Chapter 6 - The Crimson Return
The Whitmore Charity Gala was usually the event of the season.
This year, it felt like a sinking ship.
The attendance was halved.
Margaret Whitmore stood near the entrance, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace.
Richard stood beside her, drinking heavily, his eyes darting around the room in paranoia.
They were bankrupt, facing federal charges, and desperate for any lifeline.
Margaret was currently cornering a wealthy real estate mogul, begging for a loan.
“It’s just a temporary cash flow issue,” Margaret lied through her teeth.
Suddenly, the music stopped.
The murmurs in the grand hall died down.
The heavy double doors swung open, and the flash of paparazzi cameras outside illuminated the foyer.
Evelyn walked in.
She was wearing a stunning, floor-length crimson gown that hugged her curves and commanded absolute attention.
Around her neck sat the Sterling family heirloom—a diamond necklace worth more than the entire Whitmore estate.
She looked like a queen stepping onto a battlefield.
Behind her walked Alexander, radiating intimidation.
Margaret’s glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor.
Richard choked on his drink.
The guests parted like the Red Sea as Evelyn walked into the center of the room.
“Evelyn?” one of Margaret’s socialite friends whispered. “Is that Evelyn?”
“Security!” Richard yelled, his face turning purple. “Throw her out! She’s trespassing!”
Two security guards stepped forward, but Alexander’s men materialized from the shadows, blocking their path with terrifying ease.
Evelyn didn't even look at the guards.
She walked straight up to Richard.
“Hello, Richard. Margaret,” she greeted them, her voice carrying through the silent room.
“How dare you show your face here,” Margaret hissed, trying to maintain her dignity. “You crazy, ungrateful—”
“I wouldn't finish that sentence, Margaret,” Evelyn interrupted smoothly.
She signaled to Alexander.
Alexander pressed a button on a small remote.
The massive screens around the hall, which were supposed to show videos of the charity's work, flickered.
Instead of charity footage, audio began to play over the surround sound speakers.
It was Richard’s voice.
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“If I get full custody of the kid, she’ll pay anything... I need to make her look crazy... provoke her into a public meltdown, and I take everything.”
The entire ballroom gasped in unison.
