Brookside. A place I once vowed never to return to. Yet as the grievances of my past life replayed in my mind, I found myself boarding a plane back to my England.
"It's been five years," I murmured to myself, "let's see how much things changed."
***
The chairman of Brookside Business Association, Victor Stone, had organized a lavish welcome banquet to mark my return, inviting the city's prominent enterprises. After all, my investments were expected to breathe new life into Brookside's economy. Such a grand affair made sense.
But things didn't go smoothly. On the way to the hotel, the car sent to pick me up broke down unexpectedly. I stood by the roadside, the evening air heavy with the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement, trying to suppress my irritation. Time was running out. I hailed a taxi instead, brushing aside the driver's anxious apologies.
Just as I reached for the cab door, a speeding motorcycle swerved too close to the curb, splashing a wave of muddy water all over me. Cold, murky droplets soaked through my tailored dress, clinging to my skin and leaving unsightly streaks.
The driver paled. "Ms. Gray, I'm so sorry! This is entirely my fault—"
I raised a hand to stop his stammering. "It's fine," I said curtly, brushing off as much water as I could. "I'll change once we get to the banquet. No need to panic."
When we finally arrived at the hotel, I stepped out of the cab, my dress stained and damp. A liaison, a young man with sharp features and a nervous demeanor, was already waiting at the entrance. Spotting me, his eyes widened in alarm before he composed himself.
"Ms. Gray, welcome. My deepest apologies—I'm Ethan and I've been informed about the mishap. I've arranged for a gown to be sent to the lounge upstairs for you. The chairman will arrive shortly, but please allow me to take you inside first."
I offered him a polite smile, masking my frustration. "Thank you, Ethan. I appreciate your quick response."
He led me through the grand marble foyer into the banquet hall. The chandeliers above cast a warm, golden light, their brilliance reflecting off polished floors and glittering jewelry. The hum of conversation and soft strains of a live quartet filled the air.
As we reached the entrance, Ethan's phone buzzed. He answered quickly, his tone clipped and professional. After ending the call, he turned to me with an apologetic smile.
"Ms. Gray, I'll fetch your gown personally. It's already waiting in the second-floor lounge. Please feel free to head upstairs—I'll bring it to you shortly."
I nodded and stepped into the hall, intending to make my way to the lounge. But as soon as I passed through the doors, a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Well, if it isn't my oh-so-principled ex-wife. What's with your outfit? Did you go dumpster diving on the way here? Or have things been so hard for you since the divorce that you're scavenging trash to make ends meet?"
The voice, smooth yet dripping with mockery, sent an icy chill down my spine. I hadn't heard it in five years, but I recognized it instantly. Jonah.
I turned toward the sound, my gaze locking onto him. He stood near the bar, clad in a tailored suit that screamed wealth and arrogance, a glass of red wine in hand. His smug expression and the gleam in his eyes told me he was reveling in this moment.
Beside him stood Violet, her perfectly styled hair and designer dress complementing her air of superiority. Her arm rested on Jonah's, a show of possession that was as calculated as her words.
"Ms. Gray," she chimed in, her tone syrupy sweet but laced with derision. "What happened to you? How did you end up looking like this? But, more importantly, why are you here tonight? This is the chairman's banquet—surely you're not trying to sneak in and cause trouble, are you?"
Their laughter rang out, loud enough to draw attention. Heads turned in my direction, curious eyes appraising me from head to toe. The murmur of conversations shifted focus, whispers floating through the air like venom.
"Isn't that Rosa? Mr. Robert's ex-wife."
"Yes, they divorced years ago. What's she doing here?"
"Maybe she couldn't survive on her own after the divorce and is trying to win him back?"
A group of elegantly dressed socialites nearby burst into laughter, their voices carrying.
"Just look at what she's wearing. She looks like a beggar who wandered in off the street."
"Women like her never know when to quit. Mr. Robert treated her so well and yet she insisted on leaving him. Serves her right if she's struggling now."
Listening to the chatter swelling around us, Jonah's smug grin grew wider, his confidence swelling with each snide remark from the banquet guests. He swirled the wine in his glass, the liquid catching the chandelier's glow like molten rubies.
"Look," he began, his voice tinged with condescension. "If you want me to take you back, just say so. There's no need to chase me all the way here and cause a scene. Apologize and I might be generous enough to forgive you."
He stepped closer, reaching out as if to take my hand. His movements were deliberate, as though the simple act of touching me would cement his dominance.
I sidestepped smoothly, the fabric of my damp dress brushing against his outstretched hand as I moved away. Fixing him with a cold glare, I said sharply, "Mr. Robert, please have some respect. Your companion is standing right beside you, after all."
Jonah faltered for a fraction of a second, but his smirk quickly returned, his confidence unshaken.
"I'm not here to reminisce and certainly not for you," I continued. My voice was steady, each word cutting through the growing murmurs of the crowd. "I'm here on official business, invited personally by Mr. Stone. You should think carefully before speaking further."
For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed Jonah's face. But before he could respond, Violet broke into a fit of shrill laughter, her voice ringing out like nails against glass.
"Mr. Stone invited you?" she sneered, clutching Jonah's arm as if drawing strength from his presence. "Oh, please! If you're going to lie, at least try to make it believable."
She tilted her head, her carefully styled hair catching the light as she regarded me with a look of mock pity. "Do you even know who's attending this banquet? These are all renowned entrepreneurs, people with real influence. So, tell us, which company are you the head of? Or"—she paused dramatically, her voice dripping with sarcasm—"have you latched onto some big shot over the past five years? Whose companion are you tonight?"
The crowd, emboldened by her audacity, joined in.
"Exactly! How could Mr. Stone possibly invite her?"
"Isn't she just some divorced housewife? What does she even know about business?"
"Come on, if you're claiming Mr. Stone invited you, where's your invitation? Prove it!"
Their laughter was like the clinking of champagne glasses—superficial, hollow and yet sharp enough to cut. High-society circles were predictable this way: quick to fawn over power and quicker still to trample those perceived as weak.
I crossed my arms, the motion deliberated and scanned the room with a slow, icy gaze. "An invitation?" I repeated, my voice calm but loud enough to command attention. "I don't have one. And do you know why?"
The crowd stilled, their whispers falling silent as I took a measured step forward.
"Because this banquet was arranged for me."
I let my words sink in, savoring the shift in their expressions—mockery giving way to uncertainty. "All of you know exactly why you're here tonight," I continued, my tone sharper now, "so I suggest you choose your words carefully."
Lowering my arms, I straightened my posture and declared, "Allow me to reintroduce myself: I'm Rosa Gray, today's investor."
