CHAPTER 50: CHAPTER-50. (CUE THE FUNERAL BELLS.).

"Beside him," Grandpa continued proudly, "is our little treasure, Liliana."

Every head at the table swiveled toward the little girl still curled up in Nicole’s arms like she had been born to ignore grand public announcements.

Lily blinked once at the sea of expectant faces and then tucked herself even tighter against his chest, arms wrapped stubbornly around his neck.

A ripple of soft chuckles spread around the table.

Half the women cooed at her like she was a doll in a store window, and the men gave indulgent smiles like she was already a Morris through and through.

"She’s shy," Nicole said with a grin, brushing his hand over her glossy dark hair. "But do not let that fool you. She has opinions."

Another wave of polite laughter. I raised my glass and took a gulp, as if it were holy water.

Ice queen vibes. That’s what she radiated.

Not in a rude way, but in the ’I don’t perform for strangers’ way. And honestly? Respect.

If I could get away with hiding in someone’s chest instead of introducing myself, I would, too.

"And this," Grandpa shifted with that same grand flourish, "is Grace, my granddaughter."

You could almost feel the collective shift in the air.

Grace did not even need to stand or wave. She just inclined her chin ever so slightly, violet hair catching the light like it was on cue, and said smoothly, "Pleasure."

That was it. One word. And the entire table was ready to sign over their property deeds to her.

Meanwhile, I sat there trying not to choke on my breadstick.

Grace’s eyes swept the table, calm, sharp, taking everyone in like she was memorizing a chessboard.

When they brushed over me, just for a second...oh God.

My pulse went rogue. She did not smile. Did not frown. Didn not acknowledge me in any obvious way. But I knew. She knew.

I pasted the world’s fakest neutral face and prayed no one noticed the way I gripped my fork like it was a lifeline.

Grandpa Albert, oblivious to my silent heart attack, turned the spotlight further down the line.

"And here we have Dave and Elena. Nicole, Grace, you already know Dave, and the sweet lady sitting beside him is Elena, his wife."

Cue the funeral bells.

Dave, being the seasoned gentleman he was, leaned forward slightly, his smile polite, professional, perfectly in control. "It’s wonderful to be here. Thank you for having us."

Meanwhile, me? "Hi," I squeaked, raising my hand like I was answering roll call in kindergarten. Kill me. Kill me right now.

Grace’s gaze cut across me again. Subtle. Sharp. Like a cat watching a mouse try to act normal.

"And next to them," Grandpa kept going, cheerful as ever, "is Vivian. You already know her."

While Nicole just nodded with a small smile plastered which I suspect was not so genuine, on the other hand, Grace subtly rolled her eyes but hid it with the fakest smile anyone could have seen.

Vivian lit up like she had been waiting her whole life for this line. She leaned forward, smile blinding, voice cheerful. "So lovely to meet you all. Thank you for coming, everyone."

Her tone had that hostess quality to it, warm but rehearsed, like she belonged in a glossy magazine spread about "modern elegance." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Grandpa Albert clapped his hands once, satisfied, like he had just finished arranging his prized collection of figurines on a shelf. "And there you have it! Family, together. Isn’t this wonderful?"

Wonderful was not the word. Tense, charged, mildly terrifying...that fit better.

The servers began setting down dishes, the scent of roasted meats and fresh bread filling the air. For a moment, it distracted everyone, forks and knives lifted, polite murmurs exchanged.

But Vivian was not done. Of course not.

"So," she said sweetly, turning her attention toward me, her smile never faltering. "Elena, dear. How are you adjusting? I imagine things must feel... different lately."

Different. That word landed like a knife slipped under the ribs. She knew what she was trying to do.

She wanted to make the divorce announcement in front of everyone. To humiliate me in front of everyone.

I might have even made it through it all for once; it cannot happen in front of Dave. Never.

I swallowed hard, forcing my lips into what I prayed passed as a pleasant smile. "Yes. Different. But fine."

Dave’s hand brushed mine under the table...barely there, a flicker of contact. To steady me?

To signal something? I did not know. But it anchored me long enough not to choke on my answer.

Vivian tilted her head, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her wine glass. "You know, marriage is such a delicate thing. Full of ups and downs. But if two people are committed, truly committed, they can weather anything. Don’t you agree?"

The table went still. Even Grandpa’s smile faltered like he was silently begging her to shut up.

Nicole stabbed her salad with unnecessary force. Grace leaned back in her chair, violet hair catching the light, expression unreadable but oh-so-interested.

My pulse roared in my ears. Everyone was waiting for me to respond.

I opened my mouth...and then Dave spoke. Smooth, calm, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Commitment goes both ways, Vivian. But you know that, don’t you?"

Oh. Oh, damn.

The temperature in the room dropped a solid ten degrees.

Vivian’s smile did not waver, but her grip on the glass tightened so much I was sure it might shatter. "Of course," she said, voice airy. "Of course, dear."

Grandpa Albert clapped his hands again, louder this time, as if volume alone could erase the tension. "Well! Let’s not talk about such heavy things. Eat, eat! The food will get cold!"

Forks moved again. Conversations restarted, shallow and polite. But the air? The air was thick.

And I sat there, heart hammering, staring down at my plate like it could save me.

Because one thing was crystal clear: this brunch was only just getting started.