He turned to Luther, voice laced with venom.
"She’s his mistress."
Gasps filled the room.
I felt my heartbeat slam against my ribs as every eye turned to Luther, to Catherine. Catherine’s face drained of color, her hands shaking as she stepped forward. "Vander, stop this. You’re ruining the party—"
"Oh, I’m not done yet," Vander cut her off. "I wonder, Luther—how long were you planning to keep up this act? How long were you going to pretend that Cheryl was your Luna when you’ve already replaced her?"
Luther’s fists clenched, his face twisting with fury. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Don’t I?" Vander let out a cold chuckle. "Then why don’t we ask Cheryl?"
Silence. Everyone turned to look at me, and Vander gave me a look that silently urged—this was my moment to speak up.
“I’m pregnant.” I finally said.
The room was suffocating. The moment my words left my lips, the entire ballroom turned into a war zone of whispers and gasps. The tension was so thick I could taste it, bitter and electric.
Luther’s expression barely changed at first. He stared at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, like he was waiting for the punchline to a sick joke.
Then I gave it to him.
“It’s Vander’s.”