Chapter 5 - The Serpent’s Gala
The rain turned to sleet by nightfall, slicking the granite stairs of the Drake Hotel where the annual Carter Children’s Foundation gala was underway.
I did not hide in the bank.
I had Marcus drive me directly to my penthouse to dress in a floor-length emerald gown that concealed the thick bandages around my wrist.
If Victoria and her silent partners wanted to play a game of shadows in Chicago, I would drag them into the blinding glare of the ballroom chandeliers.
I walked through the gilded foyer of the Drake alone, the sound of classical violins echoing across the marble floor.
Every eye in the room turned toward me as I entered.
The city’s high society had already devoured the morning gossip about Ethan’s late-night flights and my father’s sudden burial.
Ethan stood by the grand marble fireplace, surrounded by three state senators and the county prosecutor.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo, but his face was drawn tight, his jaw clenched like carved granite.
When his eyes found mine across the crowded ballroom, the glass in his hand nearly shattered under his grip.
He excused himself instantly, cutting through the crowd of dignitaries like a wolf moving through a flock of sheep.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered, stepping in front of me and blocking the view of the room.
"Why, Ethan?"
"Because the wife of Ethan Carter isn't supposed to bleed in public?"
"Because there are people in this room who want that ledger in your purse, Claire," he hissed under his breath.
"Then let them try to take it."
Across the room, Victoria stood near the champagne tower, wearing a crimson satin dress that demanded everyone's attention.
Beside her stood a man with silver hair and a crooked nose—Dominic Rossi, the lead logistics operator for the New York shipping ports.
"Did you know?" I asked Ethan, looking directly into his cold, troubled eyes.
"Did you know Arthur Hale was stealing from your grandfather before he died?"
Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly, a dark shadow crossing his brow.
"I knew my grandfather had debts he couldn't settle with clean hands."
"Your father was protecting you, Ethan," I said, my voice shaking with raw emotion.
"Victoria isn't here to rebuild her career."
"She is using your guilt over her father’s death to reopen the contraband corridors under the Chicago River."
"And she had Julian killed so he wouldn't show you the balance sheets."
Ethan reached out, his hand gently grasping the nape of my neck, pulling my forehead toward his.
His pulse was racing, hammering against his collar.
"Claire, look at me," he commanded in a whisper that cracked with sudden vulnerability.
"I swore a blood oath to Arthur Hale on his deathbed that Victoria would never starve and never fall into prison."
"That oath was the chain around my throat for ten years."
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"Then break it," I said, tears finally threatening to spill over my lower lashes.
"Because if you choose that oath over Julian Avery’s blood, you will sign those divorce papers tonight."
