CHAPTER 17 : The Emerald Gala

The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza was a sea of black tuxedos and glittering gowns. Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the city’s elite.

But when the doors opened for us, the room didn't just quiet down. It froze.

Julian Thorne walked in first, looking like the God of War in a tuxedo. He turned and offered me his hand.

I stepped into the light. The crimson silk dress rustled softly against my legs. I felt the weight of the diamond choker against my throat—cold, heavy, and reassuring.

I am not a victim, I repeated in my head. I am the bait.

"Head up," Julian murmured, his lips barely moving. "They are all watching. Make them envy you."

I lifted my chin. I took his arm. We descended the marble staircase together.

The whispers started instantly.

"Is that the Hayes girl?" "I heard she was pregnant." "Look at that necklace. That’s the Thorne Sapphire. It hasn't been worn since his grandmother died."

We moved through the crowd like sharks cutting through a school of fish. Julian’s hand was firm on my waist, his thumb rubbing small, possessive circles into my bare skin. It was meant to look romantic, but I knew the truth: he was checking my pulse. He was ready to draw his weapon at the slightest provocation.

"Relax," he whispered against my ear as we grabbed a glass of champagne. "You are stiff as a board."

"I’m waiting to be kidnapped, Julian. Forgive me if I’m not relaxed."

"He isn't here yet," Julian said, scanning the room with predatory precision. "Luca likes to make an entrance. He will wait until the first dance."

As if on cue, the orchestra swelled. The conductor tapped his baton.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer boomed. "Please join us on the floor for the first waltz."

Julian took my champagne glass and set it on a passing tray. He held out his hand.

"Shall we?"

I placed my hand in his. "Do I have a choice?"

"Never," he smirked.

He pulled me onto the dance floor. His other hand slid up my back, resting on the exposed skin between my shoulder blades. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to my toes.

We began to move.

It wasn't a sweet, romantic waltz. It was a tango in disguise. Julian led with a forceful, demanding grace. He spun me out and pulled me back in, his body pressing hard against mine.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "And terrifying. It is a dangerous combination."

"Don't distract me," I breathed, looking over his shoulder. "Do you see him?"

"Focus on me," Julian commanded, tightening his grip. "If you look for him, you will spook him. Let him come to you."

He dipped me low. My hair swept the floor. For a second, the world was just Julian’s gray eyes and the heat of his body. I forgot about the sniper teams. I forgot about the vengeance. I just wanted him to kiss me.

He pulled me back up, his face inches from mine. His gaze dropped to my lips.

"Five minutes," he whispered. "That is all I need."

The music ended. The crowd applauded politely.

Julian kissed my hand. "I have to take a call. Stay here. Don't leave the circle of the dance floor."

He turned and walked toward the balcony doors, pulling his phone from his pocket. He looked casual, annoyed even. A perfect performance.

I was alone.

I stood in the center of the room, smoothing my red dress. I felt naked without him.

One minute passed. I smiled at a senator's wife. Two minutes passed. A waiter offered me a canapé. I declined. Three minutes.

A shadow fell over me.

"Mrs. Thorne," a smooth voice said. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

I froze. I knew that voice. It was the voice from the phone.

I turned slowly.

Luca Vencetti was standing there. He was handsome in a cruel, sharp way, with slicked-back dark hair and a scar cutting through his left eyebrow. He was holding two glasses of champagne.

"Luca," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

"You wore red," he smiled, his eyes glinting. " bold choice. My family’s color."

"I thought it suited the occasion," I replied. "Blood and all."

Luca laughed. He took a step closer, invading my personal space.

"You have your mother's fire. She was stubborn too." He held out a glass. "Drink? Or has your husband forbidden you from accepting gifts from strangers?"

"I don't drink with murderers," I said.

Luca’s smile vanished. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a hiss.

"The only murderer in this room is the man who put that collar around your neck, Vivian. Do you really think he walked away to take a phone call? He left you here. He is using you."

"I know," I lied.

"Then come with me," Luca whispered. "There is a car waiting at the service entrance. We can get you out. We can tell you the truth about your heritage."

He reached out and grabbed my wrist. His grip wasn't gentle like Julian’s. It was painful.

"Let go," I said, panic rising. Where is Julian?

"Don't make a scene," Luca warned. "I have three men in this crowd with silencers aimed at your pretty little spine. Walk with me. Now."

He pulled me toward the side exit.

"Julian!" I screamed, breaking the plan. I wasn't going to be dragged out quietly.

Luca cursed. He yanked me hard, nearly pulling me off my feet.

Suddenly, the balcony doors shattered inward.

Glass rained down on the crowd. Screams erupted.

Julian stood in the broken doorway, a silver handgun in his hand. He didn't look like a businessman. He looked like the Devil himself.

"Get your hands off my wife!" he roared.