Chapter 16 - The Gala of Wolves
The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel glittered like a diamond chandelier dripping with blood.
Classical violins resonated through the cavernous marble hall, competing with the quiet clinking of crystal champagne flutes.
New York’s most dangerous elites were gathered beneath the gilded ceilings—politicians with clean lapels, billionaires with dirty bank accounts, and cartel liaisons disguised as diplomats.
At the center of the hall, reigning over her court, was Victoria Vance, wrapped in emerald silk and pearls, holding court with a federal appeals judge.
Then, the heavy brass doors parted.
A collective hush swept through the room like an icy arctic draft.
Adrian Vance walked in, looking every inch the ruthless prince they had once feared.
He wore a midnight-black tuxedo, tailored to perfection, his broad shoulders squared and his gaze utterly lethal.
Beside him, with my hand resting firmly on his arm, was me.
I wore an unadorned, blood-red velvet gown with a neckline that revealed the faint scars on my collarbone—proof of every trial I had survived.
My chin was held high, my hair cascading over my shoulders in elegant waves.
In my other arm, wrapped in a blanket sewn by Havenbrook women, was Sophia.
Whispers erupted around us like a chorus of agitated vipers.
"Is that the missing wife?"
"She brought a baby to the Century Gala?"
"Look at Adrian... he looks like he's about to execute the entire room."
I felt the weight of hundreds of judgmental, predatory eyes boring into my skin.
For three years, I had hidden in the corners of these very rooms, terrified that Adrian would be embarrassed by my humble background.
Now, every drop of fear was replaced by cold, unadulterated fire.
We walked down the grand marble staircase, our footsteps echoing with terrifying finality.
Victoria turned, her emerald eyes narrowing to razor slits as she saw us approach.
Her grip on her champagne flute tightened until the crystal groaned under the pressure.
"Adrian," Victoria said, her voice carrying through the sudden silence of the ballroom.
"How shockingly vulgar of you to bring your domestic drama to the Century Gala."
"This is a formal summit, not a nursery."
Adrian did not stop until we were standing less than three feet from her.
"You told us to bring the heir to the family, Mother," Adrian said, his voice deep, vibrating through the room with absolute authority.
"Here she is."
"Sophia Vance."
"Legitimate daughter of the Vance bloodline."
"And lawful heir to every single cent locked inside the Geneva vault."
A tall, silver-haired man standing beside Victoria, recognizable to everyone in the room as Senator James Callahan, stepped forward with a condescending smile.
"Adrian, my boy," Callahan chuckled nervously.
"The Matriarch has informed us that your marriage is null under the trust's registry."
"This child is legally an orphan of the cartel state unless your mother sanctions the union."
I took a single step forward, cutting the senator off before Adrian could snap his neck.
May you like
"The child is not an orphan, Senator Callahan," I declared, my voice ringing clear across the opulent hall.
"And you might want to reconsider your legal counsel before the Department of Justice audits your shell accounts in the Cayman Islands."
