Chapter 2 - The Bel Air Illusion
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The grand foyer was a sea of designer dresses, tailored tuxedos, and diamond necklaces. Servants in black vests carried silver trays loaded with caviar and vintage wine.
At the center of the ballroom stood my son, Victor.
He looked striking in a custom three-piece suit, his hair swept back, holding court like a king before his subjects. Beside him sat his wife, Vanessa, draped in a backless silk gown that cost more than a family car.
“Look around this room!” Victor boomed, holding his glass high as guests applauded. “When you work hard and back yourself, you build a life like this! Every stone of this place represents ambition!”
Vanessa leaned in, whispering loud enough for the nearby table to hear.
“And to think,” she chuckled, swirling her champagne, “some people settle for suburban tract homes. Isn't it wonderful to be surrounded by real success?”
I stood near the entrance, holding my small package.
A few guests glanced my way, their eyes taking in my sensible flat shoes and unstyled gray hair. I saw the faint sneers, the subtle nudges, the silent judgment of people who measured worth purely by gold embroidery.
Victor’s eyes swept across the foyer and landed on me.
His smile vanished instantly.
He set his glass down on a passing server's tray and strutted across the marble floor, his polished leather shoes clicking against the stone. Vanessa followed close behind, her eyes glinting with malicious delight.
“Mother,” Victor said, his tone flat and cold. “I told you the party started at seven. It’s almost eight. You’re drawing eyes.”
“The traffic on the canyon was heavy, Victor,” I said gently, offering him a warm smile. “Happy birthday, son.”
May you like
I held out the brown paper package.
“I brought you something special.”
