Chapter 7 - His Confrontation

Marietta’s POV

The air in the ballroom shifted.

A murmur went through the crowd as Mr. Harris stood on the stage, his expression calm, his presence commanding. The last time I had seen him, he had been delivering Granny Lorette’s orders—orders that had shattered what remained of my world.

He was the one who had dished me the divorce papers. And right now he was, ready to hand me an award for being the best actress worldwide.

My gaze shifted across the hall. And there she was. The woman that has sent me to Paris.

And left me there to suffer alone.

Granny Lorette watched me carefully, her sharp gaze unreadable. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Harris continued, his voice smooth as he addressed the audience. "It is a privilege to stand before you tonight to honor an individual whose resilience and talent have captivated the world."

My stomach tightened.

He wasn’t talking about just anyone. He was talking about me.

"Three years ago, circumstances took her away from us. But as fate would have it, true brilliance cannot be hidden forever. And so, we welcome back the incomparable Marietta Whitmore."

A wave of polite applause filled the room, but I barely heard it.

Whitmore.

He had used that name.

Not Monroe, the name I had reclaimed. Not Davenport, my mother’s name. No—he had used his name. Michael’s name.

The name I had abandoned the night I left this city behind.

The night I signed the divorce papers.

I could see his expression as well. I knew Michael had noticed, too.

From across the room, his gaze darkened, his fingers curling into a fist at his side.

For a second, I hesitated. I had prepared for tonight. For the questions, the stares, the whispers. But this? This was something else.

I could feel the past creeping up, wrapping itself around my throat like invisible chains.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I lifted my chin, ignoring my heart pounding, and took a slow step forward. If they wanted to play this game, then fine.

Let’s play.

I ascended the stage with practiced speech, every movement measured, every step calculated. Unshaken. Unbothered. Untouchable.

Mr. Harris extended a hand, but I ignored it, taking the microphone instead.

"Thank you, Mr. Harris," I said smoothly. "It’s an honor to be recognized tonight. Though, I must admit—" I let my gaze sweep across the audience, briefly meeting Michael’s stormy eyes. "—I wasn’t expecting such a… nostalgic welcome."

A few chuckles from the crowd. But Michael? He didn’t even blink.

"It’s been quite a journey," I continued, my voice steady. "And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that time doesn’t change the truth. It only reveals it."

Michael’s jaw clenched.

Granny Lorette exhaled softly, as if she had expected my words but wished I hadn’t spoken them.

Mr. Harris, ever the composed man, nodded. "Wise words, Miss—" He hesitated. Almost imperceptibly. "—Monroe."

Ah. So he had chosen to correct himself.

Interesting.

"Well, we are honored to have you back," he said, stepping aside. "I’m sure there are many here who would love a moment of your time, and we are here to give you a token–." he extended some wrapped gifts to me.

I accepted them with a smile, as the cameraman did the needful.

I smiled at the crowd. This will be the fifth gift I’ll be getting.

It’s been an honour. It wasn’t easy being a celebrity.

Stepping off the stage, I made my way back into the crowd. People approached me—directors, producers, industry elites—but I hardly heard them.

Because two people were standing there waiting for me.

Michael.

And Granny Lorette.

I exhaled, bracing myself. Here we go.

Michael spoke first, his voice quieter this time. "You should have corrected him."

I raised a brow. "Corrected who?"

"Harris," he bit out. "You should have told him you weren’t a Whitmore anymore."

I took a sip of my champagne, unbothered. "Wasn’t I?"

Michael’s expression hardened. "Marietta—"

"Enough." Granny’s voice cut between us, firm but calm.

I turned to her, waiting.

"You made quite the statement up there," she mused.

I tilted my head. "Did I?"

She sighed. "You always had a sharp tongue. But you forget—words have consequences."

"Only for those who don’t know how to handle them."

Granny studied me for a long moment before shaking her head. "You truly have changed."

I held her gaze. "And yet, you haven’t."

A flicker of something crossed her face. Amusement? Frustration? It was hard to tell.

Michael shifted beside her, his patience wearing thin. "Why did you come back, Marietta?"

"Like I said," I scoffed. "For my award. Nothing more."

But even as I said the words, I knew they weren’t entirely true.