Chương 6
“Ms. Vance, I’m Lena Ortiz.”
I stepped out.
“Should I know you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
That surprised a laugh out of her.
“I handle events for Vance Capital.”
“Which means my father called you.”
“At an inconvenient time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was watching a baking competition with my daughter.”
“That does sound serious.”
“It was the finale.”
She started toward the side entrance.
“I expect compensation.”
“You should absolutely negotiate with him.”
“Oh, I do.”
I liked her immediately.
Inside, the service corridor smelled faintly of coffee, cleaning solution, and roasted meat.
A catering employee pushed a cart past us, humming under his breath.
Nothing about the hallway suggested billionaires, corporate distress, betrayal, or private-credit covenants.
Someone had taped a handwritten sign beside a door that said ICE MACHINE BROKEN AGAIN.
It made the entire evening feel less mythic.
Lena led me toward an elevator.
“Your father is ten minutes away.”
“Did he tell you why I’m here?”
“He said you were attending as his guest.”
“That’s all?”
“He also said anyone who makes you fill out registration paperwork tonight should update their résumé.”
I closed my eyes.
“That sounds like him.”
The elevator opened.
Lena pressed the top floor.
“You don’t have to use his table if you don’t want to.”
“What are my options?”
“Vance Capital has eight seats.”
“How many guests?”
“Currently zero.”
I looked at her.
“He bought an entire table and invited no one?”
“He does that.”
“Why?”
“He says fundraising dinners are improved by fewer fundraisers.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Then the elevator doors opened, and the laughter died.
Music reached us first.
A string quartet played somewhere beyond the reception corridor.
Waiters passed carrying champagne.
The crowd was dense enough that nobody noticed me immediately.
Men in tuxedos stood beside women in gowns worth more than my first car.
A wall of windows looked over Cleveland, with the dark line of Lake Erie beyond the lights.
At the entrance to the ballroom, two young employees scanned digital invitations.
Lena spoke quietly to one.
The woman looked at me, checked her tablet, and smiled.
“Welcome, Ms. Vance.”
No hesitation.
No curiosity.
I stepped through.
For three years, I had imagined returning to my father’s world would feel like defeat.
It felt mostly like recognizing the furniture.
I knew the choreography.
Who stood near the bar because they wanted to be approached.
Who positioned themselves by the windows because photographs were better there.
Who laughed too loudly because someone richer had entered the circle.
Even the conversations sounded familiar.
Interest rates.
Infrastructure.
A foundation board.
Someone’s daughter applying to Stanford.
A man complaining about private aviation costs while drinking champagne he had not paid for.
I walked slowly.
Nobody knew who I was.
That helped.
Then I saw Julian.
He stood near the center of the ballroom beside Chloe and three men I did not recognize.
His posture was different from the one he used at home.
Straighter.
Warmer.
He had one hand in his pocket and the attentive smile he saved for people whose approval mattered.
Chloe stood close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.
The Bellamy diamonds caught the light.
One of the men said something.
Julian laughed.
Then Chloe looked toward the entrance.
Her face changed first.
The smile vanished.
Julian followed her gaze.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
The man speaking to him noticed.
So did the others.
Julian excused himself too abruptly and crossed the ballroom.
Chloe came after him.
I stayed where I was.
He stopped in front of me.
“What are you doing here?”
No greeting.
No surprise disguised as politeness.
Just anger.
“I came to the gala.”
“I told you not to.”
“I remember.”
His eyes moved over the dress again.
This time the contempt was gone.
Something else had replaced it.
Calculation.
“How did you get in?”
“Through a door.”
“Clarissa.”
“Julian.”
Chloe arrived beside him, breathing slightly faster.
Her eyes flicked toward Lena, who had stopped several yards away.
“I thought you weren’t invited,” she said.
“I was.”
Julian lowered his voice.
“Go home.”
“No.”
His mouth tightened.
“Don’t do this here.”
“Do what?”
“You know exactly what.”
I looked at him.
For once, I genuinely did not.
Was he afraid I would confront Chloe?
Mention the diamonds?
Cause a scene?
Or notice the wrong person speaking to the wrong investor?
“I came to attend a charity gala with my name on the invitation,” I said.
“That’s all.”
Julian glanced past me.
“You don’t understand what’s happening tonight.”
“That seems to be a recurring problem.”
Chloe shifted.
“Julian, maybe we should go back.”
He ignored her.
“Clarissa, please.”
The word stopped me.
Julian almost never said please when speaking to me anymore.
He leaned closer.
“I need tonight to go smoothly.”
“Then go make it smooth.”
“You being here complicates things.”
“Why?”
His eyes sharpened.
“Because you’re upset.”
“I’m surprisingly calm.”
“You’re not.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
His hand closed lightly around my elbow.
It was not violent.
It was worse in a quieter way, familiar and possessive.
“Come outside.”
I looked at his hand.
He released me.
Chloe glanced toward the men he had abandoned.
One of them was watching us now.
“People are looking,” she murmured.
Julian’s expression changed immediately.
He straightened.
Public perception had always been the lever that moved him fastest.
He forced a smile.
“Fine.”
He looked at me as though we were discussing seating arrangements.
“Stay if you insist.”
“I do.”
“But don’t approach anyone from Apex.”
There it was.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know them.”
“Neither does half the room.”
“Clarissa.”
A waiter passed between us with champagne.
I took a glass.
Julian watched me do it.
“What exactly do you think I’m going to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then maybe your imagination is the problem.”
Chloe gave me a thin smile.
“You’re making this unnecessarily uncomfortable.”
I turned to her.
“I haven’t mentioned you once.”
May you like
Her smile disappeared.
Julian stepped in before she answered.
