Chapter 4
532words
The woman in the mirror wore a black backless mermaid gown that accentuated every curve, her eyes blazing with determination.
This was not merely a gown.
It was my armor for battle.
The six-star hotel hosting the gala boasted crystal chandeliers that rivaled the stars in brilliance.
A procession of luxury vehicles delivered elegantly attired guests to the grand entrance.
As I emerged from the Rolls-Royce, a familiar grating voice assaulted my ears,
"Olivia Blackwood?! Why are you haunting us like some persistent ghost?!"
Ethan Reynolds and his parents stood at the hotel entrance.
Margaret Reynolds was squeezed into a garish red gown, dripping with ostentatious jewelry like a walking display case.
Ethan lunged forward, seizing my wrist roughly:
"Didn't I warn you not to interfere?
Do you have any idea what kind of event this is?"
His gaze darted to the Rolls-Royce and James Sullivan, naked envy contorting his features:
"What's this arrangement? Found yourself a wealthy patron?
Don't embarrass me here, Olivia!"
James Sullivan moved forward with fluid precision, gripping Ethan's wrist with calculated pressure.
"Remove your hand from Miss Blackwood. Immediately."
Ethan winced in pain as his parents hastily pulled him away.
Margaret assessed my appearance with contempt:
"Son, look at her dress—obviously a cheap knockoff!
Security would eject her even if she somehow slipped past the door!"
Her deliberately loud voice drew attention from nearby guests, who regarded us with undisguised curiosity.
I dismissed them with a slight nod to James: "Let's proceed."
I strode directly toward the VIP entrance, where security staff immediately opened the doors with deferential bows.
Inside the grand ballroom, a kaleidoscope of lights and colors dazzled the senses.
From behind velvet curtains on the mezzanine level, I observed the ballroom through a high-definition monitoring screen.
The Reynolds family maneuvered through the crowd, their faces fixed with obsequious smiles.
Ethan attempted to engage with every influential guest, resembling nothing so much as a desperate social climber.
The gala officially commenced as the venue lights dramatically dimmed!
Through the expectant murmurs, a powerful spotlight illuminated the grand staircase.
In that brilliant circle of light stood my father, microphone in hand, radiating quiet authority.
His commanding voice resonated throughout the ballroom:
"Thank you all for attending the Blackwood Group's annual gala.
Tonight, I wish to formally introduce someone very special to our organization."
He paused strategically, the room falling into expectant silence.
"My daughter, the sole heir to the Blackwood Group."
The curtains parted before me.
The brilliant spotlight momentarily dazzled me.
I descended the staircase with measured steps, feeling hundreds of eyes tracking my every movement.
Father extended his hand, drawing me close with a proud smile.
His voice carried with renewed conviction:
"She is Olivia Blackwood!
Beginning tomorrow, operational control of the Blackwood Group will transition to her capable hands. I have absolute confidence that my daughter will prove an exceptional leader!"
Thunderous applause erupted throughout the ballroom.
My gaze swept past countless admiring faces to find one particular frozen figure in the crowd.
With a distinct "thud," Ethan Reynolds' champagne flute slipped from nerveless fingers.
Much like his crumbling future.
