Chapter 83 Digging for Gold
Gasps broke out across the hall, sharp enough to cut through the music. The glittering chatter died, replaced by the low hum of shock that swelled until it filled every corner of the room.
Lena blinked, startled, as heads bent over glowing phones. The atmosphere shifted in seconds, smiles vanished, replaced with frowns, and muffled exclamations.
"What is this?"
"Good heavens..."
"No, it can't be"
Her stomach tightened. She glanced to the side, catching a flash of a phone screen. For a moment, her mind refused to process it.
The video was grainy, the lighting dim, but the figure on the screen... It was her. Her gown, her hair, the exact way her profile caught the light. She stood in a narrow Roman street, leaning into the arms of a man who pulled her close. His lips grazed her cheek, and she seemed to cling to him, unwilling to part.
Lena's breath lodged in her throat. That's me?.
Her knees wobbled, fingers curling at her sides. No,it isn't. Yet the image stared back at her, convincingly, as though a piece of her had been ripped from reality and twisted into something sordid.
"She was in Rome..." someone whispered harshly.
"On their honeymoon, no less."
"A shameless little tramp."
"Poor Ethan."
"She's after his money, that's all this ever was."
"Everyone knew she was a gold digger."
The words fell like stones. Each one heavier than the last, each one hammering her deeper into the floor. Heat flushed her face, not from guilt but from the unbearable sting of humiliation.
At the far end of the room, Vivienne lingered with a glass of champagne. Her lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as she leaned toward a cluster of guests.
"So tragic," she murmured, her voice carrying just enough. "To betray him in Rome of all places... during the honeymoon. Such disrespect."
Her companions gasped, the spark fanned into flame.
"Disgraceful."
"He deserves better."
"She's not fit to be a Sinclair."
Lena's chest rose and fell rapidly, her mind screaming at the injustice of it, but no words could form. Her eyes darted across the room, they found Ethan.
He had his phone in hand. For one agonizing heartbeat, she watched him scroll, his expression giving nothing away. He studied the video, the damning clip everyone else had already condemned her for. Her pulse thundered in her ears. He knew she hadn't left his side in Rome. He knew. All he had to do was speak.
But when Ethan raised his head, his face was carved from ice. Without a word, he slipped the phone into his pocket, turned smoothly toward the stage, and lifted a hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice cutting through the storm of whispers. "Thank you for coming tonight. It means a great deal to me that you've taken the time to be here. Enjoy the evening."
Nothing more. Not a denial. Not a defense. Just the briefest acknowledgment before he turned away, the matter brushed aside as if it were too small, too insignificant, to touch him.
Around Lena, the whispers didn't stop. If anything, they grew sharper, emboldened by his silence. She stood rigid, her throat burning, eyes fixed on the man who had just let the world tear her apart.
And in the corner, Vivienne's smile gleamed like the edge of a knife.
Lena was shocked, stunned that Ethan had said nothing. He had just brushed it off, as though her name and reputation weren't worth defending. The silence cut deeper than any insult could.
The eyes on her were heavy, piercing, intimidating. People didn't even bother to hide their contempt; they cursed at her openly, their voices sharp enough to wound.
"She never belonged here."
"A disgrace to the Sinclair name."
"Gold digger."
Each word pressed her smaller and smaller, until she felt like a child lost in a crowd too vast, too cruel. She knew she didn't fit into this world, and tonight was a brutal reminder. For someone to go as far as forging a video just to ruin her, it was too much to bear.
Her throat tightened. She bent her head low, trying to shield herself from the stares as she moved past the crowd. She didn't know exactly where she was going, only that she had to leave.
Her first thought was the garden outside, a breath of air to steady herself, but when she glanced toward the doors, the space was already too crowded, too exposed. The whispers would follow her there.
So she turned toward the staircase instead. Her trembling hands brushed against her gown as she hurried forward. She could feel the heat of their mockery burning into her back, and each step through them felt like walking barefoot across broken glass. A tear threatened to spill, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep it from falling until she was safe.
The staircase loomed ahead. She caught the rail with desperate fingers and climbed quickly, her heart racing. The higher she went, the fainter the music and voices became. The glitter and perfume of the ballroom faded behind her.
At last, she reached the landing and vanished into the dim hallway, swallowed by its quiet. Her breath came in shuddering waves, her chest tight as she fought to hold herself together.
Her room felt so safe, like a different world entirely, untouched by the noise and venom below. The moment she slipped inside, she turned the key in the lock with trembling fingers, shutting the rest of the house, and everyone in it, away from her.
She leaned against the door for a heartbeat, and then the dam broke. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting, no longer held back by pride or control. She pressed her hands to her face, but it did nothing to stop the ache that spread through her chest.
Sadness crashed over her, tangled with disappointment so sharp it felt like betrayal. Ethan had stood there, silent, brushing off the scandal as though her name and reputation weren't worth defending. She knew their marriage was a contract, that it had never been about love. But tonight proved something even colder, that he didn't care for her at all as a person.
And that hurt more than she had ever thought it would.
She had started, in some quiet corner of her heart, to see Ethan as a safe place. His presence had become steadying, his protection something she had unconsciously leaned on. But she had been wrong. So very wrong.
The safety she thought she'd found was an illusion, and the realization hollowed her. She sank onto the edge of the bed, covering her face, her shoulders shaking as sobs tore through her chest.
Here, in the stillness of her room, the truth was clearer than ever: Ethan might have been her husband in name, but she was utterly alone.
A sudden knock on the door jolted her back to reality. The sound was sharp against the silence, pulling her upright, her heart leaping in panic.
Whoever it was, she didn't want to see them. Not now. Not when her face was streaked with tears, not when her chest still ached from the weight of humiliation.
The knock came again, harder this time, more insistent. The handle rattled once.
"Go away!" she cried, her voice breaking. She pressed her palms to her ears, wishing the sound would vanish with the people downstairs, wishing she could vanish too.
But the knocking didn't stop. It grew more firm, steady, and commanding.
"Open the door, Lena," Ethan's voice cut through, deep and unmistakable.
Her breath hitched. Of all people, he was the last she wanted to face.