Chapter 8 - THE GILDED CAGE
Across town, inside the gilded halls of the Vance estate, the atmosphere was thick with triumphant arrogance. Victoria sat before a three-way gilded mirror, admiring her emerald evening gown while a team of stylists adjusted her hair. On the vanity sat a small velvet box containing an exquisite sapphire necklace—a gift from Julian Carrington, the city's most eligible heir and primary patron of the harbor project.
"You look breathtaking, darling," Eleanor purred, resting her manicured hands on Victoria’s shoulders. "Tonight, the city finally realizes that you are the true visionary behind Vance Global. Richard told me the press is already preparing front-page features on the 'Beauty Behind the Blueprints'."
Victoria smoothed the silk across her lap, smiling at her reflection. "And what about Clara? Has our private investigator confirmed where she went?"
Eleanor waved her hand dismissively, as if swatting away a persistent housefly. "Who cares? Her cards are frozen, her trust fund has reverted to the corporation, and Richard spread word among the philanthropic circles that she suffered a catastrophic mental breakdown. Even if she appeared tomorrow, no one would believe a raving, disfigured girl over us."
Victoria’s smile grew slightly narrower, a flicker of nervous irritation crossing her face. "She had that portfolio with her, Mother. The early sketches."
"Sketches mean nothing without the company seal," Richard’s booming voice announced as he entered the dressing room, adjusting his diamond cufflinks. "I reviewed the final contract this morning. Carrington has signed the preliminary agreement. Tonight is merely the public coronation. We announce Victoria’s engagement to Julian Carrington, unveil the project model, and secure our five-hundred-million-dollar credit line."
Richard walked over, kissing Victoria’s forehead with paternal pride that Clara had never experienced in her entire life. "You have done this family proud, Victoria. You possess the one thing that Clara never had: obedience, and the willingness to do whatever it takes to win."
"Thank you, Father," Victoria said softly, basking in the praise. Yet, as she looked at her reflection in the glass, she felt an inexplicable chill run down her spine. In the corner of the mirror, for a fraction of a second, she imagined seeing Clara’s weeping, acid-burned face looking back at her.
She blinked hard, and the phantom disappeared.
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"Is the security tightened for tonight?" Victoria asked, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat.
Richard chuckled dismissively. "The Metropolitan Pavilion has private guards at every exit, metal detectors, and facial recognition at the VIP entrance. No one enters without a registered invitation. Relax, Victoria. Clara is probably scrubbing floors in some midwestern diner just to pay for antibiotics. She is dead to this world."
