Chapter 188
Chapter 188:
“Did you see her face?” Elias murmured, his lips brushing her ear as he guided her through a turn. “When you switched to the Versailles dialect… she looked like she had swallowed a live wasp p>
Aurora allowed herself a small, dangerous smile, looking up at him. “She set the stage, Elias. I just delivered the monologue. Though I admit, correcting her grammar was… satisfying p>
“It was lethal,” Elias corrected, his eyes dark with admiration. “You didn’t just win the argument; you dismantled her entire identity in front of the people she values most. The Ambassador is still staring at you like you’re the second coming of Joan of Arc p>
“He’s staring because he wants to debate tariffs,” Aurora said dryly. “But Vivian… she fled. That wasn’t part of the plan. I needed her here to see what happens next p>
“She’ll be back,” Elias assured her, pulling her slightly closer as the tempo slowed. “Narcissists can’t stay away from the spotlight, even when it burns them. She’s probably in the powder room right now, reapplying her armor and plotting her revenge p>
Aurora sighed, her body relaxing slightly against his. “Let her plot. Tonight isn’t about her anymore p>
She glanced over Elias’s shoulder. Eleanor was standing near the buffet, gripping her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles were white. Her eyes were darting around the room, assessing the damage, calculating the social fallout.
“Your aunt looks like she’s calculating the cost of a hitman,” Elias noted, following her gaze.
“She’s calculating the cost of failure,” Aurora said. “But look at the Matriarch p>
On the raised dais at the far end of the room, Matriarch Kensington sat in her wheelchair. Her hands, gnarled with age and arthritis, rested on the head of her cane. She wasn’t looking at Eleanor. She wasn’t looking at the guests. She was watching Aurora. And she was smiling.
It was a faint, almost imperceptible curving of her thin lips, but it was there. A look of approval. Of recognition.
𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅:
She tapped her cane on the floor. Once. Twice. A solid, rhythmic thud that cut through the whispering, signaling the end of the dance.
The music faded. Elias stopped, but he didn’t let go of Aurora’s hand.
“Showtime,” he whispered.
Aurora stepped back from him, smoothing her dress. She turned toward the dais.
“Aurora,” the Matriarch’s voice quavered, amplified by the sudden hush of the room. “Come here, child p>
Aurora froze. She took a breath, centered herself, and walked toward the dais. The crowd parted for her like the Red Sea.
Vivian, who had just re-entered the room with red-rimmed eyes and a fresh layer of powder, stepped forward, assuming she should be by her grandmother’s side.
“Not you, Vivian,” the Matriarch snapped, waving her hand dismissively. “Step back p>
Vivian recoiled as if slapped. She was forced to retreat into the crowd, her face burning.
Aurora reached the dais. She looked up at the old woman who held the keys to the kingdom.
“This,” the Matriarch announced, her voice gaining strength. She placed a withered hand on Aurora’s arm. “This is Aurora. My granddaughter p>
She didn’t say “long-lost.” She didn’t say “cousin.” She said granddaughter. The semantic shift was subtle, but to the ears of the New York elite, it was a thunderclap. It was a claim. It was legitimacy.