745 The Billion-Dollar Collapse: How a Pregnant Wife Stripped Her Arrogant CEO Husband of His Empire and Left Him with Nothing / Chapter 2 / 100

Chapter 2 - The Mother's Dilemma

Back inside the Grand Marlo ballroom, the applause for Mason and Camille’s waltz died down into a soft, murmuring wave of polite chatter.

Mason Hartwell stood breathless, his chest heaving beneath his custom tuxedo jacket as he offered a devastating, practiced smile to the crowd. His right arm remained firmly around Camille’s waist, pulling her just a fraction closer than etiquette allowed.

"You were magnificent out there," Camille murmured, her dark eyes glittering under the crystal light as she looped her arm through his. "Look at them, Mason. Everyone in this room knows whose night this really is."

Mason’s chest swelled with a intoxicating rush of corporate godhood. Two billion dollars. A sprawling estate in Westchester. A media empire hanging on his every word. He glanced down at Camille, feeling the absolute invincibility of a man who believed he could rewrite the universe to suit his desires.

"It's only the beginning, Camille," Mason murmured against her hair. "The board votes on the merger next Tuesday. Once that clears, we own the coast."

He scanned the perimeter of the ballroom, his eyes naturally searching for the pale champagne silk dress. For the past eleven years, no matter where he looked in a room full of strangers, Emily had always been standing quietly at the edge—patient, steady, holding his coat or whispering a reminder about his schedule.

The edge of the room was empty.

Mason frowned, his gaze tracking across the pillars where she had stood only ten minutes ago. Nothing.

"Excuse me for a moment," Mason said, dropping his arm from Camille's waist with a sudden, restless twitch of unease.

"Mason? Where are you going?" Camille protested, her manicured fingers brushing his sleeve. "The reporters from Forbes want a joint photo."

"I'll be right back," he muttered, turning away from her and pushing through the crowd toward the VIP exit.

Standing near the base of the marble staircase, staring blankly at the palm of her hand like she had just been handed a live grenade, was Victoria Hartwell.

The seventy-two-year-old matriarch looked pale, her charcoal-gray velvet dress seeming to swallow whatever color remained in her cheeks. Clutched tightly in her trembling right fist was a heavy, three-carat platinum diamond band.

Mason jogged the last few steps, flashing his bright, charismatic smile as he approached his mother.

"Mom, there you are," Mason laughed lightly, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple. "Have you seen Emily? Some investors from Boston are asking about her, and honestly, standing there looking eight months pregnant with twins is the ultimate PR flex for the family brand tonight."

Victoria didn't smile. She didn't even blink.