<b>Chapter </b><b>182 </b>
CELINE’S POV-
The invitation arrived on cream–colored cardstock so thick it felt expensive between my fingers.
Eleanor Reid’s perfect handwriting invited me to a “small gathering ofdies” for brunch at the Metropolitan Club.
“I believe it’s time we had a proper conversation. Perhaps we can findmon ground for Hunter’s sake.”
I stared at the invitation for a full minute, trying to decode the subtext. Eleanor had made her feelings about me crystal clear from day one.
Why the sudden change of heart?
“What’s that?” Caroline asked, appearing in the kitchen with shopping bags from hertest retail therapy session.
I handed her the card. Her eyebrows shot up as she read.
“Well, this is unexpected.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Caroline set down her bags and studied the invitation more carefully. “You know what? I think <i>you </i>should go.”
“Are you insane?”
“Hear me out.” Caroline pulled out a chair and sat across from me.
“Eleanor’s been part of the problem, right? All this family pressure on Hunter, the disapproval, the constant undermining. If she’s genuinely trying to
make peace…”
“You think she’s being genuine?”
“I think she’s smart enough to see which way the wind is blowing. You’re having Hunter’s baby. You’re not going anywhere. She might be ready to ept
that.”
I wanted to believe it was possible, but everything about Eleanor Reid suggested she didn’t ept anything she couldn’t control.
“Even if she is being genuine, what about her friends? You know what those women are like.”
Caroline waved her hand dismissively: “Societydies bark<b>, </b>but they don’t bite. Not really. And if Eleanor is endorsing you, they’ll fall in line.”
I looked at the invitation again. The address alone was intimidating–the Metropolitan Club was where New York’s elite went to remind themselves how
elite they were.
“I don’t even know what to wear to something like that!”
Caroline’s eyes lit up. “<i>Now </i>that I can help with.”
Three hourster, I stood in front of Caroline’s full–length mirror wearing <b>a </b>navy blue dress that probably cost more than <b>I </b>used <b>to </b>make in a month.
Caroline had insisted on doing my hair and makeup, dering that if I was going into battle, <b>I </b>needed proper armor.
<b>“</b>You look perfect,” she said, adjusting <b>my </b>ne for the third time. “Elegant <b>but </b><b>not </b><b>trying </b><b>too </b>hard. <b>Expensive </b><b>but </b><b>not </b><b>shy</b><b>. </b>
I <b>turned </b>sideways, checking the fit. The dress was <b>beautiful</b><b>, </b><b>but </b><b>it </b><b>felt </b>like a <b>costume</b><b>. </b><b>Like </b><b>I </b><b>was </b><b>ying </b><b>dress </b><b>up </b><b>in </b><b>someone </b>else’s life.
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“What <b>if </b>this <b>backfires</b><b>? </b>What if she’s setting me up?”
“Then you handle it with ssiness and leave early.” Caroline squeezed my shoulders. “But Celine, what if she’s not? What if this is your chance <b>to </b><b>fix </b>things with Hunter’s family?”
That was the hope I was clinging to.
Hunter and I were barely hanging on by a thread. If I could
I somehow make
Maybe it would give us a chance to remember
fell
<i>In </i>
<i>ve </i><i>in </i>the first ce.
with Eleanor, remove that source of stress from our lives…
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m doing this.”
“That’s my girl.” Caroline hugged me carefully, mindful of my makeup. “Text me if you need an emergency exit. I’ll call with a fake crisis.”
The Metropolitan Club was exactly as intimidating as I had expected. All marble columns and crystal chandeliers, with oil paintings of dead rich men ring down from gilded frames.
The hostess led me through a maze of elegant rooms to a private dining area overlooking the park.
Eleanor held court at the head of a perfectly set table, wearing a pale pink suit that probably cost more than my old rent.
She smiled when she saw me—a warm, weing expression that made me momentarily hopeful.
“Celine, darling! You look absolutely lovely.”
She stood to air–kiss my cheeks, her perfume expensive and subtle. For a moment, I almost believed this might be genuine.
“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Reid.”
“Eleanor, please. We’re family now, aren’t we?”
The other women around the table smiled politely as Eleanor made introductions.
I recognized some names from society pages–wives of senators<b>, </b>CEOs, old–money families whose ancestors had built New York.
And sitting at the far end, looking perfectlyposed in a peach–colored dress, was Mia.
Our eyes met briefly. She gave me a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then looked away.
“Ladies, you know Celine, of course,” Eleanor said as I took my seat. “Hunter’s lovely girlfriend and mother of my
grandson.”
There were murmurs of acknowledgment, but something in their tone made my skin crawl. Too sweet, unnatural, like a sweetener that left a bitter.
aftertaste.
“We’re so excited to finally meet you properly,” said a woman with silver hair and sharp cheekbones <b>who </b>had been introduced as Margaret something-
or–other.
“We’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” I said, trying to match their light tone.
<b>“</b><b>Oh</b>, of course.” Margaret’s smile was knife–sharp. “Though one does hear such interesting stories these days. <b>The </b>media can be so… <b>creative</b><b>.</b><b>” </b>
My stomach tightened, but I kept smiling. “Yes, they certainly have active imaginations.”
Eleanor picked up her champagne ss. <b>“</b><b>A </b>toast<b>,</b>” she announced. <b>“</b><b>To </b>new beginnings <b>and </b>understanding<b>.</b><b>” </b>
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Everyone raised their sses. I noticed several of the women had their phones casually positioned on the table, screens facing up.
One woman.. a blonde in her forties.. seemed to be adjusting hers with particr care,
The conversation started innocuously enough. The weather, uing charity events, someone’s daughter’s wedding in the Hamptons.
I began to rx slightly, thinking maybe Caroline had been right. Then Margaret leaned forward with false concern.
“Celine, dear, you must tell us how are you coping with all the attention? It must be so overwhelming for someone… new to this world.”
“I’m managing.” I said carefully.
“Of course you are. Though I imagine it’s quite different from what you’re used to. Eleanor mentioned you worked in… hospitality?<i>” </i>
The way she said it made it sound like something shameful.
“I was a server, yes. There’s nothing wrong with honest work.”
“Oh, absolutely not!” Margaret’s voice dripped with fake agreement. “It’s admirable, really. So grounding. I imagine it helps you appreciate the finer things even more now.”
A woman across from me….Jennifer? Jessica?….chimed in. “Speaking of appreciation, that dress is lovely. Is it vintage?”
“It’s borrowed,” I said honestly, immediately regretting it.
“How practical,” she said with <b>a </b>smile that felt like a p. “One doesn’t need to own everything to look the part, does one?”
I felt heat rising in my cheeks. This wasn’t a peace offering–it was a carefully orchestrated humiliation.
Eleanor, who had been quietly eating her sd, looked up with alleged surprise. “Ladies, please. Celine is our guest.”
But her intervention felt halfhearted, like she was going through the motions of politeness while allowing the attacks to continue.
“We’re just getting to know her,” Margaret said innocently. “After all, she’s going to be part of our circle now. It’s important to understand where someone
“And where you’re going,” added another woman, this one younger with perfectly straight blonde hair.
“I mean, it must be quite an adjustment. Learning the ropes of… all this.” She gestured around the elegant room.
“Hunter’s been very patient, I’m sure,” Margaret continued. “Teaching you about our world, our expectations. Though I imagine there’s quite a learning
curve,
I realized they weren’t just talking about etiquette or social protocols.
They were questioning my worthiness, my intelligence, my ability to exist in their rarefied air.
“I think you might be overrating how tricky basic human decency is,” I said, my voice cooler than I’d intended.
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
“Oh my,” Margaret said with a delightedugh. “She has spirit. I can see why Hunter finds you… refreshing.”
The word “refreshing” sounded like an insulting from her lips.
“Though one does wonder,” Jessica–or–Jennifer continued, “about the timing of everything. Your rtionship<b>, </b>the <b>pregnancy</b>. <b>She </b>let <b>the </b><b>meaning </b>hang in the air.
I felt my face burn. “What exactly are you suggesting?<b>” </b>
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<b>“</b><b>Nothing </b><b>at </b><b>all</b>, dear. Just that some might find the series of events… convenient.”
Eleanor finally spoke up again, but not in my defense.
“I think what thedies are trying to say is that our world can be judgmental. People talk, they specte. It’s important to present the right image
“The right image?”
“Purified. Educated. From the right background.” Eleanor’s voice was gentle, but her words were knives. “Unfortunately, the media attentiontely has raised… questions.”
I looked around the table at their perfectly made–up faces, finally understanding what was happening. This wasn’t about making peace.
This was about putting me in my ce.
And from the corner of my eye, I could see that blonde woman’s phone was definitely recording.