Ellie's Forgotten Fortune

“You're quiet tonight, my darling," Charles murmured, his voice low and warm, but with an edge of concern that made Ellie's throat tighten. The chandeliers blazed like fallen stars, their light refracting through a thousand crystal prisms, scattering rainbows across the ballroom floor. The air was thick with the scent of gardenias and champagne, the hum of laughter and clinking glasses rising and falling like the tide. At the center of it all was Eleanor Whitmore—Ellie—her emerald-green gown catching the light as she moved, a jewel among jewels. But beneath the surface of her perfect smile, something brittle threatened to c***k. She was dancing with her father, Charles Whitmore, his strong hand steady on her back, his silver hair gleaming under the chandeliers. He was her anchor, her safe harbor in a world that often felt too vast, too loud, too cruel. Yet tonight, even his presence couldn't quiet the unease coiled up in her chest. She forced a smile, her fingers gripping his shoulder a little tighter. “Just thinking," she said lightly, though the words felt heavy on her tongue. “About how lucky I am to have you." Charles's eyes softened, but before he could reply, the music swelled, and the crowd erupted into applause. Ellie's stepmother, Vivian, had taken the stage. She was a vision in blood-red satin, her dark hair swept into an elegant chignon, her smile radiant but cold, like the glint of a knife in the moonlight. “Ladies and gentlemen," Vivian began, her voice smooth as velvet, “thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate the Whitmore Foundation's latest achievements. None of this would be possible without the unwavering dedication of my husband, Charles." The crowd applauded, but Ellie's stomach twisted. "My husband." The words felt like a slap, a reminder that Vivian had carved herself into their lives with surgical precision. It had been five years since Charles married her, five years since Ellie's mother had passed away, and still, the wound felt raw, like a bruise that refused to heal. Ellie's gaze drifted to the portrait above the grand staircase—a painting of her mother, radiant and smiling, her arms wrapped around a young Ellie. The artist had captured her mother's warmth, her kindness, the way her laughter could light up a room. Ellie's throat tightened. She missed her every day, every moment, with an ache that never faded. “Ellie," Charles said gently, pulling her from her thoughts. “Are you sure you're all right?" She nodded, forcing another smile. “I'm fine, Dad. Just… tired." Charles studied her for a moment, his brow furrowed. “You know you can talk to me, don't you? About anything." Ellie opened her mouth to reply, but Vivian's voice cut through the air like a whip. “Charles, darling, the investors are waiting." Charles sighed, his shoulders stiffening. “Duty calls," he said, pressing a kiss to Ellie's forehead. “We'll talk later, I promise." Ellie watched as he walked away, her heart sinking. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he would always be there for her. But lately, it felt like Vivian was pulling him further and further away, like a tide receding from the shore. “Enjoying the party, Eleanor?" Vivian's voice was saccharine sweet, but her eyes were cold as she approached. “It's lovely," Ellie replied, her tone polite but distant. "Go and see to your guests," she said on the inside. Vivian's smile didn't waver. “I'm glad. Though I must say, you look a bit… out of place. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable upstairs." Ellie's jaw tightened. “I'm fine where I am, thank you." Vivian's gaze flicked to the portrait of Ellie's mother, and for a moment, her mask slipped, revealing a flicker of something dark and unreadable. “You know, Eleanor," she said softly, “you can't live in the past forever. The world moves on, whether you're ready or not." Before Ellie could respond, Vivian turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Ellie standing alone in the middle of the ballroom. The music swelled around her, but it felt hollow, distant. She glanced at the portrait again, her mother's smiling face a stark contrast to the emptiness she felt inside. And then, as if on cue, the lights flickered. The music faltered. A murmur rippled through the crowd as the chandeliers dimmed, plunging the room into an eerie half-light. Ellie's heart raced as she scanned the room for her father, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Ladies and gentlemen," a voice boomed over the sound system, “we apologize for the interruption. Please remain calm." But Ellie wasn't calm. She pushed through the crowd, her pulse pounding in her ears. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones, a cold dread creeping up her spine. “Dad?" she called, her voice trembling. “Dad, where are you?" The crowd parted, and Ellie froze. There, at the foot of the grand staircase, lay Charles Whitmore, unconscious and pale. His hand clutched his chest, his breathing shallow. “Dad!" Ellie screamed, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, her hands shaking as she reached for him. “Someone call an ambulance! Please!" But the crowd just stared, their faces a blur of shock and confusion. Vivian appeared at the top of the staircase, her expression unreadable as she looked down at the scene below. “Ellie," Charles whispered, his voice barely audible. “I'm sorry… I should have told you…" “Told me what?" Ellie begged, tears streaming down her face. “Dad, please, stay with me!" But his eyes fluttered shut, and his hand went limp in hers. The world seemed to stop, the noise of the crowd fading into a dull roar. Ellie clung to him, her sobs echoing in the vast, empty ballroom. And then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment was over. The lights came back on, the music resumed, and the crowd began to disperse, as if nothing had happened. But for Ellie, everything had changed. Her father was gone. And with him, the life she had always known. How would she survive this? It could'nt be happening!