Chapter 4
The room erupted with chatter.
The Rivers family—a name that carried weight in every corner of industry and government.
Michael's hands clenched into fists at his sides. His nails dug deep into his palms, but he didn't even feel the pain.
Since when did Claire know anyone from the Rivers family? How the hell had she made a connection like that?
"Good, good," George said, clearly pleased. "Claire, show Mr. Rivers inside and make sure he's looked after. Don't let our guest feel neglected."
"Of course, George," Claire replied.
Claire stood up and slipped her arm through Alexander's again. As she passed Michael, she paused just long enough to murmur, for his ears only, "Oh, I almost forgot—I've resigned.
"From the role of your wife."
Michael's head shot up.
But Claire was already moving away, her vivid red gown swaying like a blaze that burned right into his eyes.
The party officially began.
As the eldest grandson, Michael took the stage to thank the guests and offer his blessings to George. Vivian clung to his arm, projecting the image of a devoted partner while flashing her sweetest smile to the crowd.
"While we are all gathered here, I have some wonderful news to share," Michael said, his voice carrying across the hall as he took Vivian's hand. "Vivian and I are getting engaged next month. We thank you all for your continued support."
The applause was polite but notably thin.
Many of the guests couldn't resist glancing toward the head table—there sat Claire, right beside George, leaning in to speak softly with Alexander with a faint smile on her lips.
She looked entirely detached from the spectacle on stage, as if the announcement had nothing to do with her at all.
When the dancing began, Michael took Vivian for the opening number, but his focus was elsewhere; he kept stepping on her toes.
"Michael, you're hurting me," Vivian pouted, her lower lip trembling with a look of wounded vanity.
"Sorry," Michael said, abruptly letting her go. "I need to step out for a moment."
He practically fled the dance floor, unable to get away fast enough.
In the hallway, he lit a cigarette and took a long, heavy drag. The nicotine hit his lungs, but it did nothing to settle the agitation churning inside him.
"Mr. Landon, smoking all alone? Shouldn't you be with your fiancée?" A familiar voice came from behind him.
Michael turned around to find Claire leaning against the hallway wall, a slender cigarette between her fingers. Her red gown looked like congealed blood in the dim light.
"When did you start smoking?" Michael asked, frowning.
"There is a lot you never knew about me," Claire said, blowing a lazy ring of smoke. "Like how I spent three days and nights begging for the money that saved your company last year."
Michael froze. "What did you just say?"
"Do you remember Mr. Parks from Blackwood Capital?" Claire flicked her ash. "You drank yourself into the hospital trying to close that deal, but in the end, it was me who begged him.
"I knelt outside his office and told him I'd put up my own credit as collateral—that if the project failed, I'd spend the rest of my life working for him to pay it back."
Her voice was calm, as if she were merely telling someone else's story.
She continued, "He asked me what I wanted. I told him, 'Because the man I love has put everything he has on the line for this project. If he loses, it will destroy him.'"
Michael's lips trembled. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"What would have been the point?" Claire laughed. "To move you? To make you feel guilty? Michael, I don't want your gratitude, and I certainly don't want your guilt."
"I want respect, to be treated as an equal, and for you to see me as a partner, not someone you summon when you need and toss aside when you don't."
She crushed out her cigarette and stepped closer.
The sound of her heels echoed in the empty hallway, sharp and impossible to ignore.
"Too bad you never understood that," Claire said, looking him directly in his pale face. "That is why you lost me."
"Claire, I..." Michael started, but the words failed him.
"By the way, I thought you should hear this from me," Claire said, pulling out a business card and sliding it over to him.
"I am now the Managing Director at Starlight Capital, heading the 'Her Power' Fund," she said. "I heard you're launching a new brand? Perfect timing—our fund has its eye on the women's market, too."
The card was embossed in gold, with the words: Starlight Capital Her Power Fund Managing Director Claire Jenning.
Michael stared at the card as if it were the punchline to a cruel joke.
"You went to Starlight Capital? To Charles Sterling?" he stammered.
"You're well-informed, Mr. Landon," Claire said, her smile sharpening. "I suppose that makes us competitors. I look forward to the challenge."
She turned to leave.
"Wait!" Michael grabbed her wrist. "Claire, is this your idea of revenge?"
Claire looked down at his hand—the same hand that had led her down the aisle, now bearing a brand-new wedding ring.
She pried his fingers off her, one by one.
"Michael, you give yourself far too much credit," she said, her voice icy. "I'm not here for revenge. I'm just finally living for myself."
With that, she walked away without a second glance.
The rhythmic click of her heels faded into the distance, a final, punctuated exit.
Michael stood alone in the empty hallway, a sudden, hollow ache opening in his chest.
He realized, with crushing certainty, that he had lost her.
Completely.
Inside the ballroom, the music shifted to a mellow jazz.
Alexander was waiting by the floor-to-ceiling windows. As Claire emerged from the hallway, he walked over to meet her. "Is it settled?"
"Yeah," Claire said, taking the glass from his hand and finishing it in a single draught.
"Need me to do anything?" Alexander asked.
"Not yet," Claire replied, her gaze drifting toward the dance floor. Michael had returned to Vivian's side. They were moving together, but the distance between them was palpable. "The real show is only just beginning."
Just as she spoke, the heavy ballroom doors swung open.
A group of uniformed officials strode in, led by a stern man in his forties.
"Pardon the interruption," the man in front announced. "Which one of you is Ms. Vivian Lynn?"
The music stopped.
Every head in the room turned toward the center of the dance floor.
Vivian went white as a sheet, instinctively retreating behind Michael. "I-I am. What is this about?"
The official held up his badge. "Financial Crimes Division. We have received a formal complaint accusing you, Ms. Lynn, of tax fraud and the falsification of business records. The sums involved are substantial. You are required to accompany us for questioning."
A wave of shock crashed through the room.
The entire ballroom dissolved into chaos.
Michael's face flushed with anger. "Are you serious? You have the wrong person! This is my grandfather's birthday. Surely this can wait?"
"We are simply doing our job," the man said firmly. "Ms. Lynn, please come with us."
Vivian was hysterical, clutching Michael's arm so tightly her nails snagged his sleeve. "Michael, help me! I didn't do anything! It's a frame-up! Someone is setting me up!"
Her gaze suddenly snapped to Claire, sharp as a poisoned blade. "It was you! Admit it—you reported me!"
Claire remained at the edge of the crowd, champagne glass in hand, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.
She didn't say a word.
But her cool, unshakable poise was answer enough.
George slammed his hand against the armrest of his wheelchair, his face contorted with rage. "Enough! Have you not shamed this family enough already?"
He looked at Michael with pure, cutting disappointment. "Is this the woman you chose?"
Michael opened his mouth, but no words came.
The investigators hauled Vivian away as she kicked and screamed. The ballroom fell into a stony silence, every guest watching the Landon family with a mixture of pity and contempt.