Chapter 8 - A Gown Made of Starlight: Turning Heads at the Exclusive Underworld Gala
The Grand Aurelia Hotel was hosting its annual Winter Equinox Gala—the very same hotel where, forty-eight hours earlier, Leah had scrubbed floors and dodged insults.
Tonight, however, she was not entering through the service basement.
When the limousine doors opened in front of the grand red carpet, flashbulbs exploded like a thunderstorm. Dozens of high-society reporters, billionaires, and syndicate leaders watched in stunned silence as Julian Vance stepped out, impeccably dressed in a custom midnight-blue tuxedo.
Then, Julian turned and offered his hand to the woman inside.
Leah took his hand and stepped onto the red carpet.
The entire crowd gasped.
She was breathtaking. Julian had personally selected an emerald-green silk velvet gown that hugged her lush, curvy figure like a second skin, cascading down to the floor in shimmering folds. Her thick, dark curls were pinned up in an elegant vintage chignon, accented by diamond pins. Around her throat rested the Vance Family Heirloom—a fifty-carat emerald necklace worth more than the hotel itself.
Her posture was regal, her beauty radiant and authentic, completely eclipsing the artificial, starved socialites around her.
"My god, who is she?" whispers swept through the paparazzi line. "Is that Julian Vance’s fiancée?"
Julian leaned close to her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. "Keep your head high, Leah. Let them look. You outshine every fake jewel in this room."
Leah smiled, feeling a sudden surge of unshakeable confidence. As they walked through the grand golden doors into the ballroom, she caught sight of the banquet captain—the same man who had called her "sturdy" and overworked her two nights ago.
The captain’s jaw dropped so low his champagne tray nearly slipped from his hands. His eyes bugged out as he realized that the goddess on the arm of the city’s most dangerous billionaire was the very waitress he had mistreated.
Leah met his gaze, raised her champagne glass with a sly, knowing smile, and took a delicate sip.
Across the room, standing beneath the central chandelier, a man with a scarred cheek and cold gray eyes lowered his glass. It was Sable.
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His face drained of color as he saw Julian Vance alive, untouched, and stronger than ever.
The trap had failed. And the devil had come to collect his debt.
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