Chapter 4 - The Gala of Pretenses
The firm’s annual charity gala was held that Thursday evening at the Grand Meridian Ballroom. Trevor had originally told Candace that spouses weren't encouraged to attend this year due to budget restrictions.
“It’s just boring corporate handshakes, Candy. You stay home and rest with Hope. You look exhausted anyway,” he had told her with patronizing sympathy that morning.
Candace had smiled, lowered her eyes, and nodded.
At seven-thirty, Candace pulled up to the valet at the Grand Meridian.
She had spent the afternoon at a salon with Rachel. Her messy bun was replaced by sleek, glossy waves cascading down her back. A professional artist had erased the dark circles beneath her eyes, accentuating her sharp cheekbones with subtle bronze. She wore a tailored midnight-blue slip dress that clung gracefully to her curves, paired with simple sapphire earrings her grandmother had left her.
She walked into the ballroom with her head held high.
The room was filled with crystal chandeliers, champagne flutes, and the low drone of corporate ambition. Candace didn’t search the crowd frantically; she simply scanned the perimeter near the VIP tables.
It took less than two minutes.
Trevor stood near the private balcony, a glass of bourbon in his hand, laughing loudly. Right beside him, her hand casually resting on his forearm, was Vanessa.
Around Vanessa’s neck hung the three-carat oval diamond pendant, catching the ballroom lights with blinding brilliance.
Candace took a sip of water from a passing tray and glided toward them. The marble floor gave no warning of her approach until she was standing barely three feet away.
“Good evening, Trevor,” Candace said, her tone smooth, melodic, and impossibly calm.
Trevor froze mid-laugh. The glass in his hand wobbled, bourbon sloshing dangerously close to the rim. His face drained of color so fast it was almost comical.
“C-Candace?” he stammered, his eyes widening in sheer panic. “What are you doing here? Who’s with Hope?”
“Rachel has her,” Candace replied, offering a radiant, disarming smile. She turned her gaze to Vanessa, whose hand had instantly dropped from Trevor’s arm as if burned. “And you must be Vanessa. Trevor has talked about how hard you’ve been working on his accounts.”
Vanessa blinked, caught completely off-guard. “Yes... Candace. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Candace’s eyes lingered on the sparkling diamond pendant resting on Vanessa’s collarbone. “What a stunning piece of jewelry. Oval cut, isn’t it? It looks almost brand new. Did you pick it up today?”
Trevor’s throat bobbed. He cleared his throat loudly, stepping between them. “Candace, let’s go outside. You shouldn't be here, you're not fully recovered, the noise—”
“I feel wonderful, Trevor,” Candace interrupted, her voice carrying just enough to draw the curious glance of a senior managing partner standing nearby. “In fact, I haven't felt this clear-headed in months. Don't worry about coming home early tonight. Take your time closing those... important accounts.”
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She didn't scream. She didn't throw her drink in his face. She simply gave Trevor a cold, lingering look that stripped away every scrap of his arrogance, turned on her heel, and walked out into the cool night air.
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