Chapter 1 - The Banquet of Fools
The far end of the sprawling mahogany dining table was a theater of absolute, suffocating silence. Above me, an antique crystal chandelier cast a warm, golden glow over the twenty-five members of the Harrison family. They were a clan that prided themselves on old money, untouchable social standing, and vicious loyalty. Tonight, they were directing that viciousness entirely at me.
I sat alone at the foot of the table, sipping a glass of vintage champagne. I did not cry. I did not glare at Savannah, who was currently laughing at a joke my father-in-law had made, her manicured hand resting possessively on my husband’s thigh. I simply watched them perform their pathetic, orchestrated play.
Harrison was sweating. He tried to mask it by aggressively cutting into his filet mignon and avoiding my gaze, but after eleven years of managing this man’s fragile ego, I knew his tells. The firm set of his jaw, the excessive grip on his wine glass, the way his eyes darted toward the exits—he was terrified. He had brought Savannah tonight expecting a spectacular explosion. He wanted me to scream, to flip a plate, to storm out into the humid New York night in a fit of hysterical tears. He needed me to look crazy so he could justify the fact that he was discarding a decade of my loyalty for a twenty-six-year-old junior partner.
But my serene, unblinking smile was tearing his nerves to shreds.
"To family," Eleanor announced, tapping her silver fork against her flute. She stood at the head of the table, her Chanel pearls gleaming. She looked down at Savannah with a warm, welcoming maternal gaze that she had never once offered me in eleven years. "And to the courage it takes to pursue true happiness, no matter how complicated the transition might be. We are so thrilled to have you here, Savannah."
"Thank you, Eleanor," Savannah purred, lifting her glass. She looked down the length of the table, locking eyes with me, a smirk playing on her glossed lips. "It feels so wonderful to finally be sitting exactly where I belong."
"Actually," I said.
My voice was not a shout. It was barely above a conversational murmur, yet it cut through the dining room like a crack of thunder. All twenty-five heads snapped toward the far end of the table. I slowly set my crystal glass down, picked up my designer clutch, and stood. The velvet of my black evening gown brushed silently against the hardwood floor as I began the long walk toward the head of the table.
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"Sit down, Evelyn," Eleanor hissed, her face flushing with sudden, aristocratic panic. "Do not ruin this evening. We agreed to be civil."
"I am being perfectly civil, Eleanor," I smiled, coming to a stop directly behind Harrison’s chair. I could smell Savannah’s cheap, overly sweet perfume. Harrison swallowed so hard his Adam's apple bobbed. "It is my tenth wedding anniversary. I wouldn't dream of showing up empty-handed. I brought a gift."
