Chapter 8 - The Gala at the Art Institute
The annual Chicago Charity Ball at the Art Institute was the premier event of the autumn social season. Every billionaire, politician, and cultural icon in the Midwest had gathered beneath the grand neoclassical dome to bid on high-end art pieces and celebrate philanthropic achievements.
For Elena, attending her first major public gala not as a member of the catering or housekeeping staff, but as Nathaniel Cross’s partner, was surreal. Draped in a stunning midnight-blue velvet gown that shimmered under the gallery lights, she walked beside Nathaniel down the grand marble staircase, her hand resting comfortably in the crook of his arm.
Flashbulbs popped blindingly from the press gallery lining the perimeter. Microphones thrust forward, reporters shouting over one another.
“Mr. Cross! Is it true the engagement to Vanessa Lowell was canceled due to embezzlement?” “Ms. Vance! How does it feel to step from the domestic staff into the executive suite?”
Nathaniel paused, pulling Elena closer against his side, shielding her slightly from the aggressive media swarm. He looked directly into the primary camera lens, his expression unyielding.
“The foundation has been fully audited, cleaned, and restructured,” Nathaniel announced clearly, his voice carrying across the marble hall. “And Ms. Vance is not just stepping into the executive suite—she is the reason this foundation has a future. Any further inquiries regarding past management will be handled by my legal counsel.”
They moved into the grand gallery, where guests parted respectfully, their previous skepticism replaced by cautious deference and undeniable curiosity. High-society matrons who had once snapped their fingers at Elena for sparkling water now offered trembling, polite smiles, raising their champagne flutes in awkward salutes.
As Nathaniel stepped away briefly to speak with the mayor regarding the pediatric medical fund initiative, Elena stood near a massive bronze sculpture, taking a quiet breath.
“Enjoying the view from the other side, Elena?”
The voice was cold, sharp, and dripping with venom.
Elena spun around. Standing near the gallery pillar, half-concealed by shadow, was Vanessa Lowell. She wore a dark, oversized trench coat, her hair pinned loosely, her eyes hollow and manic.
“Vanessa,” Elena said calmly, her heart beating faster. “You aren’t allowed within five hundred yards of this venue, let alone the estate.”
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Vanessa stepped closer, a chilling smile twisting her lips. “Orders and restraining orders are just pieces of paper, Elena. You think Nathaniel can protect you forever? You think because he gave you a title and a dress that you belong in our world? You’re still just a servant playing dress-up. And by midnight, everyone in this room is going to know exactly what kind of past you tried to bury.”
Before Elena could respond, Vanessa pulled a small USB drive from her pocket, flashed it triumphantly, and turned, darting quickly toward the main auditorium’s central AV control booth.
