Chapter 2 - The Weight of Diamonds
The Grand Ballroom of the Whitmore Veteran's Foundation was a display of blinding luxury. Crystal chandeliers hung from high gold-leaf ceilings, casting warm light over one hundred and fifty distinguished guests. Navy flag officers, high-ranking defense executives, and political donors milled about, their laughter blending with the soft jazz played by a live string quartet.
I held Liam’s small hand firmly as we navigated the crowd. He wore a sharp little black suit, though he looked visibly overwhelmed by the sea of strangers. Every few steps, he would pull closer to my side, his shoulder resting against my leg.
"Captain Whitmore," a senior officer greeted me with a polite nod. "Impressive turnout tonight."
"Thank you, Sir," I replied, forcing a professional smile.
From across the room, I saw Eleanor standing near the head table, holding court with several high-ranking officials. Beside her stood Admiral Cassian Vale.
Admiral Vale was a legendary figure in the Navy—stern, broad-shouldered, with silvered hair and a row of medals that spoke of decades of high-stakes service. Yet, despite his commanding presence, there was a permanent shadow of grief etched into his jaw. Rumors had circulated for years about a personal tragedy that had shattered his family, though no one dared bring it up in polite company.
As Eleanor noticed us approaching, her eyes narrowed. She whispered something to the gentleman beside her before picking up a small, poorly wrapped parcel from the gift table.
She glided across the floor toward us, her silk dress rustling loudly. The surrounding guests turned their attention toward her, expecting a touching grand-maternal gesture.
Instead, Eleanor stopped two feet from Liam. Her smile was sharp as a razor.
"In honor of your... joining our quiet family," she said, her tone carrying an exaggerated, patronizing sweetness meant for the onlookers. She thrust the cheap, silver-wrapped cardboard box directly into Liam’s chest.
The box struck his small torso with a dull thud. The corner crumpled against his neat jacket.
May you like
Liam gasped silently, taking a quick step back as the box fell onto the polished floor. Trembling violently under her cold glare, his small hands reached up and gripped the seam of my navy dress uniform so hard I could feel the tension radiating through his body.
"Pick it up," Eleanor whispered, leaning down slightly so only we could hear, her face hardening into a cruel mask. "A defective burden like you should learn to smile and look grateful. Smile, you fool."
