I paused, letting the tension simmer. The audience, initially fixated on Vanessa’s theatrics, now turned their attention to me, the supposed ghost at the feast. I felt the weight of their eyes, their curiosity, and perhaps for a few, a glimmer of empathy. But I didn’t need empathy. Not anymore.
“Please welcome our chairman,” the emcee announced, his voice slicing through the shock like a knife. The crowd turned, expecting to see Vanessa stride confidently to the podium. But it was I who walked, every step resonating with unshed grief turned into resolute determination.
My parents, mid-panic at the unexpected turn of events, watched as I ascended the stage. I looked at Vanessa, who was frozen in place, her mouth agape, her eyes pools of disbelief and fear. She knew. Deep down, she always knew.
