All Chapters of Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

The guests continued, violins wailing a requiem above the shine-hardened marble. Chandeliers sparkled with more light now, golden rays pooling on crystal glasses and gem-studded finery. To the unsullied eye, the Blackwood scandal was perfect—an evening of beauty, riches, and unparalleled power. But between the spaces, there was violence. It was Eleanor's turn to make the lead. She glided in among members of society, her dress whispering behind her like the presence of an influence. Women ahead of her strained themselves to position, hungrily awaiting the morsels of gossip she had set aside. With each courtesy, Eleanor dropped honey-like words with venom. "Look, do you see her?" She gestured toward Leya, who stood beneath a gold-leafed pillar, her hands clasped before her, "Our dear daughter-in-law. So shy, so modest. Why should she be? Because silence is the thief's sole alibi. If volubility is unmasked, then truth is unmasked." A hum among the throng. "A thief?" A woman whisper

Chilling, mirthless laughter cracked in the air like broken glass, cutting along the corridor like ghosts. The sparkling chandelier above appeared to descend, throwing its derisive light upon the very glacéed marble floor upon which Leya served wine, dress open, pride in rags.Eleanor leaned back in her seat, sipping wine like a conqueror on spoils. Venom fang of the snake gleamed on Vivian's smile as she announced to the crowd of well-wishers her and their rings of laughter which later on came ripped like sniping.Leya stiff, breast rising to shallow gasps. Skin slick with sweat, hair streaming champagne, heart hammering as if it would burst out of her breast. She'd anticipated so much cruelty at Blackwood Hall, but this—never such raw emptiness from people who enjoyed her shame.---She gazed at Harrison once more.He remained still.A man in charge, his jaw clenched but for that suggestion of amusement around the edges of his mouth. And when at last she did find him—desperation, ba

The formerly silent and music-free hallway vibrated with repressed tension, interrupted by muffled moans and laughter. Leya's excess was still in the air around the chandeliers, air still heavy with the fight—a disgusting reminder of spilled wine, crushed food on the highly buffed floor, the acrid odor of pepper suspended in the air. Eleanor sat rigid as a plank along the table, her complexion turning white under the powder with fury, She seethed with anger as she soaked her dress with a napkin, attempting to remove the stains, but no one could erase what had been done. "She's shamed us," she despised Vivian, speaking ice-cold as glass. "In front of everyone. Can you hear them? They have already begun gossiping." Vivian, fought over in the second play, curves an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth ricked back into a scornful grin as if enjoying gallows humor over the tragedy. "Let them talk," she growls, looking out at the crowd. "They're smoke—blow in the wind, but with a good blow,

The celebration continued as if the band would not even miss a single broken string. Glasses clashed on, servants shifted from table to table, and music swirled like a cloud in beams of chandeliers. But behind everything, there was a shadow, a shadow even the sun could not dispel: the shadow of Leya's downfall. She had retired from the hall in shame. Shame is, however, a sticking paste—not to the shamefaced, but to the lookers-on. --- With a row of tables down the centre, Eleanor leaned over two visitors, her smile fixed, her voice low enough to be as honey but keen enough to bite. Don't you realize?" she panted, twirling her fan. "She's dainty. Unpredictable. Barely stable enough to balance a tray, much less the Blackwood name." The woman across from her table glared, eyes flashing hatred. One inched forward, speaking barely above a whisper, "Good luck for Harrison—to be saddled with such a wretched little goody-goody." Eleanor's laughter was as delicate as glass on mar

Leya's room was quiet, heavy with the kind of stillness that sat in the chest, cold and muffled. The distant, muffled laughter and violins like another world's music from an infinitely, infinitely far way off at the opposite end of the big hall, shattered shards of a whirling world which went on as though nothing had blown.Leya had blown.She crouched, huddled, on the ground by the bed, arched back, bent, sour wet dress stuck to her. Cream and wine had flowed down on her, staining her like a bruise. Her hair was dead, straggling from her cheeks where dried tears left white streaks of salt.Her arms were pinched in tightly against her belly, protecting as if she could protect the baby inside her from the venom of the evening."I can't," she struggled savagely, again and again, "I can't, I can't—" Her shoulders quivered with rage and pain, and Harrison's sneer hangs over her head with every blink. Eleanor's smile. Vivian's venom. The other guests' laughter was raining past her in a sto