The spotlight's glare was blinding. I stood frozen, my hands trembling slightly as the sea of unfamiliar faces turned toward . These weren't just any faces—they belonged to Havenwood's elite, people who wouldn't have spared a second glance a week ago. Now they stared with curious eyes, assessing like I was so exotic specin.
My throat tightened. Public speaking had never been my strong suit, especially not in front of people who had spent years looking down on . I adjusted my tie—a tie that cost more than I used to make in a month—and took a hesitant step forward.
"You can do this," I whispered to myself, searching for Isabelle's face in the crowd.
When our eyes t, everything else faded away. Her encouraging smile steadied , like an anchor in stormy waters. She believed in , and sohow, that made all the difference.
As I joined her on the platform, whispers rippled through the audience.
"Who is he?"
"Isn't that Seraphina's ex-husband?"
"The worthless live-in son-in-law?"
"What does Isabelle Ashworth see in him?"
I kept my expression neutral, but each whisper was like a needle pricking my skin—painful reminders of who I used to be. Or rather, who they thought I was.
Gideon Blackwood's face had turned an alarming shade of purple. He gripped a nearby table for support, his knuckles white with strain. Beside him, Seraphina looked like she'd seen a ghost—her mouth hanging open in an undignified gape that would have been comical under different circumstances.
"Ladies and gentlen," Isabelle's lodious voice commanded the room's attention. "Allow to properly introduce Liam Knight, an extraordinary pharmaceutical researcher whose groundbreaking work in regenerative dicine has caught the Ashworth family's attention. His innovations could revolutionize treatnt for conditions previously considered untreatable."
More whispers. More stares. I stood straighter, drawing strength from Isabelle's words. First published on *.
"The Sterling-Blackwood Group is proud to announce a full funding package of twenty million dollars for Mr. Knight's research facility here in Havenwood," she continued, her voice carrying effortlessly through the stunned silence. "We believe his work represents the future of dical science."
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Twenty million dollars. The number hung in the air, transforming skeptical looks into ones of calculation and sudden interest.
Gideon swayed on his feet. For a mont, I genuinely thought he might collapse. His dreams of Ashworth funding—crushed in an instant.
"This can't be happening," he muttered loudly enough for those nearby to hear. "He's nobody. A nobody!"
Isabelle's eyes flashed dangerously. "Mr. Blackwood, are you feeling unwell? Perhaps you should sit down."
Her suggestion, though politely phrased, carried an unmistakable edge. Several guests quickly stepped away from Gideon, not wanting to be associated with soone clearly out of favor with an Ashworth.
Gideon's legs finally gave out. He sank into a chair, his expression dazed and defeated. Three years of my suffering condensed into this single mont of poetic justice. It wasn't enough—not nearly enough for what he'd done to —but it was a start.
Isabelle turned back to , reaching up to straighten my already-perfect tie. The gesture was intimate, deliberate, and unmistakable. She was publicly aligning herself with .
"Your tie was crooked," she whispered, though it wasn't.
"Thank you," I replied, understanding the ssage behind her actions.
She turned to face the crowd again. "Mr. Knight will now say a few words about his vision for this partnership."
My heart skipped a beat. She hadn't ntioned I'd need to speak. Panic flashed through as she handed the microphone, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She was pushing —challenging to step fully into this new role.
I cleared my throat, scanning the sea of expectant faces. These people had laughed at , shunned , treated like dirt. Now they waited eagerly to hear what I had to say. The irony wasn't lost on .
"Thank you, Miss Ashworth, for this extraordinary opportunity," I began, my voice surprisingly steady. "Three years ago, I ca to Havenwood with nothing but my research and determination. Today, I stand before you as proof that true talent cannot be buried forever, no matter how hard so might try."
My eyes briefly t Seraphina's. She flinched, recognizing the barb for what it was.
"My work focuses on harnessing the body's natural healing abilities and enhancing them through biological catalysts," I continued, slipping into the comfortable territory of my research. "With the Ashworth family's support, we'll develop treatnts that could heal injuries that currently leave people permanently disabled."
As I spoke, I grew more confident. This was my domain—the work I'd pursued even when everyone told I was wasting my ti. The work that had kept sane during three years of humiliation.
"I won't disappoint you, Miss Ashworth," I said, turning to Isabelle. "And to everyone here tonight—rember my na. Liam Knight. You'll be hearing it often in the years to co."
Isabelle clapped first, her eyes shining with what looked almost like pride. The audience followed suit, their applause washing over in waves. But I wasn't fooled. Their sudden respect wasn't for —it was for the money I now represented, for Isabelle's clear endorsent.
Yesterday's worthless son-in-law was today's visionary only because Isabelle Ashworth said so. Their opinions shifted like sand in the wind, without substance or conviction.
From across the room, Seraphina's high, clear voice cut through the applause. "How convenient for you, Liam. Latching onto another wealthy woman after I threw you out."
The clapping abruptly stopped. A heavy silence fell over the room.
Isabelle's smile turned glacial as she stepped forward. "Mrs. Sterling, you seem to have sothing to say. Why don't you co up here and address everyone properly? I'm sure we'd all love to hear your perspective on Mr. Knight's... what did you call it? Latching on?"
Her words were delivered with lethal precision, the invitation clearly a trap. Seraphina paled, suddenly aware of the dangerous waters she'd waded into.
"Well, Mrs. Sterling?" Isabelle pressed, her voice deceptively gentle. "You were saying?"
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