Chapter 8 - The Grand Ballroom
The night of the winter charity gala arrived with a flurry of falling snowflakes that turned the downtown streets into a magical winter postcard. Inside the Grand Ballroom, the air smelled of pine boughs, expensive perfume, and roasted chestnuts. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over hundreds of elegantly dressed guests mingling near the entrance.
At the center of the room sat our masterwork: the twelve-seat reclaimed pine banquet table. Its surface shone like polished amber, reflecting the candlelight from towering silver candelabras. Surrounding it were twelve bespoke velvet chairs, each embroidered with a subtle gold monogram.
Emma, now fourteen and wearing a stunning emerald-green velvet dress she had picked out herself, stood beside me near the display, her eyes wide with wonder as she watched city officials, local politicians, and prominent entrepreneurs admire our craftsmanship.
“Mom, look, the mayor is looking at the table,” Emma whispered excitedly, tugging gently on my sleeve.
I smiled, adjusting the lapel of my tailored navy blazer. “Let’s go say hello.”
Just as we began walking toward the center aisle, the heavy mahogany double doors at the entrance swung open, letting in a gust of cold winter air.
I turned my head instinctively. Walking through the doors, looking somewhat out of place and visibly flustered, were Diane and Brooke. They had managed to slip past security using expired contacts or sheer, unadulterated audacity, dressed in slightly dated evening gowns that had clearly seen better decades. Brooke’s face was tight with nervous aggression, while Diane scanned the room frantically until her eyes landed on the centerpiece table—and then directly on me.
They began weaving through the crowd, heading straight toward the VIP banquet table where I stood with Emma.
I didn't move. I stood tall, my hands resting lightly on the back of one of the velvet chairs, watching them approach like actors walking into a trap of their own making.
“Hannah!” Diane gasped, stopping a few feet away, her breath coming in shallow rasps. She looked older than her years, the lines around her mouth carved deep by bitterness and regret. “Thank goodness we found you. Security wouldn't let us through, but we managed to get in. We need to sit down; my feet are killing me in these heels.”
May you like
Brooke forced a tight, brittle smile, though her eyes darted nervously at the surrounding crowd of influential onlookers. “Nice place you’ve got here, Hannah. Never figured you for a fancy interior decorator, but I suppose stranger things have happened.”
The surrounding conversation in our immediate vicinity quieted down. Several prominent guests, including the city’s chief magistrate and Clara, turned to look at the newcomers with mild curiosity.
