Matilda's Pov 

I sat perched at the edge of the velvet barstool, nursing my second glass of chilled Chardonnay, letting the crisp bitterness coat my tongue as my eyes swept across the ballroom. The glittering chandeliers above sparkled like frozen stars, casting reflections against the polished floors and swirling silk gowns. I scanned the sea of faces, wondering which one belonged to the mystery man my mother was so insistent I meet tonight.

He knew me, apparently. Or at least that’s what my mother said. He knew who I was, what I’d been through, though how and why was a question she’d conveniently left unanswered. Typical Clara Geal. Dramatic setups with no context. My mom is truly a mystery sometimes. 

I was just beginning to feel the soft pull of the wine in my veins when I caught them staring at me.

Gabriel.

Aria.

And of course, the she-devil herself—Eunice, my former mother-in-law.

Their eyes hadn't left me even after Gabriel approached me and tried to scare me. They whispered. They glared. And whoever they spoke to shortly after seemed to turn their eyes on me with a new-found contempt. I recognized the pattern: the quick side glance, the whisper behind a gloved hand, the tight smile that followed. They were poisoning the surrounding air. Making it too toxic for me to breathe. 

I pressed my empty glass onto the counter, breathing in slowly to calm the burn rising in my throat—not from the wine, but from the humiliation, the fury, the overwhelming injustice of it all.

I was just about to turn and ask the bartender for another when I felt them close in.

From the left, Eunice, dressed like a matronly villain in silver sequins that clung to her like cobwebs. Man! Ain't she a drag.

From the right, Aria, wearing a dress that was clearly expensive and a stomach that was still relatively flat with the child I had once prayed would be mine.

I should have moved, I should have walked away, but I didn’t. I let them come. I wanted to know what they were up to.

“Wow, look who’s here,” Eunice began, lips curled in that condescending smirk I’d grown to despise. “You’re looking good, Matilda." I almost didn’t recognize you in those knock-off designer clothes and jewelry.”

I didn’t reply. I hadn’t planned to. I looked past her, pretending to admire a centerpiece on a nearby table.

Aria leaned in, her voice syrupy and sweet and laced with venom. “Oh, they’re definitely knock-offs. There's no shine, no real weight. Tell me, what’s the point of showing up to a high-society ball dressed head to toe in fakes?”

They both chuckled, feeding off each other’s cruelty. It must’ve killed them not to know the truth. The dress was custom-made by Elie Saab. That the necklace had belonged to my grandmother, an heirloom worth more than Gabriel’s entire net worth. That Clara Geal’s daughter was not some tragic rags-to-riches caricature. They just couldn’t fathom it. But they didn't know who I truly was. What they saw was a version of me they thought was poor.

And oh, how rude their awakening was about to be.

It would be a delight to see their faces when they find out who I truly am.

I caught Gabriel staring at me with a smirk on his face as he socialized with the guests at the ball. I smirked right back at him. If those eyes were lasers, I would be cut into itsy bitsy sizes and thrown into a sewage dump.

Eunice stepped closer. “Tell me, did you come here? To ruin Gabriel’s image and reputation? Because if so, save yourself trouble. No one would believe a tramp like you. I’ve already told everyone the truth about you. How you cheated on my son and stole from him.”

I was surprised at first by what she said, but managed to keep my expression neutral. This explains why some people were giving me dirty looks.

“You mean the lies?” I said flatly, still not looking at her, and without even thinking.

She blinked, momentarily thrown off. She must have expected me to stay silent. Well, I am not that woman anymore. She regained her sneer. “Does it matter? True or not, they believe it. They see you for what you are now. A low-life-thieving slut who couldn’t keep her man.”

That word “slut” sliced through the air, sharp and deliberate. Wait a minute, I was the slut and not Aria, who is a homewrecker? Am I living in an upside-down world?

I felt my jaw tighten, every muscle in my body tensing with the urge to retaliate. My hand clenched into a fist by my side, but before I could say a word—

A hand touched my elbow.

Warm, gentle and protective.

And then a voice—deep, smooth, confident.

“My wife-to-be is not a slut.”

I froze.

The tone of his voice alone commanded attention, and in that instant, the air shifted. I turned slowly, my heart slamming in my chest.

He stood just behind me, tall, impossibly handsome, with striking blue eyes that felt like an ocean you could fall into and never find your way out again. His black tailored tuxedo hugged broad shoulders and a lean frame, and under the golden glow of the chandelier, his complexion looked carved from marble.

I stared, blinking. Trying to process both the beauty of him and the words he’d just spoken.

Wife to be?

“Excuse me?” I said, stunned.