At that moment Emily turned sharply to the guards as she passed through the gates, her heels clicking with irritation on the marble floor.
"You two," she hissed through her clenched teeth, "should consider yourselves out of work once this event is over."
At that moment her eyes narrowed with disdain before she spun around and strutted into the building, not bothering to wait for a response.
The guards exchanged glances, unease settling on their faces.
Moments later, a soft hush rolled over the entrance once again as a new car approached—this time, a white Rolls-Royce, polished to perfection and gleaming under the lights like a pearl among coal.
Immediately The valet opened the door gently.
A single leg stepped out, followed by a slender silhouette dressed entirely in white.
Cora.
She emerged from the car like a phantom of grace and vengeance, her figure clothed in a custom white dress that sparkled subtly under the lights, each step controlled, each glance precise, No escort, No grand announcement.
Yet her presence pulled every breath from the air.
Inside the Dazzling Red Event Hall, the night was already underway.
The massive crystal chandeliers bathed the room in soft gold, reflecting off the tables, wine glasses, and polished shoes of the city's finest. Dozens of round tables filled the vast space, all seated with elite guests. The press had gathered in clusters, cameras flashing at timed intervals.
The event host had already given the welcome speech, and the mayor had just finished his formal words.
Then came the moment the hall had been buzzing about.
The announcer's voice echoed through the speakers. "And now… the award for Sun River City's Rising Business Guru goes to…"
A slight pause.
"Mr. James Lorenzo!"
Immediately the crowd erupted in applause.
James rose confidently, his smile practiced and wide. Emily beamed at him, rising beside him with elegance, gently adjusting the sleeve of his jacket before he moved toward the stage.
Immediately Phones went up. Cameras clicked.
James took the stage with pride, the spotlight following him like it had always belonged to him. He was handed a golden plaque inscribed with his name, and he faced the audience with authority.
"Thank you," he said into the microphone. "This award means more to me than I can explain. It represents not just success, but faith—faith in growth, in resilience, and in the people who helped me get here."
He paused and smiled warmly at Emily in the front row.
"I dedicate this award," he continued, "to Emily—my girlfriend, my partner, and the woman behind my journey. She's been the one handling my darkest hours, managing my workload, keeping the business afloat when I doubted myself, and pushing me to reach beyond."
He raised the award slightly. "This is for her."
Another round of applause erupted across the room. Whispers of admiration circled the hall.
But then—A single voice cut through the clapping.
"Are you sure you're telling the truth, James?"
The applause halted almost instantly.
At that moment heads turned. Whispers died.
Everyone followed the sound of the voice.
There, at the far end of the hall, standing tall in her white dress under the entrance spotlight…Was Cora.
Now all eyes turned toward the woman standing beneath the entry lights.
Whispers rippled through the room like a wave.
"Who is that?"
"She wasn't announced…"
"She looks… important."
Cora stood tall in her white dress, her posture regal, her presence impossible to ignore, Every movement she made carried the kind of grace that only came from power true power.
James's expression darkened the moment he saw her. The smile fell from his face like a shattered mask.
'What is she doing here?' His mind raced.
'Who let her in?'
He quickly turned toward the side of the stage, signaling for the technician, but when he brought the mic back to his lips, it was dead.
No sound.
He tapped it once, twice but the microphone refused to work. He looked to the event crew, gesturing with urgency, but they only exchanged confused glances. A technician in the wings began fumbling with the equipment, but the damage was done.
At that moment Cora stepped forward, her heels echoing with each step across the marble floor, her voice clear and sharp.
"James Lorenzo doesn't deserve that award," she said, cutting through the tension like a blade. "He's a cunning rat in a tailored suit. There are homeless men on these streets more dignified than he is."
Gasps filled the room.
Cora kept walking, closer to the stage, unbothered by the growing panic on James's face.
"He tricked his way into every contract. Lied, cheated, manipulated and stood on the backs of others to climb," she said. "The only thing James has ever been good at… is pretending."
At that moment James was burning. His fists clenched at his sides, his lips moving in silent curses as he gestured for another mic. Still nothing.
The crowd was now split some frozen in shock, others whispering intensely, a few even beginning to question everything they thought they knew about him.
Without wasting anymore time Emily stood up.
Her heart was racing, her eyes wide with disbelief and fury. She looked at the stage, then at Cora steadily making her way down the aisle like a queen reclaiming her throne.
'No. This can't go on. She's ruining everything.'
Without wasting anymore time Emily rushed forward, jaw tight and hands clenched.
She was going to stop Cora—drag her out if she had to—before she said another word of this rubbish show.
Emily stormed forward and blocked Cora's path, her heels screeching slightly against the marble as she planted herself directly in front of her.
She raised her chin defiantly, her voice sharp and soaked in venom. "Step back, Cora," she spat. "You're no longer James' wife—have you forgotten that? This isn't your stage anymore, it's—"
"SLAP!"
The sound echoed across the hall like a thunderclap.
Cora's hand struck Emily's face with such force that her head jerked to the side, her balance tipping as she staggered backward, nearly falling in front of the stunned crowd.
Gasps filled the room, a wine glass somewhere shattered on the floor.
Emily blinked in disbelief, her cheek flaming red as she slowly brought her fingers up to touch it.
"You…" she whispered. "You slapped me?"
But before she could respond, five security men rushed in through the side of the hall, alerted by the commotion. Their uniforms were sleek, their expressions unreadable.
Emily's expression twisted with rage. Her pride had never taken a hit like this, not in public, not ever.
She pointed a trembling, furious finger at Cora. "Throw her out!" she screamed. "Kick her out of here! Drag her out and beat her into the ground if you have to! She needs to be made an example of!"
She turned to the crowd and stood tall, brushing her gown with pride as she straightened up again. "No one gets away with slapping me," she declared. "No one insults the future wife of James Lorenzo!"
But the security men didn't move.
Not a step, they stood perfectly still.
Not a flicker of action in their eyes. No radio calls. No movement toward Cora.
At that moment Emily's face dropped, confusion setting in.
"What are you waiting for?" she barked. "I said remove her!"
Still, they didn't move.
And then Cora, calm as ice, lifted her hand and pointed not at herself, but at Emily.
Her voice was quiet, but it sliced through the tension like a blade.
"Kick her out."