Chapter 15 - The Trap is Set
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The Grand Ballroom of the Metropolitan Club was the epitome of Manhattan elite luxury.
Golden chandeliers lit up the room, throwing light across white-linen dining tables, ice sculptures, and hundreds of high-profile guests—city politicians, wall street titans, news anchors, and celebrity investors.
Dozens of press cameras were lined up along the central velvet rope, their flashes strobing continuously as high-society couples arrived.
Dylan stood near the main stage, wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo, holding a glass of vintage champagne. Sierra stood at his side in a backless gold-sequined evening gown, her hair styled in elegant waves, looking like a Hollywood starlet. Ryan sat at a front table, wearing a mini-tuxedo, surrounded by gift boxes provided by Dylan’s PR team.
"You look stunning, Sierra," Dylan whispered in her ear, pulling her close for a press photo.
"We look like a power couple, Dylan," Sierra giggled, pressing her hand against his chest for the flashing cameras. "Where is your mouse of a wife? Did she stay home crying?"
"Who cares where Elena is?" Dylan scoffed, taking a sip of champagne. "Tonight is about us. In ten minutes, when I take that stage, Vance Capital's new fund will be officially announced."
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany double doors at the back of the ballroom swung wide open.
The chatter in the room instantly died down.
I walked into the ballroom.
I didn't wear the "simple dress" Dylan had demanded. I wore a custom-tailored, emerald-green silk gown that sculpted my figure flawlessly, complemented by a brilliant diamond necklace that had belonged to my mother. My posture was regal, my chin held high, and my left arm—free of its sling—was sleek and immaculate.
Beside me walked Julian Thorne, flanked by four senior executives from Sterling Global Logistics.
The press cameras immediately turned away from Dylan and Sierra, swarming toward me like a wave of blinding white lightning.
"Mrs. Vance! Mrs. Vance! Is it true Sterling Global is pulling their investments?" a reporter shouted.
"Elena?" Dylan gasped, his glass slipping slightly in his hand as he stared at me in total shock. "What... what is she doing here?"
I walked straight past the press line, my emerald heels clicking sharply against the polished wood floor, stopping directly in front of the stage.
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I looked up at my husband, offering him a serene, terrifying smile.
"Good evening, Dylan," I said softly. "The show is about to start."
