Chapter 118

Diana Beaumont greeted Marissa and Kayla with a practiced warmth. "What a coincidence!"

Marissa, only then recognizing Diana, the Beaumont matriarch, quickly plastered on a smile. "Yes, quite a coincidence."

Diana's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Ms. Prescott, taking an interest in charity work, I see?" The sarcasm hung heavy in the air. Nathaniel disliked Marissa; his mother felt no differently, especially seeing Marissa in the seat intended for her.

"Yes," Marissa replied smoothly. "Kayla and I want to contribute."

Diana’s elegant smile was thin. "The invitations went out two weeks ago. Your last-minute arrival caused Ms. Flynn quite a bit of trouble. I was generous enough to offer my seat." Her voice dripped with pointed sweetness. "Otherwise, she wouldn't have known what to do with you two." She'd assumed Lauren would bring Kayla; had she known it was Marissa, she wouldn't have given up her seat.

Marissa stiffened, understanding the veiled rebuke. It was a pointed reminder that she shouldn't have tried to muscle her way in. She hadn't realized the seat belonged to Diana; she’d only wanted to please Kayla. The Beaumonts were old money, on par with the Vanderbilts, soon to be collaborating on a new venture. Even without that, Diana's social standing made Marissa's presence in that seat utterly inappropriate.

"Mrs. Beaumont, I didn't realize this was your seat," Marissa said, forcing a smile. "Shall we swap?"

Diana’s smile remained cold. "No need. The lights are dimmed. Moving now would be awkward."

Evelyn, smoothly echoing Diana, added, "Some people, regardless of social standing, insist on remaining where they don’t belong. It seems to lose its shame eventually." She arched an eyebrow. "Oh, Ms. Prescott, I don't mean you, of course."

Marissa’s face burned. The jab at her years spent at Vanderbilt Manor, never truly fitting in, stung. Anger simmered, but she remained silent. Her once-proud position felt like a burden.

She looked to Kayla for support, but Kayla was enthralled, her eyes scanning the room for her idol. Then, Kayla’s eyes lit up. She spotted a table with "Nion" on it. In a far corner sat a man in outrageously eccentric clothes.

Kayla was startled by Nion's unconventional style, but it made sense—every artist had quirks. She even considered adopting a more avant-garde style herself. She hesitated, though, seeing him deep in conversation. She wanted to make a good impression, so she decided to wait.