The air had only just settled from the thunderclap of Venessa's last mic-drop. Her accusation—cold, calculated, and clinical—had left Elise reeling, her proud little smile crumbling under the weight of exposed deceit. But a cornered woman is always a dangerous creature, and Elise still held a card. Literally.
She stepped forward, all innocent charm and glossed lips, flipping her cue card between her fingers like a weapon wrapped in lace.
"My card question," Elise said, her voice sugar-dipped with the faintest trace of venom as it has a slight imitation of Venessa's tone, "was this: Find out what she's hiding in her private love life."
The women in the room shifted, a ripple of quiet judgment passing through them. Vanessa's love life had flatlined six months ago—tragic, brutal, but not nearly tragic enough to kill the gossip. A sip paused mid-air there and a girl named, Elara commented loudly, "Oh, this was going to be bloodsport."
Venessa's smile tightened—not from nerves, but from restraint. She knew Elise little enough to recognise that scorned gleam in her eye: not the hunger for truth, but the thirst for humiliation.
Elise continued, eyes trained on Venessa like a hawk circling over roadkill. "It's funny, really. For someone who loves to talk about ethics and transparency, Venessa's romantic history is… rather murky. Did everyone forget the Krane engagement scandal so quickly?"
That surname—Krane—rippled across the gathering like someone had dropped acid into the champagne.
"Not so long ago, Miss Venessa Ellison was engaged to Mr. Damon Krane, they were perfect 'it' couple from second generation billionaire circle," Elise said, sweetly clarifying for the one or two people who'd clearly just emerged from beneath a rock. "And yet, Mrs. Greta Krane—his mother, bless her icy heart—never approved of the couple."
At the mention of Greta Krane, Damon's mother, Venessa's brows lifted—barely. A warning, if Elise had been smart enough to see it.
Elise continued, eyes gleaming now, "we all remember the infamous engagement party. The one where Venessa's fairytale came crashing down in front of a hundred guests, a full orchestra, and a four-tier croquembouche. Poor thing—dumped by Damon Krane on the very night he was meant to marry her."
There were titters of words as typical daughter-in-law and mother-in-law feud. A few necks craned toward Adrienne, the woman reeling to be the future mother-in-law for one among them, who sat as still as stone.
Venessa's jaw twitched. She didn't like it topic of Greta Krane. Because it was true Damon's mother and Venessa never get along and this could be twisted in any way.
"I heard," Elise pressed on, her voice dancing with faux innocence, "that Mrs. Krane once told Damon she'd rather see him marry a wallflower with a good pedigree than end up with Venessa Ellison. If that's not a walking red flag in heels, I don't know what is. And, well—he listened at last, Damon citing 'compatibility issues' clearly hinted that Venessa was the problem"
Across the room, some of the women winced. This wasn't gossip—it was flaying.
Camille, perched beside Adrienne like a sphinx's snarkier younger sister to Adrienne, leaned in and murmured behind her hand, "If this girl ever gets invited to be a bridesmaid, I'm sending a food taster with the cake."
Adrienne said nothing. But her gaze locked on Venessa—dissecting her.
Elise wasn't done. She was just getting started.
"She's not exactly the model daughter-in-law, is she?" she said, glancing at Adrienne now with theatrical concern. "I mean, how many mothers-in-law do you think would want a woman who ignores the family events citing the lame excuses, wears black to engagement parties, and once allegedly told Mrs. Krane to—'choke on her own diamonds'?"
There were snorts. Gasp-laughs. One muttered, "She did not—"
Venessa's cheeks flushed, but she didn't rise. Her silence was defiance now, not surrender.
Flashback — Three Years Ago, The Krane Estate, Garden Brunch
Everything about the Krane estate looked like it belonged on a spread in Architectural Digest—grand, tasteless, and suffocating control.
Venessa had stood out the second she walked through the rose-laced archway, heels clicking on the stone path like a threat. And Greta Krane had sniffed her out like blood in water.
"I see you're not wearing the dress code color," Margaux had said smoothly, teacup poised mid-air. "We demanded pastels. Not... whatever that is."
Venessa, in fitted black and a wine-red lip, smiled without a single crack. "I'm aware. Today marks six years since my mother passed." She adjusted her clutch, voice calm, gaze unflinching. "I told Damon I could come another day, but he said you insisted on meeting me today.""
A beat. The air chilled by two degrees.
Greta's smile stayed frozen, but her eyes flicked to the garden staff, as if mourning should be scheduled and not dragged. "So you'd rather dress for the dead," she murmured, lips curling faintly, "than show respect to the demands of alive, future mother-in-law."
Venessa's smile thinned. "Respect isn't a shade I wear. It's something I give when it's earned."
Greta's teacup clinked against the saucer. "How modern of you," she said, tone lacquered with mock admiration. "Such… independent thinking. I suppose that's what they teach girls these days."
The conversation had only escalated from there.
Greta Krane tilted her head, considering. " I see now, why he chose you. Damon's always had a soft spot for broken things. It's his one flaw. He mistakes resilience for polish. Grief for depth."
Venessa's eyes flashed—but her voice stayed even. "And you mistake cruelty for class."
That landed.
Passive-aggressions became blunt. Blunt became brutal. The rest of brunch dissolved quickly into low-key warfare.
What began with passive digs—"You'll learn etiquette with time," —turned into barbed critiques in front of donors and socialites.
"She doesn't understand discretion," Greta hissed to Damon behind Venessa's back. "She challenges everything. She asks invasive questions. Laughs at things that aren't jokes."
Damon had tried to defend her. "She's bold, not rude. She's not here to be arm candy, Mom."
"That's exactly the problem," Greta snapped, folding her napkin like a blade. "You weren't supposed to date her. I thought she was meant to be a phase. A pretty rebellion. Not a permanent one."
From that moment, it was war. Cold, brutal war.
It was after that Venessa distance herself from Damon's mother but the lady took it pretty serious as she made sure quietly that Venessa was uninvited from luncheons. Spread rumours about Venessa's "aggressive ambition" and "inappropriate outbursts." She didn't need to say "she's not one of us"—she let the silence of every snub speak for her.
Greta Krane had never hidden her disdain.
"She doesn't understand decorum," she once told Damon. "She talks back, she asks questions that aren't hers to ask, and she's full of pride and ill manners. No wonder a girl raised by money only."
"Mother, please she's the one I like," Damon had replied. " And she's not trying to be a trophy wife."
"That's the problem," Greta Krane snapped. "You're not going to marry her. She was meant to pass."
The day Damon ended the engagement, Venessa knew Grate Krane must be the happiest of all.
Venessa snapped out of her daze when Adrienne raised a single, precise hand for Elise to cut in.
"Elise."
The name reminded like a guillotine.
"Yes, ma'am?" Elise said, eyes wide with mock innocence.
"You were asked to find a secret. Not repeat everything that's been written in poorly edited society blogs run by interns who drink boxed wine."
Elise blinked.
Adrienne's tone cooled further. "You told us what we already know. Venessa's failed engagement, her feud with Greta Krane, the very public breakup—none of it was hidden. None of it was covered. If anything, Venessa was infamous for not hiding. She was known for her disasters. You brought me last season's scandal and tried to pass it off as an exclusive."
Camille chuckled supporting her lady boss, "Did you just came in swinging with a butter knife? We don't like to be serve leftovers here."
Elise's lips thinned.
Adrienne looked toward Venessa, who was still glaring daggers, lips sealed, fury trembling just beneath the surface.
Venessa looked up—slowly—meeting Adrienne's stare with a controlled, practiced grace. She flinch at the stare given. She let the silence stretch just long enough to be unnerving.
A pause and Adrienne's mouth twitched—just a breath of amusement before she turned to Elise.
"Well. Elise, do you have anything to add, if not entirely gossip. I'll give you one thing—you brought the claws. But next words from your mouth should bring a fact."
Venessa expected no mercy from anyone but she didn't want to lose either.
If she defended herself, she looked defensive. Because no answer would help her here just made her look desperate to wash off her image. If she attacked Elise, she proved she could be petty. And if she tried to explain? Well—no one ever looked noble explaining a broken engagement. Especially not one where she'd been painted as the 'incompatible in public'.
So she stayed quiet.
Even though everything inside her screamed.
Her hands, neatly folded in her lap, trembled. Only slightly—but enough for her to dig her nails into her own palm to regain control.
This is how they'll see me now, she thought, heart sinking. The girl who was too wild for the Krane family. The girlfriend, a fiancé left at the altar because even his mother said "no."
And Adrienne. Oh, Adrienne knew everything and perhaps will believe...
The woman didn't speak again. But her gaze lingered—just a little too long. Cold. Calculating. Considering.
Venessa knew that look.
She'd seen it on, Damon's mother and other socialites mothers judging their sons' girlfriends like livestock at auction.
And Venessa was no longer the girl with potential but doubts.
She was the girl with baggage.
Camille leaned in and murmured something again, likely another snide remark, but Venessa didn't hear it. All she could hear was the throb of her own pulse.
How does a girl like me convince a woman like Adrienne to forget a scandal? She wondered. If she would ever be able to do it.
Because Adrienne wasn't just any woman to her now. But a future mother-in-law whose opinion could shape the alliances and wedding prospect alike.
And no mother wanted a daughter-in-law who'd once been branded a "bad fit."
Not again, Venessa thought. I won't be cast out again. Not because of another man or woman's smear campaign.