Vivian crossed the ballroom floor with deliberate, focused steps, her eyes fixed on Lily, who stood beside Constance near the center of the room, her small face carrying an expression of quiet, practiced compliance that broke Vivian's heart the moment she registered it. Lily's eyes lifted, caught sight of her mother approaching, and something in her small face shifted instantly from careful composure into desperate hope.
Constance noticed the direction of Lily's gaze and turned, her own expression shifting rapidly from polite social composure into sharp, immediate alarm as she registered Vivian's approach.
"Vivian," Constance began, her voice carrying a practiced, warning tone, "this isn't the time or place—"
Vivian didn't let her finish. Eight months of carefully restrained fury finally broke loose entirely, her voice rising sharply enough to draw immediate attention from the surrounding crowd of gala guests.
"What have you done?" Vivian's voice cracked with raw, unrestrained fury, tears springing instantly to her eyes. "She's my daughter!"