Chapter 12 - The High Society Gala
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The Plaza Hotel on New Year’s Eve was a masterpiece of gilded elegance and overwhelming wealth. The grand ballroom was draped in silver and gold, massive crystal chandeliers casting a warm, dazzling light over hundreds of the country’s most powerful people.
I stood in a private VIP suite overlooking the ballroom, staring at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
I barely recognized myself. I was wearing a custom-tailored, deep emerald silk gown that hugged my curves perfectly. My hair was swept up into an intricate, elegant style, and resting against my collarbone was a necklace of flawless, dripping diamonds that Arthur had casually placed around my neck an hour earlier.
"You look breathtaking," Arthur murmured, stepping up behind me. He wore a sharp, classic black tuxedo that made him look impossibly handsome and terrifyingly powerful.
He rested his hands gently on my waist, his dark eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked softly.
"I have spent my entire life shrinking myself so my mother could feel large," I said, lifting my chin, projecting a fierce confidence I finally truly felt. "I am done shrinking, Arthur."
Marcus stepped into the suite, his earpiece glowing faintly.
"Boss," Marcus reported grimly. "The target has breached the perimeter. She used a forged press pass to get past the outer security ring. She’s currently making her way to the main ballroom floor."
Arthur’s eyes flashed with a dark, predatory excitement. "Perfect. Let her get comfortable. Let her find the center of the room."
We waited for exactly fifteen minutes, watching the security feeds on Marcus's tablet. Evelyn Vance, dressed in a gaudy sequined gown, was aggressively navigating the crowd, holding a glass of champagne, clearly looking for Arthur to launch her ambush.
"It's time," Arthur declared, offering me his arm.
I took a deep breath, placing my hand securely in the crook of his elbow.
We walked out of the suite and approached the grand, sweeping marble staircase that descended directly into the center of the ballroom.
As we stepped into view, the music from the orchestra seemed to falter for a split second. The crowd of billionaires and socialites naturally turned their attention to the host of the gala.
A hushed, electric murmur rippled through the massive room. Arthur Sterling, the notoriously private, fiercely guarded bachelor, was descending the stairs with a stunning, unknown woman on his arm.
I kept my gaze locked forward, scanning the crowd until I found her.
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Evelyn was standing near the ice sculpture, her champagne glass frozen halfway to her lips. The absolute, unadulterated shock on her face was a masterpiece. She had expected a cowering daughter and an angry billionaire.
She got a united front of absolute royalty.
