Chapter 7 - The Unbroken Voice
The Metropolitan Grand Ballroom was a sea of black ties, flowing evening gowns, and glittering diamonds. Cameras flashed incessantly along the red carpet at the grand entrance.
Marcus Vance stood in the VIP lounge, holding a flute of champagne, flanked by reporters and society patrons. He was laughing, projecting an aura of untouchable confidence, yet his eyes darted nervously toward the grand staircase every time the doors opened.
At eight o'clock, the double doors parted.
A murmur swept through the grand hall like a sudden tide. Julian walked in, immaculate in a midnight-blue tuxedo. At his arm was Elena.
She did not wear an off-the-shoulder dress to hide behind silk. She wore an architectural, high-necked gown of ivory satin that left her back exposed down to the waist.
The bruises were still there—fading into shades of yellow and faint violet—and the claw-like scratches were clearly visible under the gallery spotlights. She wore no makeup over the scars. Her posture was regal, her head held high, her gaze unflinching.
The murmurs swelled into stunned silence. Guests froze mid-conversation. Camera shutters began to fire in rapid, frantic succession.
Marcus Vance choked on his champagne, his face draining of color.
May you like
"Julian," a prominent city patron stammered, stepping forward. "Elena... good heavens, what happened to you?"
Elena turned toward the patron, her voice resonant, carrying effortlessly through the quieted chamber. "I was assaulted, Evelyn. By a man who believed power gave him ownership over truth. And I am here tonight because silence is the only shelter monsters have."
