Chapter 2
The ballroom fell silent.
All eyes turned to the corner.
Brenda's face went pale, then red. She grabbed Aileen's wrist and hissed through clenched teeth, "Are you out of your mind? Sit down!"
"Let go of me."
Aileen pulled her arm free, her eyes red but her voice steady.
Roger's face darkened. He set down his wine glass with a sharp click and stared at his granddaughter with cold, heavy eyes.
"Aileen."
His voice was low, but it cut through the room like a blade.
"You've embarrassed this family enough over the years. Tonight, in front of all our guests, you dare to make a scene?"
"Grandpa." Aileen met his gaze without flinching, her voice quiet but firm. "I've never once asked this family for anything. All I'm asking now is to keep my daughter. Is that really too much?"
The room buzzed with whispers.
Some guests shook their heads. Others smirked, enjoying the drama.
Keith leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine glass with a lazy smile. He wasn't worried. In his experience, women like her always caved in the end.
At the main table, Lawrence crossed his arms and watched the scene with thinly veiled amusement. What a mess. But honestly? Watching his cousin make a fool of herself was the most entertaining thing that had happened all night.
Just then, the heavy doors at the entrance swung open.
The noise from outside spilled in for a brief moment before the doors closed again.
Three tall figures walked in against the light, moving through the crowd with calm, unhurried steps.
The man in front looked young, maybe late twenties, dressed simply in a dark jacket. Nothing about his clothes stood out. But something about the way he carried himself made people instinctively step aside.
His eyes swept the room once.
Then they stopped.
Locked onto the far corner, where a slender woman stood alone, clutching a small child to her chest, facing down an entire room full of people.
The noise around him seemed to fade.
Seven years.
He had crossed every kind of hell to get back here, and this was what he came home to.
His jaw tightened. His eyes burned.
"Who are you people?" someone near the door muttered. "This is a private event."
The man didn't answer. He was already walking forward.
In the corner, Aileen felt the shift in the room before she saw the reason for it.
The whispers changed. The smirking faces turned. Even Roger, who had been staring her down from the main table, glanced toward the entrance with a flicker of something she couldn't read.
She turned to look.
A man was walking toward her through the crowd.
Tall. Dark jacket. A face she hadn't seen in eight years, and had spent eight years trying to forget.
The wine glass slipped from a nearby guest's hand and shattered on the floor.
Nobody moved to clean it up.
Aileen's mind went completely blank.
Anna, still tucked against her mother's side, peeked out from behind Aileen's arm. She looked at the stranger with wide, curious eyes.
The man stopped a few feet away.
For a long moment, he just looked at Aileen. His expression was hard to read, but his eyes weren't. They were raw in a way that made her chest ache despite everything, despite eight years of anger and grief and survival.
Then he looked down at the little girl.
Anna stared back at him, unblinking, her small fingers still curled around the hem of Aileen's dress.
Something in the man's face cracked open.
He crouched down slowly, bringing himself to the child's eye level, and just looked at her for a moment without speaking.
"Hi," he finally said. His voice came out rougher than he intended.
Anna blinked. "Hi."
He swallowed hard. "What's your name?"
"Anna."
He nodded slowly, like he was committing it to memory. "That's a good name."
Anna tilted her head, studying him with the unselfconscious curiosity of a six-year-old. "Are you sad?"
The man blinked.
"Your eyes look sad," Anna said simply.
Behind them, the entire ballroom had gone quiet. Roger had risen from his seat. Keith had set down his wine glass. Even Brenda had stopped breathing.
The man straightened up and turned to face the room.
When he spoke, his voice was calm and even, but it carried to every corner of the hall without effort.
"My name is Ethan Corleone."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the crowd.
"I've been away for eight years." His gaze moved across the room, taking in the decorated tables, the half-eaten food, the faces of people he used to know. Then it settled on Roger. "I heard there's a birthday tonight. I also heard you're trying to sell my wife to someone else."
The word wife landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Keith stood up slowly, his easy smile gone. "Excuse me. Your wife?"
Ethan looked at him. Just looked at him, without saying anything.
Keith sat back down.
Roger's face had gone through several colors in the span of ten seconds. He gripped the edge of the table and forced his voice into something steady. "Ethan. You've been gone for eight years. You can't simply walk back in here and—"
"I'm not asking for permission."
Ethan turned back to Aileen.
She hadn't moved. She was standing very still, Anna pressed against her side, her face unreadable. But her hands were shaking.
"I know I don't have the right to ask you for anything," he said quietly. Just to her now, as if the rest of the room had stopped existing. "I know that. But I'm asking anyway." He paused. "Give me a chance to explain. That's all."
Aileen looked at him for a long moment.
Eight years of sleepless nights. Eight years of raising Anna alone, of being pointed at and whispered about, of swallowing her pride every single day just to keep her daughter fed and safe.
Eight years of not knowing if he was dead or alive, and telling herself she didn't care either way.
She looked down at Anna.
Anna was looking up at Ethan with those big, serious eyes, still holding onto Aileen's dress.
Aileen looked back at the man standing in front of her.
"You have ten minutes," she said.
