Celeste pulled away sharply. As she twisted, the delicate seam beneath the left shoulder of her emerald gown caught against the edge of Marcus's wristwatch. A long panel of satin gave way with a sudden tearing sound. The dress opened along its side, exposing its lining and leaving Celeste frozen in astonishment. A woman near the staircase gasped. Someone lowered a phone that had been recording. Celeste's carefully arranged expression collapsed into genuine shock.
Marcus immediately released her and stepped back. He removed his suit jacket and held it out without approaching again. "Take this," he said quietly. "Nobody deserves to be exposed and laughed at."
For the first time all afternoon, the eyes of the entire room were on Celeste rather than Amara. The woman who had measured every detail of the party for its public image now stood in the middle of her own carefully arranged stage, unable to control how she was seen. But it was Amara who moved first. She crossed the distance, picked up the jacket Celeste was too stunned to accept, and offered it with both hands.
"Here," Amara said, her voice soft. "You can cover it."
Celeste looked at the girl whose tears she had dismissed only moments before. There was no triumph on Amara's face. Only hurt, exhaustion, and a decency that made the room's silence feel heavier. Celeste took the jacket and wrapped it around herself. Marcus turned to Evelyn and asked her to help Celeste to the nearby sitting room. He did not ask anyone to photograph the moment, and he told the event manager to stop recording.
Then he turned toward his daughter. "I came home," he said, almost helplessly. "I'm here now."
Amara looked at him for a long moment. "You were supposed to be here before," she whispered.
Marcus could have defended himself. He could have explained the delayed flights, the business obligations, the impossible pressure of keeping his company running and hundreds of employees paid. None of those things would have changed the fact that his daughter had been standing alone inside a crowded house, waiting for someone to believe her. He lowered himself until his eyes were level with hers. "You're right," he said. "I was supposed to be here before."
Amara swallowed. "I told you she didn't want me talking about Mom. I told you the pictures were gone. You always said I should give her a chance."