Chapter 6 - The Charity Gala Trap
The Grand Plaza ballroom was a cathedral of ostentatious wealth. Towering Corinthian columns flanked the marble hall, and crystal chandeliers the size of small vehicles hung from the gilded ceiling, casting fractured prismatic light over hundreds of Riverport’s wealthiest citizens.
Trevor stood near the edge of the champagne fountain, gripping a crystal flute so tightly his fingers were white.
He looked disheveled beneath the surface. He had spent two hours in front of the mirror trying to conceal the dark bags under his eyes with concealer he bought at a 24-hour drugstore. His tuxedo was rented; his leased Mercedes had already received a repossession warning on his phone screen thirty minutes ago.
He didn't care. *This is my night,* he told himself like a mantra. *If I can get an audience with Marcus Thorne or Senator Vance tonight, Hayes won't be able to blackball me. Power respects power.*
"Look at him," a passing guest murmured, nudging her partner.
Trevor stiffened, flashing a plastic, desperate smile at them. "Good evening! Trevor Sterling, formerly of Sterling & Hayes, currently establishing my own boutique consultancy firm—"
The couple didn't stop. They didn't even acknowledge his words. They simply walked around him as if he were a trash can placed awkwardly in the middle of the aisle.
Trevor’s smile dropped into a bitter sneer. "Snobs," he hissed under his breath. "Wait until I close my first nine-figure deal."
Suddenly, the music died down. The string quartet transitioned into a slow, elegant waltz. The heavy double doors at the main entrance swung open.
The master of ceremonies cleared his throat over the central speaker system. "Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen. Please join me in welcoming tonight's honorary patrons and principal benefactors of the Riverport Pediatric Wing... Mr. and Mrs. Roman Moretti."
A collective murmur swept through the ballroom like wildfire.
Trevor froze. His heart slammed violently against his ribs. *No. It can't be.*
He craned his neck, pushing past several wealthy donors to see the grand staircase.
Descending the marble steps was Roman Moretti. He looked lethal in a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo, his posture radiating an ancient, unshakeable authority that made billionaires part like the Red Sea before him.
But nobody was looking at Roman.
Everyone was looking at the woman on his arm.
It was Sadi.
Trevor felt the breath leave his body in a sickening rush.
She wore an emerald green silk gown that draped flawlessly against her silhouette, the back plunging elegantly to reveal porcelain skin. Around her neck sat a cascade of rare teardrop emeralds and flawless diamonds that caught the chandelier light with blinding intensity. Her dark hair was pinned up in an intricate, sophisticated crown, framing high cheekbones and smoky, commanding eyes.
She wasn't the tired, broken girl who smelled of cheap diner grease. She wasn't the defenseless woman who flinched when the rent was due.
She looked like a queen descending from a throne to walk among commoners.
"My God," a prominent real estate mogul beside Trevor whispered in reverence. "That’s Roman’s new bride. Where did he find her? She’s breathtaking."
Trevor’s blood boiled until it felt like acid behind his eyes. The sheer, irrational fury that gripped him overrode whatever survival instinct he had left.
*She belongs to me,* his sick, broken mind screamed. *I made her! She was mine when she had nothing! She doesn't get to be a goddess!*
May you like
Without thinking, Trevor threw his half-empty champagne flute onto a passing waiter’s tray and shoved his way through the stunned crowd, marching straight toward the base of the grand staircase.
***
