Maris, wrapped in shining silk and pearls, stood beside a huge tiered cake, but her graceful smile vanished the instant she saw her son storming in with a dirty, crying child in his arms.
Shock rippled through the guests as the music stopped and the ballroom sank into a heavy, uncomfortable silence.
Victor walked straight to the center of the room, stopped in front of his mother, and fixed her with eyes as cold as frozen water.
“Mother, I need you to look at me and answer a question in front of every single person here,” he announced, his voice carrying clearly to the far end of the ballroom.
Maris turned a sick shade of gray, her hand tightening around her champagne glass until her knuckles whitened.
“Victor, darling, please do not make a scene at my birthday party, as this is completely inappropriate,” she hissed.
“Three years ago, did you or did you not force Catherine and my daughter out of our home?”
