"Grandpa," Louisa—Liliane's cousin—said sweetly, placing a shining, lacquered case onto the glass table.
"This masterpiece is currently valued at over two hundred thousand dollars. I personally commissioned it from Bellwether Gallery, just for you." She added as she lifted the lid to reveal the glowing masterpiece branded Eternal Harmony, a shimmering canvas framed in gold. Her eyes, full of warmth, locked onto Lord Whitmore.
Lord Whitmore beamed. "Ah, Louisa… you never disappoint. I'm so proud of you." He said gladly.
Next came her younger brother, Preston, unwrapping a velvet box. Inside gleamed a Patek Philippe Calatrava, radiant under the chandelier light.
"Grandpa," he declared proudly, "this watch is a symbol of timeless elegance. Its market value is over one-fifty grand. But for me… it's just a way to say you're priceless."
Gasps of approval followed. Murmurs of admiration rippled across the family members.
Lord Whitmore laughed heartily, his hands raised in blessing, "I love you all. Such fine grandchildren. Please, have your seats."
Then suddenly a loud BANG echoed as the grand door flew open.
Liliane stumbled in, a little breathless, dressed in a simple blouse and faded skirt. Hair slightly undone. An old leather purse clutched tightly to her side.
"Hi everyone!" she called out with a nervous smile. "I hope I'm not too late…"
A silence fell and every head turned. Eyes scanned her from head to toe with undisguised disdain. Then a wave of laughter suddenly swept the room like wildfire.
"Well, look who remembered her roots," Louisa muttered under her breath, sipping champagne.
"God… that handbag looks like it crawled out of a dumpster," Preston whispered, loud enough for others to hear.
Then, a little girl sitting on her mother's lap pointed directly at Liliane and asked in a piercingly innocent voice:
"Mummy! Isn't that the aunt who married the crazy criminal?"
Laughter exploded in the hall like cannon fire.
Liliane stood frozen, her heart twisting, her knuckles white around her purse. The sting was unbearable but she refused to lower her gaze or make it obvious.
Then the ridiculous murmurs began…
"Heard her husband ran like a coward on the battlefield and got killed by the enemies."
"Killed? Spare me. I saw a video of a madman chirping like a bird on the street, looking exactly like him!"
"She's still taking care of him, you know? She actually took him into her home. Must be cursed or something."
"That's what happens when a poor girl tries to marry into power because of greed."
Liliane drew in a breath as she felt her throat tighten but no, she wouldn't let them see her break.
Lifting her chin, Liliane stepped toward an empty seat near the gift table and spoke, her voice soft, but laced with quiet steel:
"Well… if no one's offering me a seat, I'll offer myself one."
Just as she began to lower herself—
"If you dare sit there!" Lord Whitmore's thunderous voice cracked through the room like a whip.
Liliane froze mid-squat. Her spine straightened slowly. "But… others are sitting here too, Grandpa," she said gently, forcing composure.
Louisa scoffed, crossing her arms with flair. "Oh please! All of us here earned our seats according to the monetary value of our gifts." She flicked her hair back with mock grace. "And you? You think you can just walk in empty-handed and sit like royalty? What a joke."
A few chuckles rippled again. Liliane's gaze flicked to the table, stacked with glittering luxury: Rolexes, Hermès scarves, limited edition artworks, a fur coat draped like royalty's prize.
Then she took a step forward. "Well," she said slowly, eyes burning with quiet pride, "I may not have brought diamonds, but I also did bring something."
She reached into her leather bag and pulled out a small black nylon pouch. From it, she gently unfolded a hand-knitted towel, its threads a blend of soft grey and royal blue.
She walked up to the table and placed it gently before Lord Whitmore.
"I started knitting this towel two months ago," she said, voice trembling but honest. "I don't have Bellwether galleries or Swiss watches to my name… but I gave this towel my everything. Every thread is stitched with love and sincerity."
Then she looked him dead in the eyes. "I hope, Grandpa… it wipes away your sorrow. For eternity."
The room went still and a heartbeat passed. Then— CRACK.
Lord Whitmore slapped the table, rising like an erupting storm. "It is YOU and your cursed parents rotting in the grave that have sorrow, not me!"
Laughter burst from the family members like a dam breaking.
Liliane blinked. Her jaw clenched, her hands trembling at her side.
Lord Whitmore snatched the towel off the table, holding it as if it were a dead rat.
"Wait… Are you MOCKING me? What the hell is this… peasant trash?" He said, then yanked a gold lighter from his blazer pocket, flicked it open, and lit the towel's corner.
FWOOM.
The flames crawled quickly. He tossed it onto the floor and stepped on it like vermin.
"Others bring gifts worth fortunes, and YOU—YOU dare insult me with this rag? Telling me to use it 'wipe my sorrow'? Are you kind of crazy?!" He added furiously.
Liliane's breath caught, her chest heaving. But she didn't look away.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean it as an insult," Liliane's voice quivered, yet her spine stayed straight.
"You know I can't afford any of these luxury gifts. Not when you've been withholding eighty percent of my business profits for five years. Not when you threw me out of my father's mansion, forcing me to rent a rundown apartment with the last of my savings… All just for loving the man I married!"
The room fell into stunned silence. A few sharp gasps escaped the lips of guests. Murmurs began to stir like wind before a storm.
Lord Whitmore's expression twisted. He stepped forward, jabbing a finger toward her face.
"What?! Are you trying to humiliate me now? Trying to make me look bad?" he barked.
"I've been punishing you because you're a disgrace—marrying a lunatic, refusing to sign the divorce, and now dragging that madman into my son's house!"
Liliane's fists clenched at her sides. "Stop calling him that!" She said through gritted teeth. "He's not a lunatic. He's my husband. He's the love of my life."
Lady Virelle sneered, waving her hand like swatting a fly. "You're not even ashamed of yourself. Just look at you! You're the poorest and the most miserable member of this family. Mr. Darian is still willing to help you rise from your pitiful state—and yet, you persist with this madness."
Liliane's eyes filled with tears, but she refused to blink them away as she remained standing tall.
Lord Whitmore gave a dismissive grunt and waved at the chairs behind him. "Enough. You may sit on the floor below Louisa. I have serious investment matters to discuss with my actual children."
Liliane stared at him, frozen in disbelief. "Grandpa…? Did you just say—sit on the floor?" She queried, her brows furrowed then pointed a finger at Louisa. "Louisa is younger than me! How can you even suggest I sit beneath her like a servant?!" She added.
Lord Whitmore slammed his leg on the marble. "You can't be wasting my time here! You're even lucky I haven't had you thrown out! Sit your worthless self on the damn floor or I'll have the guards beat that arrogance out of you!"
Louisa rose from her chair with an arrogant smile.
"Grandpa, she'll never learn unless we teach her," she said sweetly, venom dripping from her tone.
She turned to the corner of the hall and called out, "You three—come here!"
Three guards in black suits marched forward.
"Hand me that belt."
One of them unhooked his thick leather belt and handed it over.
"Now grab her. She'll learn her place today."
Liliane gave a humorless laugh, clapping slowly as she stepped back. "What?! Grab who? Are you daft?" She said in disbelief as she turned to Louisa, a bitter smile stretching her lips. "You really can't stop to amaze me with your insolence. Who are you to even think of beating me?!" She added.
Lord Whitmore's voice roared again, "what are you waiting for?! CARRY HER!"
The guards surged forward. Despite her struggle and loud protest, they overpowered her, lifting her with cruel force and bending her over—her back facing Louisa, her arms restrained.
Louisa raised the belt high and the room fell into a breathless silence.
And then—BOOM. A thunderous voice echoed from the grand entrance, shaking the chandeliers.
"HOW DARE YOU!"
Louisa's hand froze in mid-air. Gasps erupted around the room. Heads turned.
A man stood at the doorway. His clothes were faded. Mud stained his sleeves. But his eyes… his eyes burned with terrifying clarity.
It was Elior.
Liliane's heart jumped to her throat. "Elior?" she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks.
He took a step forward. Then another. "Liliane," he then shouted, his voice frightening, "IS MY FUCKING WIFE!" His words cracked like thunder.
Gasps rippled as the guards froze and Louisa backed away, pale as chalk.