Chapter 3
The Whitman estate glowed with warm light as I stepped into the grand dining room for the pre-engagement dinner. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the antique mahogany table where New York’s elite had gathered. My stomach twisted with dread. This wasn’t a celebration—it was a performance, and I was the main act.
My black dress—the only designer piece I owned—felt suddenly cheap compared to the couture surrounding me. I’d spent hours getting ready, knowing that every eye would be watching, judging, whispering.
“There she is,” Jaxson’s voice cut through the murmur of conversation, his smile sharp as a blade. “The bride-to-be.”
I forced my lips into what I hoped was a convincing smile as I took my seat. Richard had arranged this dinner to introduce me to key business associates before the engagement party tomorrow. And, of course, to parade me in front of Jaxson, Ethan, and Damien—the three men who had rejected me so cruelly.
“Such a… strategic match,” Ethan commented, swirling his wine. “Vance Industries must be desperate for an heir if they’re willing to take damaged goods.”
Laughter rippled around the table. I kept my expression neutral, though my nails dug into my palms beneath the tablecloth.
“Careful, Ethan,” Damien said with mock concern. “We wouldn’t want to offend our future colleague.” His medical degree gave his condescension an air of authority that made it all the more cutting.
Jaxson stood, wine glass in hand, moving toward me with predatory grace. “A toast,” he announced, “to unexpected matches.”
Before I could react, he stumbled—a perfectly calculated movement—sending his full glass of cabernet splashing across my lap. The red liquid bloomed across my dress like blood.
“Oh!” Jaxson’s surprise seemed genuine to anyone who didn’t know better. “How clumsy of me.”
I froze, the cold wetness seeping through to my skin. Around the table, faces registered various degrees of amusement and false sympathy.
“Here,” Ethan offered a napkin with exaggerated concern. “Though I doubt it will help. Red wine on black… well, you should have been more careful around valuable things.”
“Perhaps stick to white wine next time,” Damien suggested with a smirk. “Less noticeable when you spill it.”
Their laughter followed me as I excused myself to clean up in the bathroom. My hands shook as I dabbed at the stain with paper towels, knowing it was hopeless. The dress was ruined.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
“Miss Whitman?” A tall man in an impeccable suit stood in the doorway. “Lucas Thorne. Mr. Vance sent me to brief you on family protocols before tomorrow’s announcement.”
I straightened my shoulders, forcing composure into my voice. “Mr. Thorne. Please come in.”
Lucas’s eyes flickered briefly to my stained dress before returning to my face with professional detachment. “Perhaps we could find somewhere more private?”
I led him to a small sitting room adjacent to the dining area, grateful for the momentary escape from the humiliation.
“I’ve brought some materials for you,” Lucas said, opening a sleek leather portfolio. “Mr. Vance believes in thorough preparation.”
Inside were documents detailing Vance family history, business holdings, and social expectations. But beneath them, I noticed a thick folder labeled simply “Cole/Hayes/Reed.”
“What’s this?” I asked, pulling it out.
Lucas’s expression remained neutral, but something flashed in his eyes—approval, perhaps. “Mr. Vance believes in being equally thorough about potential… obstacles.”
I opened the folder to find detailed dossiers on Jaxson, Ethan, and Damien. Financial records. Social connections. Secrets they thought were buried.
“He doesn’t strike me as a man who tolerates disrespect,” Lucas observed quietly.
“No,” I agreed, my fingers tracing over the damning information. “I imagine he doesn’t.”
—
The Waldorf Astoria ballroom glittered like a diamond cave the following evening. Chandeliers cast prismatic light over the city’s most powerful families gathered to witness my engagement announcement.
“Poor thing,” a woman in sapphires whispered nearby. “Having to marry a cripple because no one else would have her.”
“I heard Richard Whitman practically begged Vance to take her off his hands,” her companion replied.
I kept my smile fixed in place as I moved through the crowd, pretending not to hear their cruel whispers. Ahead of me, Vivian held court in a stunning emerald gown that highlighted her golden hair.
Jaxson stood behind her chair, his hands resting possessively on her shoulders as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Ethan directed a waiter to bring more champagne, while Damien checked his watch impatiently, no doubt late for some surgical procedure he’d scheduled just to make an entrance.
“Ah, the future Mrs. Vance,” Jaxson’s voice boomed as I approached. “Tell me, Hazel, do you understand what your husband-to-be actually does?”
The crowd around us quieted, sensing entertainment.
“I believe Mr. Vance develops revolutionary technology,” I replied carefully.
Jaxson laughed, the sound cutting through the elegant murmur of conversation. “That’s like saying da Vinci ‘dabbled in art.’” He turned to the gathered audience. “Perhaps our financial prodigy could explain the intricacies of credit default swaps and their impact on emerging markets?”
Ethan snickered. “Or maybe just the basics of compound interest?”
“Come now,” Damien added with false gentleness, “surely Richard has taught you something about business? Or are you just good for…” His eyes traveled down my body suggestively.
“Warming someone’s bed?” Ethan finished with a smirk.
The crowd tittered nervously at their audacity. Vivian’s smile widened as she watched my humiliation unfold.
I stood frozen, aware of every eye on me, every whispered judgment. In twenty-four hours, everything would change. But tonight, I was still just Hazel Whitman—the unwanted daughter, the convenient sacrifice, the punchline to their cruel joke.