Chapter 10 - The Sovereign Table
Spring arrived over the Inner Harbor in a breathtaking display of warm sunshine and blue skies.
The grand ballroom of the Four Seasons Hotel was packed with three hundred of the nation’s most prominent logistics executives, maritime authorities, and political leaders for the annual East Coast Shipping Gala.
Flashbulbs popped continuously as guests arrived on the red carpet.
At the center of the room sat the head table—a massive, circular mahogany setup decorated with white orchids and silver crystal.
Sitting at the center of the table was Dominic Vale, looking devastatingly handsome in a custom tuxedo. Beside him sat I, Claire Whitmore-Vale, wearing a breathtaking emerald-green off-the-shoulder gown that accentuated every soft, stunning curve of my body.
Around us sat international port directors, foreign ambassadors, and logistics tycoons, hanging on every word I said as I outlined the upcoming mid-Atlantic green freight initiative.
“The harbor expansion will increase container throughput by forty percent,” I explained smoothly, taking a slow sip of vintage champagne. “While maintaining strict environmental compliance across all tier-one docks.”
The table applauded warmly, several executives leaning forward to offer their congratulations.
Dominic reached under the white tablecloth, his large, warm hand covering mine, his thumb softly tracing the silver signet ring on my finger. He leaned close to my ear, his deep voice sending a familiar, exhilarating shiver down my spine.
“You own this room, my queen,” he whispered.
I looked around the grand ballroom—at the photographers taking full-body pictures of me, at the powerful men bowing their heads in respect, at the empire I had built from the ashes of a windowless storage room.
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I leaned against Dominic’s shoulder, looking out over the sparkling harbor lights, a radiant, victorious smile gracing my lips.
“No, Dominic,” I whispered back, kissing his cheek under the flashing lights. “We own the world.”
