Chapter 364: A Slap on Stage
Tonight was Morgan's chance to shine. Wearing a pale yellow mermaid-cut gown that hugged her curves and shimmered under the lights, she looked every bit the glittering heiress. Her long hair was curled into glossy waves, her makeup flawless, her smile poised.
Emelia squeezed her hand. “Go get them, darling. Show them what you’re made of.”
“Relax, Mom,” Morgan said with confidence. “I’ve performed in venues across Europe. This crowd? Easy.”
She stood up, waved at the cameras with practiced grace, and began making her way to the stage. Unfortunately for her, the stage was past the front row. And in the front row? Summer and Yvette.
Morgan walked gracefully in her seven-centimeter heels, hands clenched at her sides, fighting the overwhelming urge to slap Summer right then and there. Her whole body still buzzed with fury over that billion-dollar humiliation.
But just as she passed Yvette, casual as ever, Yvette extended a single leg into the aisle. Morgan didn’t see it coming. She stumbled.
“Ahh!”
She pitched forward, arms flailing, her perfectly polished image crumbling in real time. On instinct, she reached out to steady herself—right toward Summer. Summer calmly shifted her seat an inch to the left, dodging the flailing arm. Morgan dropped to her knees with a loud thud.
Yvette burst out laughing. “Wow, Ms. Morgan. Such a generous bow. No need to be so formal.”
Morgan’s face turned scarlet. She scrambled upright, eyes blazing. “You bitch! You tripped me on purpose!”
Yvette blinked innocently. “Tripped you? Sorry, didn’t see a thing.”
“You liar! I know it was you!”
Emelia rushed over and grabbed her arm. “Sweetheart, don’t let them win. They’re just jealous. They don’t want you to shine tonight.”
Morgan ground her teeth, still seething. But with so many eyes on her, she swallowed her anger and stormed up to the stage, heels clicking.
When she was gone, Emelia turned to Summer and Yvette, her voice low and scathing. “Mrs. Graham, I expected better.”
Summer just smiled. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t care what you expect. And really, what can you even do about it?”
Emelia had no comeback. She glared, lips pressed into a tight line, then turned back to her seat.
Onstage, Morgan composed herself. She adjusted her dress, settled onto the stool, and lifted her cello with the grace of a swan. The lights dimmed. The room hushed. And then—music.
The first notes were soft, like dewdrops on glass. Her fingers danced across the strings, coaxing out a haunting melody that echoed through the ballroom. The audience leaned forward, captivated.
“She’s not just pretty,” someone whispered. “She’s actually talented.”
“Isn’t she the heiress of Granthera Bank? Heard she just got back from Europe. What a catch.”
Emelia’s chest swelled with pride as the compliments rolled in. That’s my daughter. Let them talk about Summer now, she thought smugly. Once Morgan marries up, the tables will turn.
But just as the final crescendo approached, a strange crackle interrupted the speakers. Then—voices. Projected clearly through every audio system in the ballroom.
“I can’t believe it… Morgan, you actually… killed her.”
The entire room froze. Then, another voice. Cold. Sharp. “Yeah, it was me. If she didn’t die, someone might’ve traced it back to me.”
A third voice chimed in. “Damn, Morgan, that’s brutal.”
The last voice came back, louder this time. “Brutal? Please. If that bitch Summer hadn’t found the freezer, no one would’ve ever found out it was my idea to trap her in there!”
The cello’s strings fell silent. The guests looked around, stunned. Whispers exploded across the ballroom. Was that real? Was that a confession?
Morgan’s face turned white as a sheet. Emelia lurched to her feet, panic in her eyes. And in the front row, Summer sat perfectly still. Smiling.