CHAPTER 4: THE POISONED SPOTLIGHT

The diamond necklace on June’s neck felt like a frozen fist, squeezing tighter with every breath. Each icy facet seemed to press harder into her skin, a physical reminder of the price she was paying just to stand by Dante’s side, under the unyielding scrutiny of New York’s most ruthless elite.

“Smile, June,” Dante murmured in her ear. His hand clamped around her waist, steady as iron, as they waited in front of the massive golden doors to the Grand Ballroom. “Everyone’s watching. If you look scared, they’ll eat you alive. But if you look like you own the place, they’ll bow down.” His tone was soft enough for her alone, but there was iron beneath the velvet—a command wrapped in concern, or perhaps a performance for the cameras he knew were trained on them even now.

“I’m not some queen,” June hissed back, her heart racing. “I’m just the woman you dragged here in a dress worth more than my entire life.” Her voice trembled with the effort of keeping her composure, but she straightened her shoulders anyway, remembering every lesson in survival her past had forced her to learn.

The doors swung open. Light exploded—camera flashes everywhere, lightning white and blinding. June flinched, eyes watering, but Dante didn’t even blink. He pulled her close, letting everyone see his grip. This was their big reveal: the most eligible billionaire in New York, stepping out with a secret wife and a four-year-old heir. The “Public Debut.” All eyes locked on June. The hush was palpable, a living thing, as the city’s powerful and petty alike measured her with hungry curiosity, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.

Then trouble walked right up to them. Bianca Vancent cut through the crowd in a dress so red it almost hurt to look at. Dante’s old fiancée, and the daughter of the man who’d just tried to kidnap Leo. Of course she’d show up now. Her heels struck the marble like gunshots, and a ripple of whispers followed her as she moved, her smile a razor’s edge.

“Dante, darling,” Bianca purred, not even glancing at June. “I heard you picked up a new ‘pet’ at a bakery. Didn’t know you liked doing charity work.” Her words dripped with venom, every syllable calculated to wound, her gaze sliding over June as if she were nothing more than a piece of expensive decoration.

“Bianca,” Dante shot back, his voice cold and sharp, “shouldn’t you be home mourning your father’s latest disaster instead of crashing parties?” His arm tightened minutely around June, a subtle show of possession, or perhaps protection, though June couldn’t tell which.

Bianca just laughed, sharp as broken glass, and finally looked straight at June—eyes full of pure venom. “Oh, I’m not here for Dante. I’m here for the truth.” Her lips curled, and June knew something worse was coming, a storm about to break.

Suddenly, every screen in the ballroom flickered. The Romano logo vanished. In its place: a jittery, grainy video. June’s stomach dropped. There she was, five years younger, sitting on a park bench, crying, taking a thick envelope from a stranger. The image flickered cruelly, exposing her private pain to the world, the audience silent as the grave.

“Look at the ‘innocent’ wife!” Bianca shouted, her voice slicing through the room. “She didn’t leave because she was heartbroken. She sold her own baby! Took five million from Dante’s mother and vanished. She’s not a mother—she’s a businesswoman who waited for the price to go up!” Her accusation echoed, bouncing off the marble and gilded mirrors, each word a nail in June’s coffin.

Silence crashed down. June felt every stare, every judgment—like knives at her back. The lie hurt more than the truth ever could. Dante’s grip on her waist tightened, hard enough to leave bruises. He looked down at her, and something dark and ugly had settled in his eyes. The world seemed to shrink, the crowd’s whispers swelling like a tidal wave of condemnation.

“June?” His voice came out low and dangerous. “Is that true? Did you take the money?” The question hung between them, heavier than the necklace, heavier than the accusations echoing all around.

Tears stung her eyes. “I… I had to! My father was going to sell me to your enemies. I took the money to protect Leo, to get as far away as I could, to keep him safe from all of you!” Her confession rang out, raw and desperate, but she could see in their faces that no one was listening, that the narrative was already written.

No one cared. The room buzzed with whispers. Board members gossiped in corners. The stock ticker for Romano Industries started to plummet. Dante’s perfect-family illusion shattered in front of everyone. The empire he’d built on secrets and control now crumbled, and June stood at the center, exposed and alone.

Then June’s phone buzzed in her clutch. The new one—Dante’s gift. She glanced down. Unknown number. The message was short and ice-cold: Check your son’s room. The guards I paid move faster than Dante’s. If you don’t leave the gala right now and meet me at the back gate, you’ll never see his smile again. The words seemed to freeze the blood in her veins, her terror blooming anew.

She looked up. Dante was across the room now, arguing with his lawyers, not even glancing her way. He looked furious. Broken. If she told him about the text, would he believe her? Or just think it was another lie? Doubt gnawed at her, sharper than Bianca’s words, more painful than the betrayal in Dante’s eyes.

She realized she was alone. More alone than she’d ever felt, even surrounded by this crowd. Her husband doubted her, her enemy just destroyed her, and someone was already inside her son’s room. The weight of every decision pressed down on her, and the world seemed to tilt, pushing her toward the inevitable.

She stumbled backwards, away from the stares, heart cracking as Dante watched her with nothing but contempt. She had to choose: stand here and fight for a man who didn’t believe her, or run straight into a trap to save her child. The choice was no choice at all.

She made it to the dark hallway near the exit when a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her into the shadows. She opened her mouth to scream—then froze at the sound of the voice, shaky but familiar, pressed to her ear.

“Don’t make a sound, June. I’m the only one who can get you out of here alive. You really think Dante Romano’s the one keeping you safe?”