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Chapter 8 - Public ReckoningA wave of shocked whispers rippled through the ballroom like wildfire.

Gasps echoed off the high ceilings as guests caught sight of my face. The deep purple bruises, the swollen jaw, and the jagged scar on my lip were stark, violent contradictions to the luxury of the evening.

Trevor froze mid-sentence, his scotch glass trembling in his hand. His face turned an ashen gray as he locked eyes with me.

The managing partner of Oakridge Capital, Julian Croft, stepped forward hastily to greet my father. "Richard! We weren't sure if you were attending tonight—"

Julian stopped mid-sentence as his eyes fell on me. His jaw dropped in horror. "My God... Rebecca? What happened to you?"

I didn't answer Julian. I kept my eyes fixed on Trevor, who was slowly backing away toward the side exit.

"She fell down the stairs!" Trevor suddenly blurted out, his voice loud, shrill, and unhinged, breaking the formal silence of the room. "She's unstable! Richard, I told you to keep her home!"

My father didn't say a word. He simply raised his hand and signaled the tech booth at the back of the hall.

Before Trevor could reach the exit, the massive projection screens above the main stage—which had been displaying corporate logos—suddenly flickered and turned black.

The ambient music cut out completely.

A high-definition video began to play across every screen in the room.

It was the footage from two nights ago.

The high-fidelity audio echoed through the ballroom speakers with terrifying clarity:

The crack of his fist.My body hitting the floor.Emma's screaming.Trevor towering over me, snarling: "Look what you made me do. You never know when to stop."

The entire ballroom erupted into horrified cries. Women covered their mouths in disbelief; men stared at the screen in utter disgust.

Trevor lunged toward the AV booth, screaming, "Turn it off! Turn it off! It's a fake! It's AI generated!"

He grabbed a microphone from the podium, his face contorted in frantic desperation. "Listen to me! She's crazy! She framed me! I am the victim here!"

"You're not a victim, Trevor," I said, my voice echoing clearly through the secondary microphone my father handed me. "You're a coward."

Trevor turned to look at me, his eyes wild with a mixture of hatred and absolute terror.

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At that exact moment, the heavy oak doors at the back of the room burst open again.

Eight uniformed officers from the State Police, accompanied by two detectives and representatives from the District Attorney's office, marched down the central aisle, their handcuffs glinting under the chandelier lights.

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