Chapter 9
Two weeks later, the grand ballroom of the Zenith Hotel blazed with chandeliers and the glittering diamonds of the city’s elite.
This was the pinnacle of high society, the annual commerce gala where fortunes were made and broken over champagne.
Isabella and I arrived late.
We didn’t slip in through the side entrance.
We descended the grand staircase.
Isabella wore a breathtaking backless crimson gown that turned every head in the room.
But the whispers weren’t just about her.
They were about me.
I wore a bespoke suit threaded with subtle silver, a signature detail of the Thorn-Sterling House.
Across the room, I spotted Saraphina.
She looked stunning in a white dress, but her eyes were frantic and haunted.
She clung to Julian Vance’s arm, though the physical distance between them was obvious.
She hadn’t severed ties with him.
She had chosen to believe his lies over my warning.
Julian noticed me.
His face twisted into an ugly sneer.
He whispered something to Saraphina, pulled away, and marched directly toward us, clearly intending to make a scene.
“Well, well,” Julian said loudly, his voice carrying over the string quartet. “Look who bought his way into the gala. Aegis Capital must have scraped the bottom of the barrel to afford a ticket.”
The music faltered.
A circle began to form.
High society loved blood sport.
Saraphina hurried after him and grabbed his arm.
“Julian, stop. Let’s just go.”
“Why?” Julian scoffed, glaring at me with venom. “He’s been acting like he owns the city lately. It’s time someone reminded the garbage where he belongs. Your little audit stunt failed, Thorne. My investors bailed me out.”
“Did they?” I asked, taking a slow sip of champagne.
Julian smirked.
“Yeah. So take your little startup and your borrowed money and get out before security throws you out.”
“Security won’t be throwing anyone out, Mister Vance.”
A thunderous voice echoed from the balcony above.
The crowd parted like the sea.
Arthur Thorne descended the staircase, flanked by his imposing security detail.
The collective gasp in the ballroom was almost audible.
The patriarch of the Thorn-Sterling Consortium rarely appeared in public, let alone at a local commerce gala.
Arthur walked directly to me.
He didn’t look at Julian.
He didn’t look at Saraphina.
“Alexander,” Arthur said, placing a heavy, affectionate hand on my shoulder. “Are these the gnats that have been buzzing around your investments?”
Julian’s face drained of color.
He looked from Arthur to me, his mind plainly short-circuiting.
“Alexander? Mr. Thorne, there must be some mistake. This man is Alex. He’s a nobody. He was a kept man for the Dubois family.”
Arthur finally turned his gaze on Julian.
It was the look of a man observing an insect before crushing it.
“This man,” Arthur said, his voice echoing through the silent ballroom, “is Alexander Thorne, sole heir to the Thorn-Sterling Consortium. The future owner of half the assets in this room.”
A pin could have dropped and been heard.
Saraphina swayed where she stood, one hand flying to her mouth as a muffled, devastated sob escaped her.
The realization hit her like a freight train.
The man she had discarded, the man she had thought was beneath her, stood at the very summit of a world she could never have imagined.