Chapter 3 - The Black Titanium Card, The Fifth Avenue Ambush, and The First Warning Shot
The marriage was formalized at 11:00 AM in Luca’s private study by a judge who arrived in an unmarked sedan, asked no unnecessary questions, and left with a nod of absolute respect.
There was no white dress. No flowers.
Only a solid platinum band that Luca slipped onto Norah’s left ring finger.
The metal was heavy, cold, and flawless.
“This stays on in public,” Luca told her, his deep voice carrying a tone of quiet authority. “To the world, you are the woman I chose. No one questions you. No one disrespects you.”
“And behind these doors?” Norah asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Behind these doors, you are Leo’s mother and the mistress of this house. My staff answers to you.”
He slid an unembossed black titanium card across the desk.
“Leo needs winter clothes. You need a wardrobe fit for the Castellano name. Take Marco and two men. Spend whatever is necessary.”
Norah looked at the card. “I have my own savings plan, Mr. Castellano.”
Luca’s jaw tightened slightly. “You are a Castellano now, Norah. Act like it.”
Two hours later, Norah was at an exclusive luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue with Leo.
Marco, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running along his jawline and a concealed weapon under his tailored jacket, stood quietly by the entrance.
Leo was happily trying on a navy cashmere coat, giggling as Norah adjusted the oversized wooden buttons.
“Well, well. Look what crawled out of the gutter.”
Norah’s spine went rigid.
She turned around.
Standing near the designer shoe display was Claire Crane—Sebastian’s younger sister—draped in designer fur, holding an iced latte, accompanied by two sneering socialite friends.
Claire looked Norah up and down, her lip curling in disgust as her eyes landed on Norah’s simple wool coat and full figure.
“Sebastian told me you were wandering around town like a stray dog,” Claire sneered, stepping closer. “Did you finally find a babysitting gig to pay for your cheap carbs, Norah? Look at you. You’re stretching the seams of that coat.”
The two women behind Claire chuckled softly.
Leo immediately retreated behind Norah’s legs, clutching her trousers with trembling hands.
Norah felt a cold, protective rage ignite in her chest.
She didn't shout. She didn't flinch.
She stepped forward, positioning her body completely between Claire and Leo.
“Claire,” Norah said in a clear, crystal-cold voice that echoed across the boutique. “If your brother spent half as much time managing his investment portfolios as you spend harassing women in retail stores, Crane Enterprises wouldn't be three weeks away from defaulting on its short-term commercial paper.”
Claire’s face drained of color. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. Now lower your voice before you frighten this child.”
Claire’s eyes flared with malice. She noticed the small shopping bag Norah was holding.
“You pathetic loser,” Claire hissed, reaching out to slap the bag from Norah’s hand. “You don't belong in this store! Security!”
Before Claire’s manicured hand could even touch Norah’s sleeve, an iron grip clamped down on Claire’s wrist.
Marco didn't raise his voice. He simply squeezed.
Claire let out a sharp gasp of pain. “Let go of me! Do you know who my father is?”
“I don't care who your father is,” Marco said, his voice flat as a tombstone. “If you step within three feet of Mrs. Castellano again, you will leave this building in an ambulance.”
The entire boutique went dead silent.
The boutique manager rushed out from the back office, trembling as he recognized Marco’s lapel pin—the silver crest of the Castellano family.
“M-Marco,” the manager stammered. “Is there a problem?”
“The lady insulted Mrs. Castellano,” Marco said coldly, not releasing Claire until she was nearly on her knees from the pressure.
The manager turned toward Claire, his face pale with horror.
“Miss Crane, you and your guests must leave the premises immediately. Your account with us has been terminated.”
Claire stood clutching her bruised wrist, glaring at Norah with venomous hatred.
“You think you’re smart, Norah? Sebastian is attending the Vanguard Charity Gala on Friday night. Everyone in high society will know you’re nothing but a paid tramp!”
Norah looked at Claire with absolute indifference.
May you like
She turned to the manager, pulled out the black titanium card, and handed it over.
“Wrap the boy’s coats. And bring me the velvet evening gown in emerald green from the private showroom.”
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