Chapter 49: The Invitation

 

Vance Capital. Vice President's Office.

A gold-embossed envelope landed on Harper’s desk. It didn't come by mail. It was hand-delivered by Victoria’s personal assistant, who dropped it like it was a bomb and ran.

Harper picked it up. The paper was thick, expensive, and smelled of Victoria’s perfume.

[ You are cordially invited to the 30th Annual Vance Charity Gala. ] [ Theme: Masquerade. ] [ Date: Tomorrow Night. ]

There was a handwritten note on the back, in elegant, sharp script: "Don't be late, darling. The world is dying to meet the 'Noodle Shop Princess'. Try not to embarrass the family name. — Victoria"

Harper crumpled the note. It wasn't an invitation. It was a summons to an execution. Victoria wanted to parade her in front of the elite, highlight her humble background, and watch her crumble under the pressure.

Harper picked up her phone. She dialed a number. "Liam? Cancel my meetings for tomorrow afternoon." "And get me the best stylist in the city. I need a dress. A dress that looks like armor."

---

[The Ask]

Sterling Estate. That Evening.

Sebastian was in his home gym. Since Harper took over, he had started working out again. He was doing pull-ups, his upper body muscles straining, sweat glistening on his back. His wheelchair sat empty nearby.

Harper leaned against the doorframe, watching him. He was powerful. Even with his legs paralyzed, the sheer strength in his arms and shoulders was terrifying.

"100," Sebastian counted, dropping from the bar. He landed on a mat, immediately pulling himself back into his wheelchair with fluid grace. He grabbed a towel and looked at her. "Enjoying the view, Ms. Vance?"

"It's adequate," Harper walked in, holding the gold invitation. "We have a problem."

She handed him the card. Sebastian glanced at it and tossed it onto a bench. "The Vance Gala. A room full of snakes in silk dresses. I haven't gone in three years."

"You're going this year," Harper said.

Sebastian froze, towel in hand. "Excuse me?"

"I need a plus-one," Harper crossed her arms. "Victoria is planning a public hazing. She's invited every gossip columnist in the city. If I walk in alone, I look weak. If I walk in with a random model, I look frivolous."

"So take Liam," Sebastian wiped his face. "He loves free champagne."

"I don't need Liam," Harper stepped closer. "I need the CEO of Sterling Corp." "I need the man everyone is afraid of."

Sebastian looked down at his legs. His expression darkened. "You want to walk into the biggest event of the year... with a cripple?"

"Don't use that word."

"It's the truth!" Sebastian snapped. "Look at me, Harper! It's a ball. People dance. People stand around holding drinks. What am I going to do? Roll around at waist-level while you waltz with some banker's son?"

He turned his wheelchair away. "I will not be your prop. I will not let them whisper behind their hands that the beautiful heiress is stuck with a broken man." "Find someone else. I'm busy."

Harper stared at his back. She knew this wasn't about being busy. It was about pride. It was about his fear of embarrassing her.

She walked around him and knelt down. She put her hands on his knees, forcing him to look at her.

"Sebastian," she said softly. "Look at me."

He refused. His jaw was clenched tight.

"I don't want a dancer," Harper whispered. "I don't want a banker's son." "I want the man who hacked a Russian server in four hours. I want the man who crawled through a warehouse for me."

She took his hand and placed it on the armrest of his chair. "This chair isn't a cage. It's a throne." "But only if you sit in it like a King."

Sebastian looked into her eyes. He saw no pity there. Only challenge. And fire.

"Victoria will laugh at us," Sebastian warned.

"Let her laugh," Harper smirked. "And then we'll buy her laughter and fire it."

Sebastian stared at her for a long moment. Then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. The Tyrant was back.

"Fine," he said. "But if we go... we go on my terms."

"Which are?"

"No masks," Sebastian said. "Everyone else will be hiding behind masquerade masks. We won't." "We look them in the eye."

Harper stood up and kissed his forehead. "Deal."

---

[The Preparation]

The Next Night.

The limousine waited in the driveway. Harper walked down the grand staircase. She wore a dress of liquid gold. It was backless, sleeveless, and slit high up the thigh. It shimmered with every step. She looked like a goddess of victory.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Sebastian was waiting.

He wore a tuxedo. Not just any tuxedo. A bespoke, midnight-blue velvet tuxedo with satin lapels. His hair was swept back perfectly. He had groomed his beard to sharp perfection. He sat in his wheelchair not like a patient, but like a mafia don.

He looked up as Harper descended. His eyes widened. His breath hitched.

"You..." Sebastian cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "You are going to give the board members a heart attack."

"That's the plan," Harper smiled, handing him a black pocket square. "Ready to crash the party, Mr. Sterling?"

Sebastian took the square and tucked it into his pocket. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. For the first time in three years, he didn't hate what he saw. He saw a man who had a woman worth fighting for.

"Let's go," Sebastian spun his chair toward the door. "I believe we have a mother-in-law to terrorize."