Chapter 6 - The Matriarch's Fury
Before Isabella could say another word, the sharp, authoritative click of heels on marble shattered the tension. Evelyn Hartley, her face pale as a sheet but twisted into a mask of absolute fury, marched across the ballroom floor. The crowd parted for her as if she were Moses parting the Red Sea.
"Security!" Evelyn barked, her voice booming with an authority that brooked no argument. "Remove this woman from the premises immediately. She is a fraud, an extortionist looking for a payout!"
Two large men in dark suits immediately stepped from the shadows of the room, moving toward Amelia.
Amelia didn't run. She didn't flinch. She stood her ground, her green eyes locking onto the elderly woman who shared her blood.
"Where did you get that?" Evelyn demanded, stopping mere inches from Amelia. Her eyes darted to the photograph in Isabella's trembling hands. "Who put you up to this vicious lie?"
"It isn't a lie," Amelia said, her voice steady despite the tear tracking down her cheek. "My adoptive father gave it to me before he died. His name was Thomas Miller. He was the groundskeeper at your summer estate thirty years ago."
Evelyn’s face twitched. It was a microscopic movement, a tiny fracture in her iron facade, but Amelia saw it. Isabella saw it, too.
"You are delusional," Evelyn hissed, leaning in close so only Amelia and Isabella could hear. "You think you can waltz into my family's event with a forged photograph and claim a piece of my empire? You are nothing."
"I don't want your money," Amelia replied, her voice loud enough for the nearest guests to hear. "I want the truth."
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She reached back into the satchel slung across her chest beneath her apron. The security guards hesitated, waiting for Evelyn's final command.
"I brought more than just a picture," Amelia announced.
