REBORN AS A RUTHLESS HEIRESS

Clarissa's POV I smile with a poise face that I have practiced over decades in front of a camera. I raise my chin high, my expression calm, my hands delicately hold the front of my designer gown... I look every inch the gracious matriarch of high society. Applause still echoes faintly in the grand banquet hall, though the spotlight has already turned dim, and the string quartet falters awkwardly to a stop. But inside of me, I'm burning with rage. Celeste had left just like that. No explanations, no apologies for this useless act... She just humiliated Noah, my Noah in front of the media, shareholders, sponsors, and every socialite with influence. The engagement banquet that I have carefully planned to secure alliances and investments, has become a public disaster. And Celeste had driven off like the princess of her own rebellion, leaving behind shattered expectations and stunned silence. My lips curl as if I'm trying to suppress a cough. In truth... I'm trying so hard to swallow a scream. What the hell just happened? "She... she didn't mean it," William mutters beside me his voice cracking like old paint. "Maybe it's a misunderstanding." I didn't dignify that as a response. I gaze around the room, scanning it like a hawk hunting for prey. Reporters whisper excitedly near the champagne table. Several were already typing on their phones, tweeting headlines, gossip columns... more like they are racing to be the first to deliver the scandal. Guests shift awkwardly, some leaving early with murmuring excuses, others watching me with polite pity. Pity!!! No one dares approach me, not yet. Not while my eyes burn like they do now. Noah stands at the center of it all, looking daze and furious. His hand is still half-lifted from where he'd held the ring box. The box lay on the floor, forgotten like trash. He isn't speaking or even blinking. My heels click with military precision as I stride towards him. "Noah," I call with a low and tight voice. "Stand up straight. Don't look like a wounded dog." His head jerks toward me. "She humiliated me." Yes, you fool. And by extension, me... I didn't say it aloud. The boy is already unraveling. "Pull yourself together," I hiss. "This isn't the end unless you make it look like one. We can still control the narrative, an emotional misunderstanding, stage fright, and nerves. You let the press spin it for too long and it'll be treason. Do you hear me?" His face twisted. "You said she loves me. That she wouldn't-" "Yes!! I said so, and she was obedient, too." my voice cracks like a whip. "I raised her to be." Noah recoil slightly but I didn't care. I turn sharply and gesture to my assistant. "Clear the stage. Get PR on standby. Tell the press there's been a sudden illness... No, better, an emotional breakdown. Say she's been overworked. Distract them with something." "Yes, ma'am." As my assistant rushes off, I press a hand to my temple, pretending to massage away a headache. In reality, I'm recalculating every step, every angle. Celeste had deviated from the script. Not just deviated, she'd torched it. That wasn't a spur-of-the-moment tantrum. No. That was a strike. A declaration of something. But... why now? Everything has been arranged. Celeste knew what was expected of her. She had been compliant, submissive, in fact, everything I had molded her to be. The perfect pawn!!! A grateful orphan turned into a glittering heiress. She owes everything to the Lancasters. As she should. My nails dig into my palm. And she dared to walk out? Celeste of yesterday? Unbelievable. Suddenly, my memory goes back, Celeste's expression on that stage was cold and composed. Not a tear in sight. Not even anger, it felt more like .... power and no fear. My heart thuds once and heavily. "Where did she go?" I snap at a nearby guard. "Track her. I want her back at the estate within the hour." "We-we tried, madam. Her driver seems professional... we couldn't get a location. She ordered him directly." "She ordered-?" I catch myself. Take a sharp breath. My voice lowered to a blade this time. "Then find the damn car. GPS, cameras. Do your damn job, or don't bother coming back." The guard pales and rushes off. I'm just confused about what to do now... I turn around scanning for Sophia. The girl stands by the dessert table, her usual sparkle full, and then our eyes meet. Sophia hurries over, her eyes wide and breathy confusion. "Aunt Clarissa, I --- I don't know what happened. I tried to talk to her before the event, but I couldn't because I noticed the way she was responding to me." I narrow my eyes. "You said she suspected nothing?" "She didn't. I swear. I checked her calls, her messages, before this evening while she was prepping, nothing as usual." I grab Sophia by the wrist, nails digging in. "Then tell me, why did she look at me like she knew something?" Sophia's lips tremble. "Maybe... maybe someone told her something? Or did she overhear something?" My hand drops. I turn away from Sophia in disgust. Something is wrong. Terribly wrong. Celeste had looked at me with contempt. As if... That's not possible I had seen that look once before. Years ago. The day Celeste's mother had died-mysteriously, quietly, in a hospital no one had access to but the Lancasters. Celeste had been too young to remember. Too broken to question. She had cried in my arms like a wounded bird. And now she stared at me like a hunter tracking prey. Could it be...? No. Impossible. My throat dries instantly. A flicker of fear passes through me. But I dismiss it. No. This is just a tantrum. A rebellion. Celeste might be angry; perhaps she discovered a secret or two about Noah's fling or the reason she's been married off to the Harrington. But she doesn't know the full truth. She can't, not unless someone told her. But who? William? Never. Sophia? That girl is too dumb to plot. Noah? I glance at him, still trembling, still staring at the place Celeste had stood. No. He is too consumed by pride and failure to be strategic. I just shake my head at the thought and take a glass of champagne. She's just misbehaving as a young girl she will come around. I turn to my husband William. "I think we need to freeze her accounts," I say, sipping my champagne with brittle calmness. "She'll crawl back soon enough." But as I lower the glass, that look, her eyes, too calm won't leave my mind. And for the first time in twenty years, I wonder if I've just created my own worst enemy.