Chapter 72 THE GALA PART 3
A server directed Vivienne and Alexander to the head table, elevated slightly above the rest.
"You're here," the server said, pointing to a place card with Vivienne's name in elegant script.
Between two other cards.
Alexander Hunt on her right. Victoria Hunt on her left.
Vivienne's stomach dropped.
"Is there a problem?" Alexander asked, noticing her hesitation.
"No. It's fine."
But it wasn't fine. She'd be sandwiched between mother and son for the rest of the night.
Alexander pulled out her chair. Vivienne sat, smoothing her dress, trying to look calm.
Victoria arrived a moment later, gliding into her seat without acknowledging Vivienne at first. She greeted the investors across the table with a warm smile.
Then she turned to Vivienne.
"So, Ms. Cross." Victoria unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. "I don't think we finished our conversation earlier. All that unpleasantness with Camille."
"There's not much to finish," Vivienne said.
"Oh, I think there is." Victoria's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You mentioned you have a son. What's his name?"
"Noah."
"Noah. That's lovely. Biblical name. Does it have special meaning for you?"
"I just liked it."
"And he's nine, you said?"
"Yes."
"That's such a wonderful age. Still young enough to need their mother, but old enough to be independent. Explains why a mother with a young child can conveniently attend a late night gala." Victoria signaled a waiter for wine. "Does he take after you or his father?"
Vivienne didn't understand the usefulness of that question.
"People say he takes after me," Vivienne managed.
"I'm sure he's beautiful. Children always are." Victoria accepted her wine glass. "And his father? He's okay with you here tonight?"
Alexander leaned over. "Mother, can we not do this during dinner?"
"Do what? I'm simply getting to know your star employee. Surely that's allowed." Victoria took a sip of wine. "You're so secretive about your personal life, Ms. Cross. It makes one curious."
"I prefer to keep work and personal separate."
"That's admirable. But sometimes the lines blur, don't they?" Victoria's gaze drifted over Vivienne's face. "You have such interesting features. Very striking. Almost like they've been carefully constructed."
Vivienne's hand tightened on her fork.
"Have you had work done?" Victoria asked. "There's no shame in it. Many women do. Though I must say, your surgeon did excellent work. Very natural looking."
"Mother," Alexander's voice held a warning.
"What? It's a compliment." Victoria tilted her head, studying Vivienne in the light. "Though I do see some scarring. Here." She gestured vaguely toward her own jaw. "And here, by the hairline. Barely noticeable unless you know what to look for."
Vivienne couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
"Facial reconstruction?" Victoria suggested. "An accident perhaps?"
"I don't think that's appropriate," Alexander said.
"Alexander, I'm simply making conversation." Victoria turned her attention to her salad as servers placed the first course in front of them. "Ms. Cross doesn't mind. Do you?"
"Not at all," Vivienne lied.
Dinner progressed in courses. Salad. Soup. Some kind of fish with sauce that had a French name. Vivienne barely tasted any of it. She moved food around her plate, took small bites when she thought people were watching, and tried to ignore Victoria's continued questions.
Where in Brooklyn exactly does she live? What neighborhood?
What did her parents do for a living?
Where did she go to school?
Had she always been interested in performance work?
Each question felt like a test. Like Victoria was building a profile, looking for inconsistencies.
Alexander tried to help. He'd redirect conversations to the investors, talk about the project, engage other people at the table. But he was also busy networking, schmoozing, playing the role of confident CEO.
He couldn't protect Vivienne from every barb.
"You know what's strange," Victoria said during the main course. She'd switched to vodka at some point. "I keep feeling like I know you from somewhere."
"I don't think we've met."
"Are you sure? Because faces don't usually stick with me. But yours..." Victoria tapped a manicured nail against her glass. "There's something so familiar about your eyes. And that voice of yours."
"I have a common face."
"No, dear. You really don't." Victoria leaned closer, voice dropping. "In fact, you remind me of someone. A girl Alexander used to know. Years ago."
Vivienne's throat went dry.
"What girl?" she asked, because not asking would be worse.
"Oh, just some little nobody he was obsessed with in his twenties." Victoria waved her hand dismissively. "She was completely wrong for him, of course. Gold digger. Saw his money and latched on. Thankfully she disappeared before she could do any real damage."
"Mother, stop."
"Why? I'm sure Ms. Cross isn't interested in your ancient history." Victoria smiled. "Though it is funny, isn't it? How you keep choosing the same type. Mysterious women with no background. Women who appear out of nowhere."
"That's enough," Alexander said firmly.
Before Victoria could respond, someone on stage tapped a microphone.
"Good evening, everyone. If we could have your attention."
The room quieted. People set down forks and turned toward the stage.
"We'll be starting our program in about fifteen minutes. Please enjoy your meal, and we'll begin with remarks from Alexander Hunt shortly."
Fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes until Alexander's speech. Then hers.
Vivienne's phone vibrated in her clutch.
She ignored it.
It vibrated again.
Victoria glanced at her. "Someone's popular."
"Probably just Marcus," Vivienne said. "My business partner. He worries."
Another vibration. Then another.
"Maybe you should check," Victoria suggested. "It might be important."
Vivienne reluctantly pulled out her phone, angling it so Victoria couldn't see the screen.
Unknown number.
Four messages.
Her hands started shaking as she read them.
"Look across the room. Third table from the left. See me?"
Vivienne's eyes lifted, scanning the crowd. Third table from the left. She saw investors, their wives, some people she vaguely recognized from her visit to Hunt enterprise.
But no one stood out. No one watching her specifically.
The next message appeared.
"I've been very patient, Elara."
Her breath caught.
"Time to talk. East corridor. Service exit. Now."
Then the final message.
"Or everyone in this room learns the truth in the next 60 seconds."
Vivienne stared at the screen. The words blurred.
"Everything alright?" Alexander asked.
"Yes. Fine." She shoved the phone back in her clutch. "I just need to use the restroom."
"Now? They're about to start."
"I'll be quick."
She stood before he could argue. Before Victoria could make another comment. Before she lost her nerve entirely.
"Don't be too long, dear," Victoria called after her. "The speeches start soon. Wouldn't want you to miss your big moment."
Vivienne walked away from the table, weaving between servers and other guests. She didn't look back. Didn't let herself think about what she was doing.
The east corridor was easy to find. A sign pointed toward service areas and restrooms. She followed it.
The corridor was dimmer than the ballroom. Quieter. Staff moved past carrying trays and linens.
She found the service exit. A plain door marked "Staff Only."
Her phone buzzed.
"Good girl. Keep walking. Through the double doors."
Vivienne pushed through.
The hallway beyond was different. Concrete floors instead of marble. Fluorescent lights instead of chandeliers. The sounds of the gala faded, replaced by industrial hums and distant voices.
This was the hotel's underbelly. The parts guests never saw.
Another text appeared.
"Take the stairs down. One floor."
Vivienne found the stairwell. Metal steps, harsh lighting, the smell of cleaning products.
She hesitated at the top.
This was wrong. She knew it was wrong. The blackmailer was definitely leading her away from the ballroom and into a trap.
But what choice did she have?
If she went back now, everything would be over.
She descended the stairs.
The basement level was colder. The hum of machinery was louder down here. Pipes ran along the ceiling. Doors branched off in multiple directions, each one labeled with numbers or abbreviations that meant nothing to Vivienne.
Her phone lit up.
"Turn right. Then left. Second door on your right."
She followed the instructions, her dress dragging slightly against the rough floor.
Right. Then left.
The hallway stretched ahead of her, empty except for a few carts stacked with supplies.
Second door on the right.
She reached it. A plain door with a small window. Through it, she could see a storage room. Shelves. Boxes. No people.
Her phone buzzed again.
"Open it."
Vivienne's hand shook as she pushed the door open.
The room was empty. Just supplies and silence.
Another message.
"Keep going. Through the back. Third door down."
She walked through the storage room, past shelves of linens and cleaning supplies. Found another door at the back. Pushed through.
Another hallway. This one narrower. Darker.
"Third door down."
Vivienne counted. One. Two. Three.
She opened the third door.
Another empty room. Smaller this time. Filled with old furniture and equipment.
Her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen, dread building in her chest.
"Still following instructions? How obedient."
Then another message.
"You really thought I'd meet you? How naive, Elara."
Vivienne's stomach dropped.
This was a trap.
Her phone buzzed again.
"The speeches are starting. Did you hear? Alexander just took the stage. Looking for you in the crowd. Wondering where you are."
No.
No no no.
Vivienne spun around, ran back through the door into the hallway.
She needed to get back.
But which way had she come?
The hallways all looked the same. Gray concrete. Fluorescent lights. Doors that could lead anywhere.
She picked a direction and ran.
Her phone vibrated one more time.
"Lost? That's what you get for not staying dead."