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Chapter 219
Chapter 219:
Vivian took the stage. She sat at the grand piano.
She adjusted the microphone. “I would like to dedicate this next piece,” she said, her voice trembling with fake emotion, “to little Noah. Who is an angel now.”
The crowd sighed, moved by her “compassion.”
Aurora entered the back of the hall with Elias. She wore black. Elias wore charcoal grey. They looked like reapers arriving at a harvest.
Hearing the dedication, Aurora felt bile rise in her throat.
“She has no shame,” Elias whispered, his hand resting on the small of Aurora’s back. “Let her play. It’s her funeral march.”
Vivian began to play. It was a sad, melodramatic piece. She swayed with the music, eyes closed, basking in the adoration.
She finished. Thunderous applause filled the room.
Vivian stood up and bowed. She felt untouchable. She was the golden girl.
The butler approached Eleanor near the entrance. He looked nervous.
“Mrs. Kensington,” he whispered. “Mrs. Monica Reed is here.”
Eleanor frowned. “Is she… presentable? The poor dear is likely hysterical.”
Vivian, hearing this from the stage, spoke into the mic. “Let her in! Monica needs our love.”
The crowd turned to welcome the grieving mother.
Monica Reed stood there.
She was not wearing black. She was wearing a skin-tight red dress that clashed violently with the pastel decor. Her hair was wild. Her makeup was heavy.
The room went quiet. Red was not a mourning color. Red was a declaration of war.
Monica walked down the center aisle. Click. Click. Click. Her heels struck the marble floor like hammer blows.
She clutched her purse tight against her chest.
Vivian smiled benevolently from the stage. “Monica, dear. You look… striking.”
Monica didn’t stop until she reached the foot of the stage. She looked up at Vivian.
“You look beautiful, Vivian,” Monica said. Her voice wasn’t crying. It was trembling with adrenaline.
“Thank you,” Vivian beamed. “I played that for Noah.”
“For Noah,” Monica repeated.
She reached into her purse.
Sebastian, standing in the front row, sensed the shift in energy. It wasn’t grief. It was violence. He stepped forward.
Aurora gripped Elias’s arm. Her nails dug into his coat. “Stop her,” she whispered. She knew that look. She had seen it in the mirror.
Monica pulled out the stack of papers first.
She threw them into the air.
“Read them!” Monica screamed, her voice tearing through the silence. “Read how she killed him!”
The papers fluttered down like snow—hundreds of text messages raining on the guests.
.
