Chapter 9 - THE DINNER OF BROKEN EMPIRES
The annual Chicago Charity Gala at the Drake Hotel was glittering with wealth and corruption.
Politicians, judges, and mafia capos mingled beneath crystal chandeliers.
Adrian Moretti stood near the bar, scanning the room with cold, impatient eyes.
He had spent two weeks tearing the city apart looking for me, to no avail.
Suddenly, a murmur rippled through the crowd near the grand staircase.
He turned his head.
Gasps echoed as Viktor Sterling entered the ballroom.
Not alone.
On his arm walked a woman in a stunning emerald silk gown, her hair swept up in an elegant chignon, her chin held high with absolute, unyielding grace.
Claire Bennett.
Adrian’s glass slipped from his fingers.
It hit the marble floor with an explosive crash, spraying champagne across his polished shoes.
People jumped back, staring in shock.
Adrian didn't hear the glass.
He didn't feel the champagne.
His eyes locked onto me as I walked past him on Viktor’s arm, my gaze passing over him as if he were a complete stranger.
He took two heavy steps forward, his face turning pale as ash.
“Claire,” he choked out, his voice lost beneath the orchestra music.
I didn't slow down.
May you like
I didn't look back.
I took my seat at the head table beside Viktor Sterling, ready to watch the kingdom burn.
