Chapter 4 - The Gala and the Glass
The crystal chandeliers of the Romano ballroom cast a cold, brilliant light across two hundred guests who spoke in well-bred murmurs that sounded like dry leaves scraping over concrete.
Evelyn stood near the service entrance behind a towering arrangement of white hydrangeas, wearing a plain black dress that Rosa had insisted on altering to fit her properly. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her apron, but her eyes were fixed on the center of the room, where Vanessa Sterling stood beside Gabriel, playing the part of the devoted hostess with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Since the incident in the library three days ago, Vanessa hadn't spoken a single direct word to Evelyn, but her glances had grown increasingly sharp, like broken glass hidden in velvet.
“You look like you’re guarding a bank vault,” Victor Sloane murmured, appearing quietly at Evelyn’s elbow with a tray of empty champagne flutes.
“I’m guarding the water pitchers,” Evelyn replied without turning her head. “The last time I stood near the dessert cart, it became an international incident.”
Victor gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “Vanessa has a memory like an elephant and a disposition like a cornered wolverine. She doesn't like anything in this house that she can’t control—including the dog, and especially you.”
“I’m not trying to control anything.”
“That’s what makes you dangerous,” Victor said, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd before settling on Gabriel, who was listening politely to a state senator from Madison. “Gabriel hasn't looked at anyone the way he looks at you since before the federal prosecutors started sniffing around his corporate filings in 2021. People like Vanessa notice those things. And when people like Vanessa feel threatened, they don't scream—they arrange for accidents.”
Evelyn felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. “What kind of accidents?”
“A lost contract. A bad reference. Or perhaps an anonymous tip to the local sheriff about an unpaid parking ticket from three years ago in Dane County.” Victor set his tray down on a mahogany side table. “Be careful, Evelyn. Gabriel is a very dangerous man to care about, but he’s even more dangerous to be cared by.”
Before Evelyn could answer, the room’s ambient chatter shifted.
Vanessa had stepped up to the small mahogany podium near the orchestra pit, tapping her champagne glass lightly with a diamond-encrusted spoon. The room quieted instantly.
“Thank you all so much for coming tonight to support the Lake Geneva Historical and Preservation Society,” Vanessa began, her voice carrying the practiced, melodic cadence of a woman born to fundraising committees. “As many of you know, preserving our community’s heritage is a labor of love—one that requires dedication, vision, and, of course, significant financial partnership.”
She paused, letting her gaze sweep over the crowd before landing deliberately on Gabriel, who stood near the edge of the dais with his hands clasped behind his back.
“And we are so fortunate to have leaders like Gabriel Romano among us—men who understand that our past must be protected, even as we look toward the future. Though, of course,” Vanessa added with a light, tinkling laugh that sounded entirely too rehearsed, “sometimes preservation requires us to look closely at who we allow inside our homes. After all, a house is only as secure as the people who clean its floors.”
A ripple of uncomfortable laughter moved through the front rows. Gabriel’s expression didn't change by a millimeter, but the air around him seemed to drop ten degrees.
Vanessa turned slightly, her eyes locking directly onto Evelyn behind the hydrangeas. “I understand we have new staff members tonight who are still learning the difference between historic porcelain and everyday service ware. Let’s hope our historical artifacts survive the evening better than the dessert cart did.”
The insult was public, precise, and calculated to humiliate. Several guests turned to look at Evelyn, their expressions a mix of polite curiosity and aristocratic disdain.
Evelyn didn't shrink back. She straightened her shoulders, stepped out from behind the floral arrangement, and walked across the parquet floor toward the center aisle with deliberate, unhurried steps. Every eye in the room pivoted to follow her. Even the orchestra seemed to hold its breath.
She stopped ten feet from the dais, looking up at Vanessa with a calm that appeared to infuriate the philanthropist more than any outburst could have.
“If the historical society’s porcelain is as fragile as Miss Sterling’s poise,” Evelyn said clearly, her voice carrying effortlessly across the silent ballroom, “perhaps it shouldn't be left out where anyone can trip over it. Especially someone whose primary concern seems to be managing everyone else's furniture instead of preserving anything real.”
Gasps erupted from the front row. An elderly dowager dropped her pearl necklace against her collarbone with a sharp click.
Vanessa’s face went chalk white, then flooded with an ugly, mottled red. “How dare you—Gabriel, fire this insolent little—!”
“Quiet, Vanessa,” Gabriel said.
The two words weren't shouted. They were spoken in a low, conversational tone that cut through the ballroom like a razor. Gabriel stepped down from the dais, walking past Vanessa without sparing her a glance, until he stood directly beside Evelyn.
The contrast between them was absolute: Gabriel in his tailored charcoal tuxedo, dark and unyielding; Evelyn in her simple black dress, shoulders back, refusing to yield an inch of ground.
“The staff selection for this estate is handled exclusively by Rosa and myself,” Gabriel announced to the room, his dark eyes sweeping over the frozen crowd. “If anyone has an issue with the personnel in my home, they are welcome to leave through the front doors right now.”
Nobody moved. A senator cleared his throat and stared intently at his shoes.
Vanessa’s hands shook as she gripped the edge of the podium. “You’re defending a maid over me, Gabriel? After everything we’ve—after all the years—?”
“Go outside, Vanessa,” Gabriel said softly. “Breathe some cold air. You look like you’re about to faint.”
May you like
Without waiting for another word, Gabriel turned to Evelyn. “Bring me a glass of water.”
It wasn't an order given to a servant; it was a pivot, a deliberate deflection designed to shield her from the remaining stares of the gallery. Evelyn nodded once, turned on her heel, and walked toward the kitchens, her heart hammering a wild, reckless rhythm against her ribs.
