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49 Forsaken at the Springs, A Gala’s Glare
49 Forsaken at the Springs, A Gala’s Glare.
Elara’s POV
Friday evening arrived with a deafening silence in our suite. Eleanor’s tight–lipped ánger was evident as she paced the room, phone pressed to her ear.
“Damien, this is unacceptable. You promised Cora.” Her voice was sharp. “At least speak to your daughter.”
She thrust the phone toward Coco, who sat curled on the sofa, hugging her knees to
her chest. Tears streamed down her face as she took the device.
“Daddy? When are you coming?” Her small voice broke. “You promised about the slide… She listened for a moment. “But you said-*
I turned away, busying myself with unpacking our swimwear. The familiar pain in my chest had dulled to a constant ache. I’d stopped expecting Damien to show up long
ago.
After hanging up, Coco threw the phone onto the sofa cushion. “He’s not coming at all! He said he has to work with Aunt Vivienne on something important.”
Eleanor’s face reddened. “That woman! I should have known she was behind this.”
I maintained my composure, folding a towel with precise movements. “Coco, why don’t we go to the children’s pool? I heard they have floating toys.
“I don’t want to swim anymore,” she mumbled, burying her face in a decorative pillow.
Eleanor sat beside her, stroking her hair. “Your father is just busy, dear. He loves
very much.”
you
I bit my tongue. Eleanor still clung to illusions about her grandson that I’d abandoned
years ago.
That night, I helped Coco into bed despite her sullen protests. Eleanor lingered in the doorway, her expression troubled.
“Elara, I don’t understand why he does this,” she whispered once Coco had fallen asleep. “Arthur would never have-
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ag Forsaken at the Springs, A Gala’s Glare
“It’s late,” I interrupted softly. “We should rest.
In my room, I stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant sound of water flowing through the resort’s hot springs. Sleep eluded me as my phone lit up with work emails from Julian.
At least someone needed me.
Saturday morning brought unexpected quiet. I emerged from my room to find a note from Eleanor on the breakfast table,
“Developed migraine overnight. Returning home for proper medication. Will call later.
Eleanor
A quick check revealed Coco’s room was empty, her small backpack missing
Panic surged through me as I called the front desk. “Has anyone seen a little girl
alone?”
“Mrs. Thorne? Your daughter left with Mrs. Eleanor Thorne around seven this morning. The elder Mrs. Thorne assured us it was arranged.”
Relief mixed with hurt washed over me. Eleanor had taken Coco–without telling me- likely back to the city. Back to Damien and Vivienne.
My phone rang. Eleanor.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said without preamble. “Coco was so upset. She wanted to see her father, and I was heading back anyway.”
“You could have told me,” I replied, keeping my voice even.
“You were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.” A pause. “Damien promised to take her to that new children’s museum today to make up for missing the springs.”
Another promise he’d probably break.
“I understand,” I said, though I didn’t.
After hanging up, I stood in the empty suite, stillness enveloping me. For the first time. in years, I was completely alone.
The realization felt oddly freeing.
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49 Forsaken at the Springs, A Gala’s Glare
I changed into my swimsuit and robe, gathering my book and sunscreen. If I was here alone, I might as well enjoy it.
The hot spring pools were nearly empty, most families gathered at the water park section. I slipped into a secluded pool, the mineral–rich water embracing me with welcome heat.
No child needing attention.
No husband to wait for.
No appearances to maintain.
I closed my eyes, submerging until only my face remained above water. The tension in my shoulders began to dissolve.
Hours passed as I alternated between reading, soaking, and ordering lunch poolside. By afternoon, I’d finished half my novel and felt more relaxed than I had in months.
FI
My phone remained silent. No calls from Damien, checking if I was alright. No. messages from Coco, missing her mother.
Sunday morning, I woke to Eleanor’s call.
“Elara, dear. How are you managing alone? Damien will pick you up this evening, won’t
he?”
I hesitated, then lied. “Yes, he messaged me. Everything’s arranged.”
“Good. Coco’s having a wonderful time. They went to the museum yesterday, and today they’re visiting the botanical garden.”
The plural “they” hung in the air between us. I knew who “they” included.
“I’m glad she’s happy,” I said honestly. Despite everything, I wanted Coco to be happy.
After breakfast, I treated myself to a massage at the resort spa. The masseuse commented on the knots in my shoulders and neck.
“Carrying a lot of tension, Mrs. Thorne,” she observed, working her fingers against a particularly stubborn knot.
You have no idea, I thought.
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49 Forsaken at the Springs. A Gala’s Glare
By late afternoon, I began packing my belongings, knowing no one was coming for me. I’d arranged for a car service to take me home, not wanting to burden Mr. Finch on at Sunday evening.
Eleanor called again as I was checking out.
“Has Damien arrived yet?”
“He’ll be here soon,” I lied again, signing the bill.
“Tell him to drive carefully. There’s supposed to be rain tonight.”
“I will.”
The resort staff loaded my bag into the waiting car as darkness fell. The driver, a middle–aged man with kind eyes, smiled as he held the door open.
“Long weekend, Mrs. Thorne?”
“Longer than expected,” I replied.
We’d been driving for thirty minutes when my phone rang. Chloe’s name flashed on
the screen.
“Tell me you’re not still at that resort,” she demanded without greeting.
“I’m on my way home. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Chloe’s voice rose incredulously. “Have you checked social media at all this weekend? Or the news?”
“No, I was trying to relax-”
“While you’ve been soaking in hot springs, your husband’s been making quite a scene with your half–sister.”
My stomach clenched. “What are you talking about?”
“The Calloway Foundation Gala. Last night. It was livestreamed for charity donations.” Her voice softened slightly, “Oh, Elara. I’m sorry.”
“Just tell me what happened,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady.
“Someone–some society wife–confronted Vivienne. Called her a homewrecker right there on the red carpet. Threw a glass of red wine all over her white dress.”
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49 Forsaken at the Springs, A Gala’s Glare
I closed my eyes, picturing the scene. “And Damien?”
*Stepped right in. Put his jacket around her shoulders, told the woman to mind her own business, and escorted Vivienne away like some knight in shining armor.” Chloe’s disgust was palpable. “The whole thing’s online. Thousands of views already.”
The car suddenly felt too warm, too confined.
“Elara? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I managed. “I’m here.”
“I’m sending you the link. You should see it for yourself. Her tone hardened. “And then you should call your lawyer.”
After we hung up, I stared at the notification of Chloe’s message. A video link with the caption: “This is what Damien was ‘working on this weekend.”
My finger hovered over it, trembling slightly.
The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Everything alright, ma’am?”
“Fine,” I said automatically, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.
Rain began to fall, pattering against the windows as the city lights grew closer. Withi each drop that hit the glass, my resolve strengthened.
I tapped the link.
The video loaded, showing the glittering entrance to the Calloway Foundation Gala. Celebrities and socialites paraded past photographers, flashing perfect smiles.
Then the camera panned, and there they were.
Damien, immaculate in a tailored tuxedo.
Vivienne, stunning in a form–fitting white gown.
They smiled for the cameras, his hand resting possessively on her lower back. They looked perfect together. Happy.
As they moved further down the red carpet, a commotion erupted. A woman in a blue dress approached them, gesturing angrily at Vivienne.
“How dare you show your face here?” The woman’s voice carried clearly over the
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49 Forsaken at the Springs, A Gala’s Glare
microphone. “Everyone knows you’re sleeping with a married man!”
Before anyone could intervene, she threw her wine glass forward, the red liquid. splashing across Vivienne’s white dress like blood.
Gasps and exclamations filled the air. Cameras flashed frantically.
Vivienne stood frozen in shock, red wine dripping down her expensive gown.
Then Damien stepped forward, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it protectively around Vivienne’s shoulders. He faced the woman with cold fury.
“You’re making a scene over matters you know nothing about,” he said, his voice low but carrying. “My personal life is not for public consumption.”
He turned to Vivienne, his expression softening as he leaned close to whisper something in her ear. She nodded, visibly calming under his attention.
With his arm firmly around her waist, Damien guided Vivienne away from the commotion, ignoring the security personnel rushing to intervene and the reporters. shouting questions.
The livestream followed them until they disappeared into a waiting car, the commentator breathlessly speculating about “the dramatic confrontation between
Mrs. Camden and Damien Thorne’s rumored mistress.”
The video ended, but I kept staring at the black screen, numb.
This was what Damien had chosen over his promise to our daughter. Over his commitment to his family.
A public declaration of his priorities, broadcast for all to see.
Including me.
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