Loraine's POV
A few weeks later...
The fashion show hadn't just been a success; it was a landslide.
The roar of the crowd as the final model took the runway had been the sweetest sound of my life-a validation that I had built something powerful, beautiful, and entirely mine.
The Stranton name was on the invite, but the vision was one hundred percent Loraine. Me
Creating a name of my own has long been my dream. I endured the consequences of a loveless, trustless marriage solely to pursue this path-to finally break free from the weight of my family's legacy.
I recognize the privilege in this, and I am deeply grateful for it, but I needed a life of my own, unburdened by the chains of my Family name .
Now, the ballroom was transformed into a glittering after-party.
It was the peak of the celebration, filled with the hum of success and the clinking of champagne flutes.
I had slipped away briefly to catch my breath in the quiet of the private lounge, reveling in the silence before stepping back into the fray.
The show has been everything and more for me. I can't believe I did it.
I am proud of myself for getting me here.
From this moment on, I refuse to wallow in loneliness or disappointment. I will face every challenge head-on.
I am a strong, resilient woman, and I know my worth-I am the greatest prize any man could hope for.
As for Drey Stranton, he will eventually realize the magnitude of his mistake in breaking my heart...
When the announcer's voice boomed through the hall, signaling my entrance, I took one final look in the mirror. I stepped into the venue, ready to bask in the triumph of the night.
But as I rounded the corner into the main ballroom, the atmosphere hit me like a physical wall. The music hadn't stopped, but the energy had curdled. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of a thousand eyes all fixed on one spot.
I scanned the room and saw them: Drey, his parents, Samantha, and my brother Nathan.
They were huddled in a tight, fractured circle. And then, I saw the source of the rot.
Angelica.
She had somehow bypassed security, her presence an ugly stain on the perfection of the night.
She was wearing a dress the color of fresh blood, her hair disguised, and her face twisted in a look of manic entitlement.
Samantha had Angelica's arm in a bruising grip, her face flushed with rage, while Drey stood frozen, looking as if he'd been struck by lightning.
His parents hovered behind him, their expressions shifting from confusion to cold, sharp accusation as they looked at their son.
I didn't panic.
I didn't run.
I took a steadying breath, smoothed the front of my gown, and walked toward the commotion with the slow, deliberate gait of a queen approaching a skirmish.
"Stop," I said. My voice was calm, melodic, and resonant.
It wasn't a shout, but it sliced through the suffocating tension of the room like a blade.
The music didn't actually stop, but the guests around us certainly did.
Security guards paused, waiting for my signal.
Angelica, who had been spewing venom, choked on her own words, her eyes widening as she locked gazes with me.
I stopped a few feet from her and tilted my head, looking at her with nothing but cold, detached pity.
"Angelica," I said softly. I turned to the room, my smile polite and untouchable. "Please, everyone-do not be alarmed. It seems my husband's past has come looking for attention, but let us not ruin a night dedicated to art and collaboration with such... desperation."
I looked back at Angelica, my gaze hardening.
"You wanted a spotlight? You have it. But look around you. This isn't a stage for your delusions. It is a room full of people who value class, success, and truth."
I took a step closer, my voice low enough only for the surrounding crowd to hear.
"If you had a shred of self-respect left, you would walk out of these doors right now. But if you have something to say, say it now, or forever hold your peace. What is it going to be?"
Angelica opened her mouth, but the venom was gone, replaced by a chilling realization: I wasn't humiliated. I was in control.
The audience, who had initially been shocked, began to shift. The whispers turned into murmurs of disgust directed not at me, but at her.
"I-I..." she stammered, looking at Drey, then at the wall of cold, judgmental faces around her.
"I thought so," I said, turning my back on her as if she were already irrelevant. I faced the crowd, my voice clear and ringing with authority.
"My marriage is as strong as the work you see on this runway. Outside forces can craft whatever narrative they choose, but the truth is evident in the support I have here tonight."
A ripple of applause broke out, growing louder by the second. It started with a few guests, then spread like wildfire, a wave of support that turned into a roar. Some people in the crowd began to clap and shame Angelica for the stunt.
Humiliated and exposed, she ripped her arm away from Samantha and bolted toward the exit.
I turned to Drey, whose eyes were fixed on me with raw, incredulous awe.
I offered him a tight, professional smile-the kind you give a colleague you barely tolerate.
"Shall we?" I asked, gesturing toward the center of the room. "The celebration must go on."
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