chapter5

The penthouse ballroom of River Tower blazed with light.

Champagne towers refracted brilliant light, the air thick with the scent of success and money.

Sebastian Thorne stood on a slightly elevated platform, his arm lightly around Lilith's waist, feeling the gazes from the crowd—envious, ingratiating, assessing.

He loved this feeling. The feeling of a conqueror.

Lilith nestled against him, her cheeks flushed from excitement and alcohol.

"Thank you, Seb." She said softly, her finger tracing circles on his cuff. "This is better than I ever dreamed."

"You deserve it." He smiled, raising his glass, signaling for the crowd to quiet down.

"Everyone!" His voice traveled through the microphone across the hall. "Tonight, we celebrate not only Wells Gallery's outstanding annual performance, but also the vision and persistence of a true artist—Lilith Vance!"

Thunderous applause. Flashlights focused on Lilith's radiant face. Sebastian's father nodded approvingly from below the stage.

Everything was going perfectly according to plan. Before the company went public, he needed this positive, humanistic image.

A successful entrepreneur supporting a talented mistress made a better story—and was better for stock prices—than a boring man stuck with a dull wife.

He glanced at his watch. 9:20 PM. Elara should have seen the news push about the party broadcast by now, right? He'd deliberately told her about this "important business event" this morning. She'd stay quietly at home as always.

"Now," the host's voice rang out, "let's review the gallery's wonderful moments this year through a short film!"

The hall's main lights dimmed, four massive screens lit up. Soft music began to play.

The footage initially showed gallery exhibition clips, artist interviews. But after ten seconds or so, the screen suddenly flickered, the image distorted, and the music cut off abruptly.

In its place appeared a crooked crayon drawing. Three stick figures, a huge sun, and those clear words: To Daddy Seb.

The applause below scattered to a stop, turning into confused murmurs.

The smile on Sebastian's face froze. He jerked his head toward the control booth, but the staff there looked equally bewildered.

The image switched. It was a screenshot of a document, clearly showing ownership information for the River Tower apartment, ultimately pointing to a trust closely associated with his name.

The whispers grew louder.

Then came photos. One after another, auto-playing. The family photo in front of the Christmas tree, him carrying a little boy on his shoulders laughing on the beach, all three with rosy cheeks at the ski resort... timestamps ruthlessly marking every important holiday over the past three years.

Deathly silence enveloped the ballroom. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen showing a Sebastian Thorne completely different from the devoted husband they knew.

Lilith's face turned deathly pale. She grabbed Sebastian's arm, nails digging into his flesh. "Turn it off! Turn it off now!" She shrieked at the staff, her voice distorted by fear.

But the footage continued. It was the title page of a "Future Life Fund" draft, the beneficiary anonymized as "L. Vance."

Finally came audio, accompanied by hidden camera footage from inside the gallery. Lilith's clear, contemptuous voice transmitted through the premium sound system, echoing through every corner:

"...Elara? She's just a boring vase, Seb's respectable decoration..."

"No—!" Lilith let out a short scream, nearly fainting.

Uproar exploded. Reporters frantically pressed shutters, guests' faces written with shock, disdain, and gleeful curiosity. Sebastian's father shot to his feet, face ashen.

Just then, all the footage disappeared, the screen freezing. Freezing on a woman's face.

Elara.

She looked utterly calm, hair loosely pulled back, sitting in what looked like a study. She looked directly into the camera, those eyes once full of gentle love now holding only icy emptiness.

She spoke, her voice clear, steady, transmitted through the speakers across the silent ballroom:

"Happy birthday, Lilith."

"This gift is called truth."

The screen went completely black.

...

Meanwhile, I was flying over the Atlantic.

I pulled out that old phone from my bag, the screen lighting up with countless unread notifications and missed calls from New York.

Sebastian's name kept flashing. I didn't open a single one, just calmly removed the SIM card, pressed it against the edge of the fold-down table, and gently snapped it.

A small crisp sound. The chip broke in two.

I stood and walked to the back of the cabin, dropping these two small pieces of plastic and metal into the airplane lavatory toilet. The flush swallowed them, silent and traceless.

Back at my seat, I pulled down the window shade.

New York's lights, noise, and that gorgeous ruin just pierced by the thunderbolt of "truth" all disappeared completely into the night behind me.

Ahead lay Rome's dawn.