Chapter 10: The Gala of Ghosts
The Metropolitan Charity Gala was the crown jewel of New York high society. Every camera, every journalist, every billionaire in the state was in attendance.
And Arthur Cole had made sure his family was front and center.
Vanessa was standing by the champagne fountain, wearing a stunning red gown, smiling tightly for the cameras. The Cole family’s PR spin was in full effect: Alessandro and Vanessa had simply grown apart. It was mutual. There was no scandal.
Then, the murmurs started.
Like a wave rippling through the grand ballroom, the chatter died down. Heads turned toward the grand staircase at the entrance. The string quartet missed a note.
I stood at the top of the stairs, my hand resting on Alessandro’s arm.
I was not wearing a maid's uniform. I was wearing a custom, midnight-blue silk gown that clung to every curve, paired with a diamond necklace that cost more than my entire life's earnings. My hair was styled in sleek waves, my makeup flawless.
I looked like a queen.
Alessandro stood beside me in a razor-sharp black tuxedo. He didn't look at the crowd. He only looked at me.
"Ready?" he murmured, leaning in close so only I could hear.
"Ready," I whispered back, lifting my chin.
We descended the stairs. Flashbulbs erupted like a thunderstorm. Reporters began shouting questions, ignoring the velvet ropes.
“Mr. Moretti! Who is your date?”
“Alessandro, is this the woman who caused the breakup?”
We reached the bottom floor and began walking directly through the crowd. People parted for Alessandro instinctively. We walked straight toward the champagne fountain, right into the path of Vanessa and Arthur Cole.
Vanessa’s champagne flute slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor—a poetic echo of the engagement party just a week prior. Her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated shock.
"Alessandro," Arthur Cole choked out, looking at me like I was a ghost. "What... what is the meaning of this? You bring the help to the Met Gala?"
Alessandro stopped. He smiled, and it was the most lethal thing I had ever seen.
"Arthur, Vanessa," Alessandro said loudly, ensuring every reporter in a twenty-foot radius caught his words. "I don't believe you've properly met my partner, Clara. She’s the woman who is going to help me dismantle what’s left of your pathetic legacy."
He turned slightly toward the cameras, wrapping his arm securely around my waist, pulling me tight against his side.
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"Clara Evans," Alessandro announced to New York City. "The future of the Moretti empire."
The ballroom erupted.
