Claire lifted her gaze, her eyes calm and steady, yet they carried a sharp, icy edge. To her, Brian was nothing but an arrogant narcissist.
Where did he get the absurd notion that she would care about his forgiveness? To threaten her with something she couldn't care less about was truly laughable.
"Brian," Claire said, her voice as cold and fragile as glass dipped in ice water, "has anyone ever told you that you're like a wilted rose?"
She traced her fingertip over the wine stain spreading across the golden tablecloth. "The petals still try to flaunt their grandeur, but the core is already rotten."
Over the past five years, Claire had fought through darkness, her body bearing countless scars, yet her spirit had only grown stronger. Brian, on the other hand, seemed blinded by time, his foolishness almost comical.
Claire turned her head away, as if swatting aside an annoying fly, not wanting to look at him for another second. Brian's throat worked as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.
His final glance at Claire revealed Sean's impeccably tailored suit, perfectly fitting her slender shoulders. Sean stood tall and stoic, his presence commanding, while Claire, despite her fragility, exuded a rare elegance. The sight of them together, a striking couple, made jealousy coil like a venomous snake in Brian's chest, carving out a bleeding wound.
He had met Claire first, yet now it was Sean Foster by her side. All his bitterness and resentment were futile as he was led away by the authorities.
The ballroom's atmosphere, briefly frozen, slowly returned to life. The men regarded Sean with a wary respect, an instinctual deference to strength, while the women looked at Claire with envy, admiring her ability to capture Sean's unwavering support.
Guests began to approach, presenting their meticulously chosen birthday gifts to the matriarch. Each gift was of immeasurable value, a testament to their desire to curry favor.
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