My husband’s mistress hit my five-year-old daughter so hard that two tiny teeth landed on the marble floor,

Every step Gwen took against the marble floor sounded like the tolling of a funeral bell in Spencer’s ears.

The crowd parted before her like the Red Sea. Alexander Vance walked half a step behind her, his presence alone commanding a perimeter of absolute deference.

Spencer stood paralyzed, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.

Cassandra, however, had not fully grasped the magnitude of what had just occurred. Her mind, warped by shallow socialite arrogance and desperation, scrambled for control.

"Gwen?" Cassandra blurted out, her voice shrill, cutting awkwardly through the suffocating silence. "What... what kind of sick joke is this? Spencer, she must have rented that jewelry! She’s trying to humiliate us because you gave her divorce papers!"

Patricia, shaking violently, grabbed Cassandra’s arm to shut her up, but Cassandra stepped forward, pointing an accusing, manicured finger at Gwen.

"You stole into this gala!" Cassandra hissed, trying to project authority to the staring billionaires around them. "Security! Why are you letting this woman in? She was thrown out of the Albright house two hours ago! Her daughter ruined my dress, she attacked Spencer's mother, and now she hires some actors to—"

*SLAP!*

The sound cracked through the ballroom like a rifle shot.

Cassandra’s head whipped to the side. She stumbled backward, landing hard on the marble floor among the shards of her broken champagne glass. She clutched her burning cheek, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Alexander Vance did not even lower his hand immediately. He stood over Cassandra, his face carved from murderous granite.

"You hit my granddaughter," Alexander Vance said. His voice was not loud, but it possessed a terrifying, subterranean power that made men twice his size shiver. "You knocked two teeth from the mouth of a five-year-old child of the Vance bloodline. You are fortunate I do not have you buried where you sit."

Cassandra stared up at him, her chest heaving, the realization finally breaking through her thick skull like a sledgehammer.

*Alexander Vance.*

This was not an actor. The diamond on Gwen’s chest was not rented.

Spencer fell to his knees, his hands trembling so hard he could barely clasp them together.

"Gwen... Gwen, please," Spencer stammered, his face wet with sudden, hysterical sweat. "Gwen, darling, listen to me... there's been a terrible misunderstanding! I didn't know! You never told me who your family was! If I had known—"

"If you had known, you would have treated me like a human being?" Gwen asked.

Her voice was calm, clear, and carried across the entire ballroom.

"If you had known, you wouldn't have let your mistress strike your own daughter until she bled on the floor? You wouldn't have stood there and told a five-year-old girl that she ruins everything?"

The crowd gasped. Disgusted whispers rippled through the gathered elite.

"He let his mistress hit his child?"

"Disgusting animal."

"A five-year-old? Merciful God."

"No! That's a lie!" Cassandra screamed from the floor, scrambling to her knees, her dress torn by the glass shards. "She’s lying! She’s trying to destroy us! Spencer, tell them she’s lying!"

Gwen didn't even glance down at Cassandra. She simply raised her left hand.

Thomas, standing near the audiovisual booth at the mezzanine level, pressed a button on an encrypted tablet.

Instantly, the massive, forty-foot digital screens lining the ballroom—originally meant to broadcast the Albright Enterprises acquisition presentation—flickered to life.

High-definition, 4K security footage filled the screens.

It showed the foyer of the Albright mansion from two hours ago.

The audio played through the ballroom’s state-of-the-art surround sound system with sickening, crystal-clear fidelity.

On the screen, little Hazel, holding a small paper cup of juice, accidentally bumped into Cassandra’s green gown. A tiny splash of orange liquid touched the hem.

Then came Cassandra’s voice, screeching like a harpy: *“Your daughter ruined my dress!”*

Then, the vicious, full-force strike across the little girl’s face.

The sickening *crack* of the blow. Hazel falling backward, her small body hitting the marble, blood gushing over her chin, two white baby teeth skipping across the stone.

And then, Spencer Albright’s cold, indifferent face walking into the frame, barely glancing at his bleeding daughter, uttering the words that now condemned him to social and financial hell:

*“Gwen, control her. She ruins everything.”*

The video froze on Spencer’s dismissive sneer.

The ballroom was dead silent.

Senator Hayes turned to Spencer, his eyes blazing with pure disgust. "You vile, pathetic coward."