Part 3My Sugar Baby Is My Dad

A burst of cruel laughter rippled through the front rows.

"Cousin? More like her country plaything!"

"Disgusting. Feeding a street hustler on Belmont dimes."

"I always knew that quiet, aloof elegance was an act. She's rotten to the core."

The room’s malice swelled like a rising tide.

Tinsley stood bathed in the collective validation of the room, her chin raised, glowing with the intoxication of absolute victory.

"Cat got your tongue, Genevieve?" she provoked, stepping onto the first riser of the stage. "Where is all that haughty pride now?"

She stopped two feet from me, leaning in so that her breath brushed my cheek, whispering with venomous intimacy: "I know you’ve always looked down on me. You thought you could hold onto him forever. But fakes always get exposed. If you have any shame left, walk out of here yourself before I turn you into an absolute pariah."

I looked into her manic, triumphant eyes and felt an odd sense of pity.

"Tinsley," I said, my voice smooth, without a ripple of distress. "Are you entirely sure you want to see this through to the end?"

She blinked, momentarily thrown by my lack of panic. But her hubris quickly swept the doubt away.

"Threatening me now? The entire world is watching you crumble. You think there’s a way out of this?" She spun back toward the press corps, projecting her voice to the rafters. "Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, I demand justice for Malcolm Belmont! Genevieve must return the family heirloom immediately and issue a public apology for this fraud!"

"Hear, hear!" Eugene bellowed from below. "And she will repay every cent she stole from our accounts!"

Shutter clicks cascaded across the room. The livestream’s concurrent viewers passed two million; the latency was causing the feed to stutter.

"Apologize! Refund the money! Lock her up!"

"Malcolm is the ultimate victim here. Tragic."

Malcolm’s control snapped. He caught Tinsley’s wrist in a vise grip, the pressure so intense her joints gave a faint pop.

"Tinsley, you have completely lost your mind."

Tinsley let out a sharp cry of pain, tears welling up in earnest. "Malcolm! You’re hurting me! You’d lay hands on me for this whore?!"

"Let go of her!" Eugene roared, waving his cane. "Security! Where the hell are the guards?!"

The security detail hesitated at the perimeter, exchanging nervous glances. Nobody wanted to tackle the future head of the Belmont empire.

I sighed inwardly and placed my palm over Malcolm’s knuckles. "Malcolm. Let her go."

His teeth were gritted. "She needs to be put down."

"I know," I said gently. "But don't dirty your hands on her. Let her go."

Malcolm shoved her away in disgust. Tinsley stumbled backward down the risers, catching herself on the banister, clutching her reddened wrist with pure hatred in her eyes.

"You think you’re untouchable because he protects you?" Her voice shook as she pulled her phone from her clutch. "Since you refuse to surrender, I’ll show you absolute ruin."

The massive screen flickered again.

An audio waveform pulsed across the black display. Through the pristine speakers, my voice rang out, crisp and unmistakable:

""The wire went through. Twenty thousand. That should keep you happy for a while. Don't come looking for me in public again—it’s impossible to explain if someone sees you. Be good. Do as you're told.""

The clip was brief, but damning.

It was my voice. Of course it was. It was what I had told my father last month after he threatened to walk around my Midtown design studio wearing a neon fishnet muscle tee.

Yet spliced, stripped of context, and framed by Tinsley, it sounded like a textbook illicit transaction with a gigolo.

The ballroom plunged into silence for one beat, then exploded.

"Shameless! Absolutely filthy!"

"Even the audio is out! How does she spin this?"

"Malcolm, have some self-respect! Throw her out!"

Tinsley raised her head, crowing like a victorious rooster.

"Genevieve, that was recorded by a patron at a lounge while your kept boy was bragging to his friends," she sneered. "You never imagined your little toy would take your money to buy rounds for strangers and boast about your private arrangements, did you? What’s your defense now?"