Chapter 5 - The Gala of Whispers
The annual European Logistics Gala was the most exclusive event of the season, hosted in a sprawling glass pavilion overlooking Lake Como. Flashbulbs popped like continuous lightning as Rafael Moretti stepped out of the black Maybach. But it wasn't Rafael who stole the breath of the paparazzi—it was the woman on his arm.
Leila wore a backless, midnight-black silk gown that clung to her silhouette like liquid shadow. Her hair was swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck, and on her left ring finger sat a blinding, flawless five-carat diamond ring—the very ring Rafael had slid onto her hand during the ritual.
Whispers swept through the crowd like a wildfire.
Isn't that Leila Haddad?
The dead fiancée?
I thought she ran off with a Swiss banker?
Valeria arrived moments later, her face locked in a terrifying facsimile of joy, though her nails dug deep into the arm of her escort. She had tried every legal and social maneuver over the past week to block Leila's re-entry into high society, but Rafael’s legal team had moved with terrifying, ruthless efficiency.
As they entered the grand ballroom, classical music swelled from the orchestra pit. Rafael kept his hand firmly at Leila's waist, his thumb resting right against the small of her back.
"You're enjoying this," Leila murmured under her breath, keeping her eyes fixed on the sea of smiling, treacherous faces.
"I am enjoying watching Valeria sweat through her designer gown," Rafael corrected smoothly, guiding her toward the center of the floor as the waltz began. "Look at her table. She's already on her third glass of champagne."
"Be careful, Rafael," Leila warned as they began to move in rhythm with the music. "Cornered animals bite."
"Let her bite," Rafael whispered, pulling her fractionally closer, ignoring the collective gasp of the surrounding spectators. "I spent three years in hell because of her. Now it's her turn to feel the heat."
As the song peaked, a group of international shipping executives approached them, led by Viktor Vance, a notoriously ruthless investor who held the swing vote for the upcoming board election.
"Rafael! A magnificent surprise," Vance boomed, raising his glass. "And... Miss Haddad. We were all under the impression you had left the continent permanently."
"Rumors of my departure were greatly exaggerated, Mr. Vance," Leila replied with a cool, untouchable smile that left the investor blinking in surprise. "Just like rumors of my lack of ambition."
May you like
Valeria materialized beside Vance like an apparition, her smile razor-sharp. "Yes, well, some people have a habit of returning to places they don't belong. Isn't that right, Leila? Like stray cats wandering back to a kitchen where they've already been beaten."
The music seemed to stutter. The surrounding guests held their breath, waiting for the explosion.
