CHAPTER 7: Judgment

Kyros invited me to Ferroro’s Thanksgiving party. His brother, Maximus, the current company president, had expanded the business to major metropolitan centers, including Singapore and Dubai. I’d heard he planned to settle permanently in Bryston City now that the construction project he personally managed abroad was complete—though for how long, I couldn’t say.

Playing my role as Kyros’ girlfriend, I wrapped my hand around his arm as we entered the grand hotel ballroom. The space glittered with familiar faces from our social circle, including Royal and several other friends who always attended these prestigious events.

Despite anticipating my father and Cristina’s presence, my stomach twisted when I spotted them across the room. Cristina clung to my father like a leech, her every move deliberate, knowing full well that eyes were on them. Some guests feigned politeness, masking their judgment behind well-practiced smiles, while others sharpened their words, ready to strike if they sensed weakness.

That was Cristina for you. And I hated being pulled into their drama.

But I hated myself more—because I was the one who welcomed her into my home with open arms.

When my father’s assistant, Mr. Harrington, finally found an opportunity, he approached me and whispered, “Miss, Mr. Sinclair requests your presence for a conversation.”

I scoffed. “Tell him I don’t have time for his B.S.”

If not for my mother’s shares in the hospital where I work, he would have dragged me back to the mansion and forced me into the Sinclair company long ago.

Mr. Harrington remained unfazed. “Miss, the boss said you’ll find out what happens if you don’t go to the private room he rented.”

My jaw tightened. I glared at him, but his expression remained unreadable.

With reluctance, I turned to Kyros. “Babe, I need to speak with my father in private for a moment.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.

Before I could respond to Kyros, Mr. Harrington intercepted with practiced politeness. “The boss insists that his conversation with Miss Gazelle remain private.”

Kyros pressed a kiss to my cheek, his eyes lingering on mine. “Come back to me quickly afterward. I’ve missed you terribly during this month apart. I have a yacht ready for tonight. I was hoping we could unwind together after the party.”

“Look at these two lovebirds! Don’t make us jealous,” a lady beside Kyros teased.

“You’re making the rest of us positively envious.”

“Miss Gazelle will only be gone for a short while, yet you already can’t bear to be apart?”

“Miss Sinclair, you truly are fortunate to have captured Mr. Ferrero’s heart,” another person chimed in.

“Everyone is looking forward to the wedding of the year happening this month.”

I noticed Kyros’s face light up with pride as he soaked in the compliments and admiration about our relationship. He kissed my hand, and I, the well-mannered fiancée, smiled at the group before following Mr. Harrington.

Inside a private room, I faced my father.

“People are turning against Cristina and me—including some of my closest friends—because they think you disapprove of our relationship! If you’d just show that you have no issue with it, we wouldn’t be the subject of gossip at this gathering!”

The audacity!

“I moved in with Kyros to cover for your disgusting affair, and now you expect me to pretend everything is fine?”

When my father married Cristina, it raised more than a few eyebrows. My decision to leave the family mansion made it easy for business partners and social circles to figure things out—everyone knew I disapproved of their relationship.

But, of course, my father’s PR team spun a different story, claiming I had moved into Kyros’s villa to prepare for our wedding.

Did my father like Kyros? Maybe. But if he had to choose someone from the Ferrero family, it would undoubtedly be Maximus.

Cristina, sitting beside him and whom I had deliberately ignored since entering the room, suddenly produced a theatrical sob.

“I feel so utterly useless. It’s entirely my fault that your relationship with your daughter has deteriorated and your reputation has suffered, darling,” she muttered while crocodile tears glistened in her eyes.

My father stroked her back, gazing at her like a love-struck young man rather than a seasoned businessman.

“Gazelle,” he said, turning his attention back to me, “you must invite Cristina to join the Pink Girls Code. That will be her first step into society, allowing her to integrate into your social circle. Aren’t the two of you friends?”

“Absolutely not! Because I don’t maintain relationships with fake individuals.” My voice was sharp, final. I turned on my heel and strode toward the door.

But before I could reach it, two imposing bodyguards positioned themselves directly in my path, a silent command that my father wasn’t done with me yet.

A wave of immediate fear washed over me as their substantial frames towered above me, blocking any possibility of escape.

My chest tightened as panic clawed its way up my throat. The kidnapping. The betrayal of my trusted bodyguard who had collaborated with the kidnappers, the way they had forcibly restrained me, the stinging pain of their hands striking my face.

“Ahhh! Order your bodyguards to move immediately!” I screamed, stumbling back. Uncontrollable terror manifested visibly across my features.

Cristina gasped, her eyes widening as if I had lost my mind. My father looked flustered, but Mr. Harrington’s voice cut through the tension.

“Leave her alone!” he ordered, his voice firm and commanding. The bodyguards instantly paled.

I seized the opportunity to flee, bolting from the room and racing down the extensive hallway.

The panic attack seized me in its relentless grip, constricting my chest and clouding my thoughts like an inescapable vise, tightening with each desperate breath.

I was about to enter the ladies’ restroom, only to find it marked with an “Out of Order” sign. I urgently needed to splash cold water on my face and regain control of my breathing.

Desperate, I peeked into the men’s room. It looked empty. Without thinking twice, I slipped inside and hurried to the sink. I just needed a moment to breathe.

I was drying my hands when I heard moans. Low, unmistakable sounds of pleasure coming from one of the stalls. Shit. Someone actually had the audacity to hook up in here?

Just as I turned to leave, the last person I ever expected walked in.

Maximus. The man I hadn’t seen in five years.

My breath hitched as our eyes met. My lips parted involuntarily, a soft gasp escaping as I absorbed his striking appearance. The years had only enhanced his formidable presence, his tailored suit accentuating broad shoulders. An inexplicable, searing heat surged through me as I locked eyes with his stormy gray gaze. The air between us crackled, heavy with unspoken words.

A woman’s ecstatic cry pierced the air from the occupied stall— “Oh my fucking god! Faster! Faster, Kyros!”

At that moment, Max and I both knew exactly who it was.