Chapter 12 - The Serpent's Gala
The annual pre-Fashion Week gala at the Musée d'Orsay was an arena of silk, champagne, and vicious smiles. Three days after the mysterious letter arrived, I stood beside Matteo beneath the soaring vaulted arches of the former railway station. The emeralds rested once more against my collarbones, catching the golden chandeliers like liquid fire.
Around us, the European fashion elite circled like sharks smelling blood. They whispered behind crystal flutes: *Claire Laurent is back.* *Did you hear Julian Vance is filing for a retrial?* *They say she stole the atelier out from under his family.*
"Ignore them," Matteo murmured, his hand a solid, steadying warmth against the small of my back. "They are spectators. You are the architect."
"Claire, darling!" A voice dripped with honey and venom from behind us.
I turned slowly. Standing before me was Victoria Vance, Julian’s older sister and the supreme chairwoman of the Vance Luxury Consortium. Draped in sculptural crimson silk, she had the same predatory, hooded eyes as her brother, but none of his reckless vanity. Victoria was calculated. She was the one who pulled the strings Julian had clumsily tangled.
And standing half a step behind her, clutching a glass of Dom Pérignon with white knuckles, was Chloe.
Chloe looked hollowed out, her former youthful arrogance replaced by a frantic, brittle desperation. Her golden curls were bleached into an unnatural ash, and her wrist bore the cheap glint of synthetic stones. She had traded Julian’s falling star for Victoria’s leash.
"Victoria," I greeted coolly, not offering my hand. "I see you’ve adopted my ex-husband’s stray."
Chloe flinched, color rushing to her gaunt cheeks, but Victoria merely chuckled, taking a slow sip of champagne. "Stray? No, Claire. Chloe is a material witness. You see, our family attorneys discovered fascinating irregularities in the financial documents you handed to the fraud division."
"The fraud division verified every euro Julian laundered through his offshore shell companies," I countered, holding her gaze without blinking. "There were no irregularities. Julian is a convicted felon."
"He was convicted on fabricated evidence," Chloe burst out, her voice shrill enough to turn the heads of three nearby editors from *Vogue France*. "You planted those files in his penthouse office, Claire! You set him up because you were jealous that he loved me!"
A heavy silence descended over our quadrant of the ballroom. Cell phones subtly angled in our direction.
I took half a step forward, towering over Chloe in my bespoke midnight-navy gown. "Jealous of what, Chloe? A man who handed you stolen heirloom jewels so you could play queen for an afternoon, then left you with unpaid hotel bills and a reputation in ashes? If Victoria promised you a comeback, you are twice the fool I thought you were."
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Victoria’s smile chilled into a razor-thin snarl. "Enjoy your opening show on Friday, Claire. Because by Monday morning, Julian will be granted bail pending review—and Vance Consortium will freeze every asset tied to the Laurent name."
"Try it," Matteo stepped into Victoria’s line of sight, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet resonance that made even Victoria pause. "Touch her name, Victoria, and I will release the complete audit of Vance Consortium's tax shelters in Monaco to the French Ministry of Finance. You aren't Julian’s savior. You were his partner in crime."
