Chapter 10 - The Queen of Rosewood
Two security guards stepped forward, firmly lifting Veronica Montgomery by her elbows and escorting her out through the grand double doors. She didn't scream anymore. She had no words left. She was simply an empty shell, led out into the cold night rain, stripped of her dignity, her son, and her borrowed fortune.
The remaining guests stood frozen, unsure of whether to speak, apologize, or flee.
Clara turned toward the grand hall. She looked at the two hundred high-society figures who had watched her humiliation in silence, who had laughed at Veronica's cruel jokes only an hour ago.
"The reception is over," Clara announced calmly, her voice carrying an unshakable dignity. "The catering staff and servers will be paid triple their standard rate for tonight’s disturbance. As for the rest of you... the valet is waiting outside. Good evening."
One by one, the guests bowed their heads in shame and filed out through the doors in complete silence, not daring to meet Clara’s gaze.
Within thirty minutes, the ballroom was empty, save for the cleaning crew and Harrison Sterling, who stood quietly near the entrance.
Harrison walked over, pulling a clean, dry handkerchief from his pocket and gently offering it to Clara.
"Your father would have been immensely proud of you tonight, Clara," Harrison said softly, a rare, warm smile touching his weathered face. "He always said you had his iron spine."
Clara looked down at the torn photograph in her hands. The image of Adrian was ruined, but the side showing her late father's warm, smiling face remained intact. She gently folded it and placed it inside her dress, close to her heart.
"He taught me well, Harrison," Clara said, letting out a long, cleansing breath. The suffocating weight of the past six months seemed to lift from her shoulders all at once. "File the petition for complete annulment first thing Monday morning on the grounds of fraud. And make sure the domestic abuse and fraud charges against Veronica are pursued to the fullest extent of the law."
"Consider it done, Madam Chairwoman," Sterling nodded respectfully.
Clara walked out onto the grand stone terrace of Rosewood Manor. The cool night breeze ruffled her blonde hair, loosening the lace pins and letting her hair fall freely across her shoulders.
She looked out over the vast, rolling green hills of the estate Arthur Vance had built with integrity, honesty, and unyielding strength. She was not a victim. She had never been a stray.
She was Clara Vance. And she was finally, completely free.
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If you were in Clara's shoes at that table, would you have exposed them immediately, or would you have let them destroy themselves just like she did?
