Chapter 351:
“Exactly,” Tiffany sighed, sitting on the edge of the bench, careful not to invade the older woman’s personal space. “Everything tonight feels so… manufactured. Don’t you think?”
Cecelia took a sip. “It feels like a circus. Too much flash. Too little breeding.”
Tiffany leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. She gestured vaguely with her glass toward the center of the room, where Aurora had just rejoined the party, flanked by Elias.
“Speaking of manufacturing,” Tiffany murmured. “Have you heard about the girl in blue? The one who just staged that theatrical reveal?”
Cecelia narrowed her eyes. “The one who claims to be the lost heir?”
“Claims is the operative word,” Tiffany said, her voice dripping with faux concern. “My aunt, Eleanor Kensington, mentioned her. She said the girl is a notorious grifter from the Bronx who reinvented herself. They say she seduced a lab technician to falsify the DNA results just to get a foothold in the estate.”
The mention of Eleanor Kensington—a name Cecelia recognized from the old social registers—lent a sudden, toxic weight to Tiffany’s words. Cecelia’s grip on her glass tightened. Her knuckles turned white. Fraud was a sin, but usurping bloodlines was a declaration of war.
“And,” Tiffany added the kill shot, “she was overheard in the powder room earlier mocking the British peerage. She called the aristocracy ‘inbred relics who need to die out to make room for the capable.'”
The lie hit its mark. Cecelia’s spine straightened as if a steel rod had been inserted.
“She said that?” Cecelia hissed.
“Verbatim,” Tiffany lied, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm of glee against her ribs. “She thinks because she tricked the Sterlings, she owns the room.”
Across the hall, standing in the shadow of a marble pillar, Elias Thorne watched the interaction through the reflection of a darkened window pane. He couldn’t hear the words, but he knew the body language of poison: the tilt of Tiffany’s head, the rigid offense growing in Cecelia’s posture.
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He tapped his earpiece, his voice barely a breath. “Cloud. Sector 4. The Viper is whispering to the Dragon. I’m moving to intercept.”
“Stand down, Elias,” Aurora’s voice came back instantly, clear and calm in his ear. She was on the other side of the room, accepting a glass of water from a waiter.
“She’s poisoning the well,” Elias warned, his eyes narrowing as Tiffany stood up.
“Let her,” Aurora replied. “If Cecelia bites, it exposes her prejudice. If we intervene now, we look defensive. I need to see who else in this room is ready to believe the worst of me. It helps me map the battlefield. Hold your position.”
Elias ground his jaw but stayed put. “Copy. Holding.”
Tiffany stood up, smoothing her dress. “I just thought you should know, Lady Cecelia. Someone should teach these new girls their place.”
She slipped away into the crowd, leaving the grenade in Cecelia’s lap, the pin pulled.
The heavy double doors at the far end of the ballroom groaned open, commanding instant silence. The orchestra stopped mid-measure. The chatter died down to a hush that felt heavy, respectful, and terrified.
Duchess Sterling had returned to the floor.
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