julian, do something!”
Two large security guards in black suits materialized from the shadows of the tent, moving purposefully toward me. Julian smirked, a flash of the same cruel arrogance he showed right before he pushed me into the snow.
“It’s over, Victoria,” he whispered. “You lose.”
“Am I losing, Julian?” I asked softly. “Because I didn’t come alone.”
