Chapter 7: The Gilded Pretenders
In April, the outside world intruded upon their growing sanctuary.
The Vance Foundation was hosting its annual Spring Gala at the Art Institute of Chicago.
Ethan’s aunt, Victoria Sterling—a prominent Chicago socialite who had long sought to marry Ethan off to a wealthy debutante from her private social club—approached Ethan during the cocktail reception in the modern wing.
"Ethan, darling," Victoria said, sipping her martini with a patronizing smirk. "People are talking. You have a pediatric nurse practically living at your brownstone. You’re letting that child spend her days flailing her hands like an eccentric instead of getting her into the boarding academy in Boston."
Ethan stopped swiveling his champagne glass. The temperature in his eyes dropped to absolute zero.
"Victoria," Ethan said, his voice quiet, lethal, and resonant. "The woman you are referring to is a trauma specialist who gave my daughter her voice back while you were busy criticizing her dress at the Drake."
"I am merely thinking of the family legacy, Ethan!" Victoria huffed, her face tightening. "A Vance does not marry a hospital worker who takes the Blue Line train. And a Vance child should not look like a circus act in public."
Ethan set his glass down on a passing waiter’s tray with a sharp, definitive click.
"The Vance legacy was built on steel and labor, Victoria," Ethan said, looking down at his aunt with unshakeable authority. "Not on hollow vanity. If you ever speak about Elena or Mia in that tone again, I will personally revoke your foundation board seat and audit your family trust's travel expenditures. Have a pleasant evening."
Ethan turned on his heel, walked across the gallery, and exited the museum.
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He didn't want to be in rooms where human worth was measured by pedigree. He wanted to be at a kitchen table in the Gold Coast where love was spoken without a single word of pretense.
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