Chapter 84
Grace's POV
Back in the banquet hall, Grandma Eleanor found me first, looking more mysterious than usual.
"Grandma, I'm so glad you came too," I smiled.
"I'm delighted as well, dear, " Eleanor said. "And I want you to meet someone special."
As she pulled me toward a table, I saw Alex talking with a man who bore a striking resemblance to him, though more mature, with more lines on his face.
It was Alex's father. He had come too, which I hadn't expected.
"Mr. Morgan," I said, approaching him with my hand extended. "It's an honor to meet you."
He took my hand, his smile warm and genuine. "I'd prefer you call me Dad. After all, we're family now."
These simple words hit me harder than I expected. Dad. A familial affection I had never experienced.
"Until yesterday I was still tied up with company affairs and couldn't get away," Leon continued. "Today I have a chance to relax, and I couldn't miss the opportunity to meet the woman who has captured my son's heart."
I glanced at Alex, who was watching this interaction with an unreadable expression. "Thank you for coming."
Leon reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. "I have something for you. A welcome gift, if you will."
He opened the box to reveal a vintage necklace, but this didn't diminish its value in the slightest.
"This has been in the Morgan family for five generations," Leon said, taking my hand. "Every Morgan bride has worn it. It would be our honor if you'd accept it."
The weight of the box as he placed it in my hands felt like more than just jewelry—it felt like acceptance, like belonging, like finally being chosen by a family that valued me.
"It's beautiful," I whispered, gazing at the emerald that caught the light like captured fire. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely certain." Leon's eyes crinkled with genuine affection. "Welcome to the family, Grace."
Alex stepped forward and took out the necklace to put it on me. When he looked up at me, there was something soft and warm in his eyes that I'd never seen before.
"Perfect," he murmured. "It suits you."
As my conversation with Alex's father came to an end, Elizabeth announced the beginning of the banquet. She led me to the center with a false smile.
The banquet sparkled around us like a carefully orchestrated performance. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the city's most powerful figures, their conversations a symphony of billion-dollar deals and political maneuvering. Elizabeth insisted I sit at the main table, her arm linked through mine as she paraded me around like a prized possession.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced with theatrical warmth, "I want you all to meet our Grace, the pride of the Wilson family."
Our Grace. The possessive tone made my skin crawl. I smiled politely, but something felt wrong. Elizabeth's performance was too perfect, too calculated.
"You look radiant tonight, darling," she whispered in my ear, her grip tightening on my arm. "I do hope you're ready for what's to come."
My blood chilled. What's to come?
The Morgan family delegation occupied the VIP section, their presence commanding respect from every corner of the room. Alex caught my eye from across the hall. When our gazes met, he nodded slightly—a silent promise that he was watching.
Elizabeth guided me toward the stage, her smile never wavering. "Now, Grace, it's time for the evening's most important announcement."
She took the microphone with practiced ease, her voice carrying across the hushed ballroom. "Tonight, I have the pleasure of sharing some wonderful news with all of you. Our beloved Grace, the Wilson family heir, and Mr. Alex Morgan of Morgan International, have reached a formal business alliance through marriage."
Polite applause rippled through the crowd, but I could feel the weight of curious stares. Violet was also there, sitting three tables away, her champagne glass trembling in her grip as she downed one drink after another.
"Grace, darling," Elizabeth continued, extending the microphone toward me, "would you like to share a few words about this exciting union?"
I stepped forward, accepting the microphone with steady hands despite my racing heart. The spotlight felt like an interrogation lamp, and every face in the audience seemed to be dissecting my every move.
I opened my mouth to deliver the rehearsed speech about family partnerships and mutual respect, when a rough male voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Grace Wilson, is it? Weren't you Mrs. Richard Harrison just last month? How exactly did you go from being Harrison's wife to becoming the Wilson heir and marrying into the Morgan family?"
The ballroom fell silent. Every conversation stopped. Every champagne glass halted mid-raise. The weight of dozens of eyes pressed down on me like a physical force.
I didn't recognize the man who'd spoken—a middle-aged businessman with an expensive suit and a cruel smile. But his words hit their target with surgical precision.
Whispers erupted around the room like wildfire. "She was married before?" "Is this fraud?" "The Morgans don't know?"
Charles Wilson's face had gone pale. The Morgan family members exchanged sharp glances, their expressions shifting from polite interest to careful evaluation.
Elizabeth gripped the microphone, her mask of surprise so convincing I almost believed it myself. "Sir, I think there's been some mistake. This is a very serious accusation you're making."
The businessman stood, pulling out his phone with theatrical flourish. "No mistake at all. I have photos right here—Grace Wilson at multiple business events with Richard Harrison, identified as his wife in several news articles."
He held up his phone, and I could see the damning images even from the stage. My throat constricted. Those photos were real—taken during the years I'd believed myself to be Richard's wife.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the man continued, his voice carrying across the deadly quiet room, "I present to you the evidence."
Before he could say another word, Alex appeared beside him like a shadow. His hand closed around the man's wrist with enough force to make the businessman's face contort in pain.
The phone clattered to the floor.