Chapter 119
[ 539 words ]
Chapter 119:
Jarrod’s left hand was tightly intertwined with Caroline’s, his injured right arm held still at his side. She stood tall and breathtaking in the midnight-blue velvet gown, her skin glowing under the chandelier light. She didn’t look terrified. She looked out at the sea of billionaires with the calm, terrifying boredom of a queen inspecting her peasants.
The ultimate, blood-soaked social war had officially begun.
For ten agonizing seconds, the main hall was trapped in a dead, suffocating silence. The air pressure in the room felt heavy enough to crush bone.
Eleanor Vance’s shy, hopeful smile froze on her face. Her eyes locked onto Jarrod’s hand, tightly gripping the fingers of the stunning woman in blue velvet. Eleanor’s fantasy shattered into a million jagged pieces.
Marcy Vance gasped loudly. Her hand jerked, spilling a splash of expensive champagne directly onto the bodice of her silk gown.
Cornelia’s face turned the color of ash. Her hand flew to her chest, her perfectly manicured fingers splayed against her collarbone. Her mouth opened and closed, but her vocal cords were completely paralyzed by shock.
T𝘩e 𝗆𝘰𝗌t 𝗉o𝘱𝗎l𝖺𝗿 ո𝗼vе𝗹𝘴 𝗼n 𝗴𝗮𝗅𝗻𝗈𝘷е𝗅𝘴.𝖼𝗈𝗆
In the center of the chaos, General Augustus did not move. He slowly lowered his Cuban cigar. His ancient, predatory eyes locked onto Caroline, analyzing her like a sniper lining up a kill shot.
Jarrod completely ignored the horrified stares. He tightened his grip on Caroline’s hand and stepped forward.
The crowd of elites scrambled backward, parting like the Red Sea to create a wide, clear path for the Colonel. No one dared to breathe too loudly as he walked.
Caroline matched his pace perfectly. Her stilettos clicked against the marble floor in a slow, rhythmic cadence. She kept her chin high. She felt the General’s lethal gaze burning into her skin, but her heart rate remained at a steady, resting sixty beats per minute.
They stopped exactly three feet away from the General’s leather sofa.
Jarrod gave a short, arrogant nod to the old man.
Cornelia finally found her voice. It came out as a high-pitched, hysterical shriek.
“Jarrod!” Cornelia screamed, completely losing her aristocratic composure. “What is the meaning of this? Who is this… this woman? How dare you bring a stranger to disrupt a sacred family event and humiliate the Vances!”
Jarrod slowly turned his head. He looked at his stepmother with a gaze so cold it could freeze boiling water. He didn’t even dignify her screaming with a response.
He turned his attention back to the General.
Jarrod shifted his grip, raising Caroline’s hand firmly in his left—the uninjured arm—holding it aloft for every single person in the room to see. His right arm remained motionless at his side, a silent testament to the price he had paid to protect her.
“Grandfather,” Jarrod’s voice boomed through the silent hall, deep and absolute. “Allow me to introduce Caroline Romero. My legal wife.”
The words hit the room like a tactical nuke.
A collective, horrified gasp erupted from the crowd. Furious, panicked whispering broke out like wildfire.
Eleanor Vance let out a pathetic sob. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed back onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands.
Marcy Vance’s face turned purple with rage. She grabbed her crying daughter by the arm, shot Cornelia a look of pure, venomous hatred, and stormed out of the hall, completely humiliated.
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