Chapter 11 - The Crimson Dress
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The Manhattan Charity Gala was held at the Plaza Hotel, a glittering spectacle of wealth, power, and thinly veiled corruption. Black-tie attire was mandatory, and the security was tighter than a presidential motorcade.
Marcus drove the armored SUV to the service entrance at the back of the hotel. He handed Sophia a small, sleek communication earpiece.
“Keep the channel open,” Marcus instructed, his face grim. “I’ll be in the surveillance van monitoring the feeds. If things go sideways, say the word, and I will breach the building.”
“You’re betraying Adrian by helping me,” Sophia noted, looking at the scarred security chief.
“I am keeping Adrian’s empire from burning to the ground because he couldn't keep his personal life separate from his business,” Marcus grunted. “Go. Before I change my mind.”
Sophia stepped out of the vehicle. She wasn't wearing her usual tailored business suits. Tonight, she was going to war, and she dressed for it. She wore a floor-length, deep crimson silk gown with a plunging neckline and a slit that reached her mid-thigh. It was a dress designed to command attention, to make it absolutely impossible for anyone to ignore her in a crowded room.
She retrieved the VIP credential from a terrified catering manager at the service door, clipping it to her clutch purse.
She navigated the back corridors of the hotel, her heels clicking softly against the concrete, until she reached the heavy double doors leading to the grand ballroom.
Sophia took a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and pushed the doors open.
The ballroom was a masterpiece of gold and crystal. Hundreds of people milled about, sipping champagne and laughing at jokes they didn't find funny.
Sophia walked down the grand staircase, the crimson silk flowing around her like blood in water. Heads immediately turned. Conversations died out as she glided through the crowd.
She spotted them almost immediately near the center of the room.
Adrian Moretti looked devastatingly handsome in a classic black tuxedo, holding a glass of scotch. Standing right beside him, wearing a glittering silver gown, was Valentina Russo. They looked like the perfect, untouchable power couple.
Sophia didn't hesitate. She walked directly toward them, the sea of elite guests parting for her as if sensing the impending explosion.
Adrian looked up, his gray eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated panic as he saw her approaching. The glass of scotch in his hand trembled, nearly spilling over the edge.
Valentina saw her next. The Italian heiress offered a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of respect.
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Sophia stopped exactly three feet away from the man who had broken her heart and nearly cost her her life.
“Good evening, Adrian,” Sophia smiled, her voice carrying clearly over the soft jazz music playing in the background. “I hope I’m not interrupting the wedding planning.”
