Chapter 5 - The Gala of the Damned
Three days later, the annual Mayor’s Charity Ball was held at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan.
It was the premier social event of the year—a glittering sea of diamond necklaces, expensive tuxedos, champagne flutes, and powerful politicians rubbing shoulders with elite corporate titans and underworld bosses who wore their sins behind expensive Italian silk.
Before my “death,” I would have been required to attend on my father’s arm, smiling politely, wearing a dress chosen by someone else, holding a glass of sparkling cider while pretending not to notice the whispered rumors about my family's debts.
Tonight, I was attending as someone entirely different.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master dressing room of Luca’s estate. I wore a backless, floor-length velvet gown the color of midnight blue, hugging my curves like liquid shadow. My hair was swept up into an intricate, elegant chignon, and around my neck rested a vintage diamond choker that Luca had casually handed me from his personal safe.
“Ready to face the ghosts of your past?” Luca asked, stepping into the room wearing a sharp tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders to perfection.
He looked devastatingly handsome—dangerous, powerful, and utterly untouchable.
I turned around, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I’m not the one who should be afraid, Luca. They are.”
We arrived at the Plaza Hotel just after eight o’clock.
When Luca Moretti stepped out of the black Maybach, followed closely by a stunning, mysterious woman in a midnight-blue gown leaning casually on his arm, the whispers rippled through the paparazzi crowded behind the velvet ropes like wind through high grass.
Flashbulbs exploded in a blinding wall of white light.
I kept my chin up, my posture straight, my expression an unreadable mask of absolute, icy confidence.
As we walked up the red-carpeted marble stairs into the grand ballroom, I spotted him instantly.
Franklin Ashford stood near the buffet table, holding a glass of amber scotch so tightly his knuckles were stark white. He looked hollowed out, his eyes sunken, his expensive suit hanging loosely from his frame. Beside him stood Damian Vale, his face dark as thunder, glaring at anyone who dared to look in his direction.
Word had already broken on the financial news networks an hour ago: Apex Global Logistics assets frozen by federal maritime authorities. Multi-million-dollar raid underway at the downtown shipping docks.
Damian was losing everything, and he knew it.
As Luca and I walked past the grand double doors into the ballroom, Damian’s eyes swept over the crowd. When they landed on me—alive, breathing, stunning, and standing hand-in-hand with his most dangerous rival—his drink glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor with a sharp, echoing crash.
The entire ballroom suddenly fell dead silent.
Every head turned in unison.
My father dropped his jaw, staring at me as if he were looking at an actual specter risen from the grave. “Eliana...?” he whispered, his voice trembling so loudly it carried across the quiet room.
Damian pushed past the terrified guests, marching straight toward us, his face purple with rage, his fists clenched so tightly his fingers looked broken.
“You!” Damian snarled, lunging forward. “You little bitch! You’re dead! You were supposed to be dead!”
Before Damian could take another step, two of Luca’s massive security guards stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path, their hands resting smoothly over their concealed sidearms.
Luca stepped in front of me protectively, his eyes fixed on Damian with the cold, absolute authority of a king looking at a peasant who had forgotten his place.
“Watch your tone, Vale,” Luca said softly, his voice cutting through the silent ballroom like a razor blade. “You’re speaking to the co-owner of Marino Holdings and my invited guest.”
“She’s my wife!” Damian roared, spittle flying from his lips. “She signed the contract! Her father owes me seventeen million dollars! She belongs to me!”
May you like
I stepped out from behind Luca, looking down at Damian with a cold, pitying smile that cut him deeper than any knife could have.
“I belong to no one, Damian,” I said, my voice clear, steady, and loud enough for every powerful man and woman in the room to hear. “And as for my father’s debt? Consider it paid in full. With interest.”
