Chapter 5
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Old Mr. Kosters spotted me across the room and waved me over with genuine warmth. "Sophie, come here, child."
"Why so pale? Are you feeling ill again?"
Concern etched deep lines around his eyes—the only genuine emotion I'd seen all day.
My chest tightened, but I managed a smile. "I'm fine, Grandpa. Really."
Right on cue, Vivian Woods glided over, her face a perfect mask of innocence.
"What special gift has Miss Wright brought for Grandpa?" Her voice dripped honey. "He's mentioned you so often today."
Charles materialized beside her, his eyes glacial as they locked onto mine.
I steeled myself and produced the elegantly wrapped box I'd prepared days ago.
As the lid came off, my blood turned to ice.
Inside lay a scrap of black lace that barely qualified as underwear.
The room plunged into shocked silence before erupting into scandalized whispers.
"Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?"
"Has she lost her mind? At the patriarch's birthday celebration?"
"Classless. Absolutely classless. Even at an event like this..."
My head spun as I whipped my gaze toward Charles.
For a split second, genuine confusion crossed his face before his eyes darted to Vivian.
Vivian's hand flew to her mouth in theatrical shock. "Miss Wright! How could you possibly think this appropriate for Grandpa?"
"Your... extracurricular activities are one thing, but to humiliate Grandpa this way?"
"That's enough, Miss Woods." Old Mr. Kosters' face darkened as his fist crashed onto the table. "I know Sophie's character. This isn't her doing."
"Grandpa!" Charles stepped protectively in front of Vivian, voice sharp with indignation. "Vivian's only stating the obvious. If she's capable of this stunt, what else has she been hiding?"
As I watched this performance unfold, something inside me hardened permanently.
I inhaled deeply, forcing steel into my spine. "This is not my gift."
I swept my gaze across the room before landing it squarely on Vivian. "I brought Grandpa a Seven-Star Lotus that grows only on the most treacherous mountain cliffs."
"This rare herb is the only known remedy for Grandpa's chronic respiratory condition. There might be only one such plant left in existence."
Without warning, I yanked up my pant leg, exposing the angry red gashes and purple bruises that marred my calf.
"I nearly plummeted to my death retrieving it. These are my souvenirs."
The crowd stared at my mangled leg, shock and discomfort rippling through the room.
Charles's eyes widened at the sight, his sharp intake of breath audible in the silence.
"Someone," I said, my gaze boring into Vivian, "swapped my grandfather's medicine with this trash."
"Was the goal public humiliation? Or ensuring Grandpa's condition worsens?"
When I wouldn't break my stare at Vivian, Charles bristled. "Who knows how you really got those injuries? Convenient timing."
Old Mr. Kosters watched the spectacle unfold, his weathered face creased with disappointment.
Witnessing Charles's blind defense—his casual erasure of my sacrifices—something snapped. I laughed bitterly and turned to Old Mr. Kosters. "Grandpa, thank you for everything you've done for me. But this marriage is over. I want a divorce from Charles Kosters."
Old Mr. Kosters's head jerked up, his eyes wide with alarm and something like grief.
Charles's grip on his wine glass faltered, liquid sloshing against crystal.
The old man turned to his grandson, voice leaden with significance. "Charles, are you absolutely certain this is the path you want?"
Charles straightened, relief washing over his features. "Nothing would make me happier."
Old Mr. Kosters slumped back in his chair, eyes closing in defeat. "Such foolishness," he murmured. "This will be the end of the Kosters legacy."
Charles frowned, confusion flashing across his face.
Just then, a smooth voice cut through the tension from the doorway. "Since Miss Wright has declared her intention to divorce Charles, I, Eric Kosters, formally request your blessing to court Sophie Wright."
