Chapter 4 - The Uninvited Guests
Saturday evening arrived with an icy chill that frosted the windows of the Gramercy brownstone. A professional styling team sent by Nicholas arrived three hours before the event. Instead of the modest, muted pastels Daniel had always forced me to wear to keep me blending into the background, the stylists brought an emerald-green silk velvet evening gown. It was elegant, dramatic, and commanded immediate attention, tailored to perfection to accommodate my postpartum frame while projecting unmistakable royalty.
Elena remained at the brownstone with two armed guards to watch Lily. I kissed my daughter’s warm forehead, whispering a promise that tonight, I was going to secure her future once and for all.
When the black armored town car pulled up to the Grand Ballroom entrance of the Plaza Hotel, the flashbulbs of hundreds of paparazzi turned the snowy night into blinding daylight. Nicholas stepped out first, tall and imposing in a bespoke black tuxedo. He turned and offered his hand. I took it, feeling the solid, unyielding strength of his grip, and stepped onto the red carpet.
The whispering began instantly.
"Is that Nicholas Maro?"
"Who is the woman with him?"
"Wait... isn't that Daniel Sullivan’s missing wife?"
Reporters surged against the velvet ropes, shouting questions, but Nicholas guided me smoothly through the double brass doors, ignoring the chaotic flurry of cameras. The moment we crossed into the grand foyer, the ambient sound of classical violin music and champagne glasses clinking seemed to freeze. Hundreds of eyes turned toward us.
Standing near the marble staircase, holding a crystal glass of bourbon and charming a circle of city council members, was Daniel Sullivan. He looked pristine in his tailored tuxedo, his blonde hair slicked back with arrogant perfection. Beside him stood his mother, Eleanor Sullivan, draped in pearls and diamonds, wearing her trademark haughty scowl.
Daniel’s smile vanished mid-sentence. His glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor and splashing dark liquor across his polished shoes. His face drained of color, shifting rapidly from shock to blind panic, and finally to venomous fury.
"Ava?" Daniel stammered, stepping toward us while the crowd parted in stunned silence. "What... what are you doing here? Where is my child?"
Eleanor surged forward, her voice sharp as an icicle. "You disgraceful girl! How dare you show your face here after abandoning your home and embarrassing our family? And with Nicholas Maro, no less! Have you lost your mind?"
I didn't cower. I didn't step behind Nicholas. I stood tall, my head held high, meeting Eleanor's venomous stare with cold composure.
"I didn't abandon my home, Eleanor," I said, projecting my voice so clearly that it reverberated off the vaulted ceilings, captivating every journalist and socialite in the hall. "Four days ago, Daniel had the security codes changed while I was being discharged from Manhattan General. He threw our three-day-old daughter onto the sidewalk in sub-zero temperatures simply because she wasn't the boy he demanded."
A collective, audible gasp swept through the ballroom. High-society matrons brought their hands to their mouths; prominent business partners exchanged alarmed glances.
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"That's a lie!" Daniel shouted, his face turning an ugly shade of crimson. "She’s hysterical! She’s suffering from postpartum delusions! Security! Remove this woman immediately!"
"Security works for the venue, Sullivan," Nicholas’s voice sliced through the tension like a razor. He stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over Daniel. "And tonight, I own the venue. Before you call for any removal, perhaps you’d like to explain the wire transfers you initiated from your offshore accounts yesterday afternoon?"
