Chapter 5 - The Aftermath in the Ballroom
Inside the glittering ballroom, Margaret Harrison was aggressively pushing through clusters of confused donors and whispering executives toward her son.
She found Daniel standing near the entrance, staring blankly at the wet pavement outside the glass doors. His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid.
"Did you see Amy?" Margaret asked sharply, stepping up beside him.
Daniel looked at his mother for a long, silent moment. His throat worked as he swallowed a knot of rising dread.
Slowly, Margaret opened her palm.
The Asscher-cut diamond ring caught the harsh light of the chandelier, flashing a cold, brilliant fire.
Daniel stared at it. For several seconds, his brain refused to process the visual data. It was just metal and stone. But it was her metal and stone.
All the remaining color vanished from his face, leaving him chalk-white. "Where did you get that?"
"She gave it to me," Margaret said, her voice unusually gentle, stripped of its usual aristocratic sharpness.
Daniel looked frantically toward the exit doors. "When?"
"Right before she walked out."
His eyes snapped back to his mother, burning with panic. "What did she say?"
Margaret closed her fingers tightly around the platinum band, hiding the diamond from view. "She said she finally chose peace."
Daniel staggered back half a step, colliding lightly with a marble pillar.
At that exact moment, Vanessa appeared from the crowd, smiling smoothly, holding a glass of sparkling water. "Daniel, the senator wants to speak with you about the transport infrastructure bill—"
Daniel didn't even look at her. His eyes were dead, fixed on the empty space where his wife had stood twenty minutes ago.
"Daniel?" Vanessa asked, her confident smile faltering as she noticed his expression. "What’s wrong?"
Margaret followed her son’s devastated stare, then looked at Vanessa. For the first time in her life, the matriarch of the Harrison family looked at her son’s prized PR director with pure, unadulterated venom.
"Oh, God," Margaret hissed under her breath.
Daniel pulled his phone from his tuxedo pocket with shaking fingers. He dialed Amy’s number.
Straight to voicemail.
He dialed again.
Voicemail.
He fired off a rapid text: Where are you? Please pick up.
Nothing.
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"What the hell just happened?" Margaret demanded, her voice rising in panic.
Daniel ignored her. He turned his back on both women, lifting the phone to his ear yet again, listening to the hollow, soul-crushing ringtones that went unanswered into the night.
