Chapter 232
232:
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Brendon retorted, menace dripping from every word. “If I report you to security for causing a disturbance, you’d better brace yourself. Without an invitation or official clearance, they’ll treat you like any other trespasser. A night behind bars will be the least of your troubles.” His threat was a calculated gambit meant to break her resolve and salvage the battered dignity of both the Dawson and Mitchell families.
Unfazed, Christina arched a brow. “Who claimed I lack an invitation?”
Katie’s laughter was heavy with derision. “You expect us to buy that? Prove it, then.”
“Probably a forgery,” Finnegan muttered.
“Exactly,” Sheila spat with venom. “She’s desperate to slip in with a counterfeit invite, fooling herself that she’s on the guest list. But no matter how much she tries, trash like her will never gleam like gold.”
Joselyn’s eyes sparkled with cruel anticipation as she challenged, “If you really have an invite, display it.”
Joselyn had every intention of making things difficult for Christina. Should the invitation prove fake, expulsion would be swift and merciless. If authentic, even better—they could snatch it away before she set foot inside. Losing such a prized invitation would insult the Hubbards deeply, and once Christina had earned their ire, the Dawsons and Mitchells wouldn’t need to finish her off. There were plenty of eager sycophants ready to do the job.
“Why should I reveal my invitation to you?” Christina scoffed. “How about you show yours first, so I can see if they’re the real deal?”
Katie’s laugh cut sharply through the tension, dripping with accusation. “The only reason you refuse to produce it is because it’s a fake.”
Finnegan’s patience snapped. “Enough of this nonsense. She’s bluffing—just summon security.”
𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙜𝖆𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀[ꞏ]𝖈𝖔𝖒
Brendon, grasping at the last threads of composure, sought to defuse the mounting conflict, though he didn’t believe for a second that Christina actually had a real invite. “Apologize now, and you can leave without further trouble,” he said, his voice heavy with reluctant concession.
“In your fantasies,” Christina shot back, her tone icy and resolute. “I will never apologize to any of you.”
Brendon’s jaw clenched, fury rising like a tide. He couldn’t understand it—he was giving her a way out. A mercy. And she dared to spit it back at him? “You!” He stepped forward, eyes blazing. “Why can’t you just bend for once? Why is it so damn hard for you to say you’re sorry?”
A bitter ache welled in Christina’s chest, and she released a cold, mocking laugh that trembled with years of pent-up pain. Hadn’t she once bowed enough? Hadn’t she already swallowed her pride and extended apologies before? Hadn’t she dimmed her sharpness and concealed her brilliance for the past three years?
For three long years as Brendon’s wife, she’d suffocated every spark, buried every ounce of dignity, bending relentlessly to fit their mold. And what was her reward? Nothing but their ceaseless contempt—her sacrifices taken for granted, her worth dismissed. Then, as the final, cruelest blow, Brendon had heartlessly flung divorce papers her way on their wedding anniversary, regarding her as nothing more than garbage to be discarded. Now that she had finally shattered that gilded cage, who were they to demand she kneel and plead? Never again. She would never allow herself to be crushed beneath their feet—not now, not again.
.
.
.