Chapter 7 - The Metropolitan Gala
The Grand Ballroom of the Bellevue Hotel was bathed in crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, and high-society elite.
When Dominic and Claire arrived, the room seemed to pause. Dominic looked devastatingly regal in a custom black tuxedo, but Claire was an absolute vision in a floor-length sapphire silk gown, her hair swept up in an intricate chignon, sparkling diamond earrings—a gift from Dominic—catching the light.
Dominic held her hand securely, introducing her to hospital directors, city officials, and philanthropists. Throughout the night, he never dominated the conversation; instead, he highlighted Claire’s passion for youth literacy, making her the star of every circle.
Claire felt like she was living in a fairy tale.
Around 10:00 PM, Dominic stepped away for a brief moment to speak with the event organizers. Claire stood near the balcony railing, holding a glass of champagne, when a voice made her blood run cold.
“Well, well. Look who managed to climb the social ladder.”
Claire spun around. Marcus stood before her, wearing a smug grin and an expensive tuxedo.
“Marcus,” Claire said, her voice turning ice-cold. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Marcus sneered, stepping into her personal space. “A public school teacher at a five-thousand-dollar-a-plate charity ball? Who’s paying for your dress, Claire? Did you find some desperate old sugar daddy?”
“Step back, Marcus,” Claire warned firmly. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Marcus reached out and grabbed her wrist tightly. “Don't use that tone with me. You walked away from our engagement like a coward. You owe me an explanation.”
“Let go of her,” a voice echoed behind him.
The temperature in the ballroom seemed to drop ten degrees instantly.
Marcus turned around, frowning. “Who the hell are you? Mind your own business, pal.”
Dominic walked forward. He didn't rush. His movements were predatory, smooth, and lethal. The sheer aura of power rolling off him caused nearby guests to step back in silence.
Dominic looked down at Marcus’s hand gripping Claire’s wrist.
“Take your hand off her,” Dominic said softly. The quietness of his voice was far more terrifying than a shout. “Now.”
Marcus felt an instinctive wave of pure primal fear. He released Claire’s wrist immediately. “Look, man, this is a private matter between me and my ex-fiancée—”
“Miss Bennett is with me,” Dominic interrupted, his eyes boring into Marcus’s soul. “And you are currently trespassing on my patience. Marcus Vance, correct? Senior Associate at Meridian Capital?”
Marcus paled. “How do you know that?”
“I know everything about the people who attempt to intimidate the woman I love,” Dominic replied smoothly. “I also know that your firm’s largest commercial real estate debt is held by my holding company. If you ever speak to Claire again, if you look in her direction, or if you even enter a room she is occupying, your career will cease to exist before the market opens on Monday.”
Marcus began to tremble. “Y-you’re Dominic Russo...”
“Leave,” Dominic commanded.
Marcus practically sprinted toward the coat check without uttering another syllable.
Dominic turned to Claire. His expression instantly shifted from lethal Don to gentle protector. He gently took her hand, inspecting her wrist. “Did he hurt you?”
Claire looked up at him, her heart thumping wildly. She had seen the power he commanded—the sheer terror he struck into a man who had once tormented her. Yet, Dominic hadn't raised his voice, hadn't insulted her, and hadn't blamed her for the scene.
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“No,” Claire whispered softly. “I’m okay. Thank you, Dominic.”
She leaned into his chest, unaware that in the shadows of the mezzanine, a photographer hired by the Vargas syndicate was snapping clear photos of Dominic holding her close.
