Chapter 4 - Unmasking the Lie
Bianca stared at the repulsive green chunk of bread on the silver platter, her face draining of color. "What... what is that disgusting thing?"
"Dinner," Ethan answered. "That was Christmas dinner for Mia, Grace, Ava, and Chloe."
Whispers rippled through the guests like wildfire. Several high-society women in designer gowns gasped, taking a step back.
"Ethan, you’re drunk," Bianca hissed under her breath, dropping off the table and landing unsteadily on the marble. She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in. "Stop this right now. We have investors here! The senator’s wife is standing ten feet away!"
"The senator's wife might want to know where the five million dollars I wired to this household went," Ethan replied, pulling his arm away from her touch as if she were venomous.
He signaled to Mark Vance, who stepped forward holding a thick manila folder and a wireless tablet connected to the estate’s main projector screen. With a single click, the massive digital wall behind the DJ booth lit up.
Instead of Bianca’s curated slideshow of glamour shots, bank statements began scrolling across the screen in giant black-and-white figures.
"One hundred and twenty thousand dollars at Cartier yesterday," Ethan narrated calmly, his voice ringing out to every corner of the room. "Eighty-five thousand at Chanel. Forty thousand for an exclusive yacht reservation in Cabo next week for you and your personal trainer."
A sharp collective intake of breath swept through the guests. Bianca’s eyes darted frantically toward a tall, athletic man standing by the bar—Julian, her so-called 'pilates instructor.' Julian immediately set his glass down and tried to slip out the side terrace doors, only to find two of Ethan’s private security officers barring the exit.
"Meanwhile," Ethan continued, walking closer until Bianca was backed against the table, "the temperature in the west wing was forty-one degrees Fahrenheit. The pantry in their quarters held two empty water jugs and a box of crackers that expired in 2021."
"They're just kids, Ethan!" Bianca shrieked, her mask completely slipping into hysterical rage. "They make messes! They scream! You left me alone in this giant, lonely house with four toddlers who aren't even mine! Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?!"
"They aren't toddlers," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "They are five years old. And they aren't yours. You will never see them, speak to them, or breathe the same air as them again."
May you like
He turned to the crowd of stunned socialites. "The party is over. You have five minutes to leave my house before my security team files trespassing charges on every single person in this room."
***
