Chapter 4 - The Red Carpet
The Metropolitan Civic Gala was the premier social and economic event of the fiscal year. Every mayor, city council member, real estate tycoon, and private developer within three states was packed into the vaulted, marble-lined ballroom of the St. Regis.
When the valet door opened, Daniel was standing near the entrance steps, looking like a man who had downed four scotches in quick succession.
He was adjusting his bow tie with trembling fingers, while Sophie clung to his arm like an expensive barnacle. Sophie had dressed in a sweeping baby-pink tulle ballgown that made her look like a displaced pageant contestant among women who wore structured, architectural fashion. She had tried to project confidence, but her mascara was slightly smudged, and she kept chewing on her bottom lip.
My mother and father stood behind them, their faces thunderous.
"Danny, there’s Councilman Harris," Sophie whispered, tugging his arm. "Go introduce yourself! You said we were sitting at his table!"
"Shut up for a second, Sophie," Daniel snapped under his breath, his eyes scouring the arriving limousines. "Harris isn't returning my calls. His office said our bid was flagged. I need to find Vance."
"Why are you so obsessed with Vance?" Sophie whined, her voice carrying across the velvet ropes. "Claire is just an employee! She probably slept her way into an interview, Danny! You know how manipulative she is!"
"Sophie, be quiet," my father, Richard, muttered, tugging uncomfortably at his collar. "The press is ten feet away."
Right on cue, a long, midnight-black Maybach pulled smoothly up to the curb.
The valet rushed forward, opening the door.
A polished Oxford shoe stepped out onto the red carpet, followed by Michael Vance himself. He was six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, with sharp, sculpted features and silver-threaded dark hair that made him look like he owned the ground beneath his feet—which, legally speaking, he often did.
Then, Michael turned and extended his hand back into the car.
I took it.
A chorus of camera shutters fired instantly.
I stepped onto the carpet in the emerald silk gown, my hair swept up in a loose, sculpted chignon, diamonds catching the flashes of the photographers. The emerald fabric draped across my silhouette like liquid glass.
Daniel’s jaw dropped so violently I thought his teeth might shatter.
Sophie took a sharp breath, her fingers digging so deep into Daniel’s tuxedo sleeve that the fabric bunched. "What... what is she wearing? Who does she think she is?"
I didn't look at them. I kept my hand lightly resting on Michael's forearm as we ascended the stairs.
"You're stopping traffic, Claire," Michael murmured, not breaking his stride, his voice low and smooth.
"Good," I replied softly. "I want the view to be unobstructed when the collapse begins."
"Claire!"
Daniel broke away from Sophie. He pushed past two junior city planners, ignoring the flashing cameras, and planted himself directly at the top of the stairs, blocking our path to the entrance doors.
"Claire, stop," Daniel demanded, his voice strained and cracking. "We are married. You are walking into a public event on the arm of my direct competitor? Do you have any idea how this looks for my firm?"
Michael stepped forward slightly, shielding me with an effortless, imposing presence that made Daniel look half his size.
"Sterling," Michael said, his voice quiet, rich, and deadly cold. "I suggest you step aside before my security detail reminds you of the difference between an invitee and an annoyance."
"This is between me and my wife, Vance!" Daniel spat, glaring at me from behind Michael’s shoulder. "Claire, you come home right now. Sophie was hysterical all morning. Your mother is sick with worry! You’re acting like a vindictive child because you're insecure about my career!"
"Your career?" I stepped out from behind Michael, tilting my head.
The cameras were flashing furiously behind us. Several society reporters had already leaned in, recorders raised.
May you like
"Daniel," I said, my voice carrying clearly over the murmur of the crowd. "You haven't designed a single viable structure since 2018. The only thing you've engineered successfully in the last five years is an affair with my sister in our guest bedroom."
***
