Chapter 3: The Gala of Wolves

The ballroom of the Sovereign Grand Hotel gleamed under massive crystal chandeliers. Champagne flutes chimed against laughter, diamonds threw cold sparks across velvet gowns, and the scent of expensive perfume hung heavy in the air.

I stood near the marble terrace doors, wrapped in a simple, charcoal silk sheath dress. My skin was still pale from the surgery earlier that morning, but my posture was straight as a drawn arrow.

Around my throat sat a modest silver chain. No flashy gems. No ostentatious heirlooms. After five years away from this world, I wanted to see everything clearly before the curtain fell.

"Evelyn?!"

A harsh, irritated whisper hissed from the edge of the champagne fountain.

Julian marched toward me, clutching an engraved leather folder to his chest. He wore a rented navy tuxedo that pulled too tight across his shoulders, his hair slicked back with too much pomade.

Right behind him waddled Chloe. She was clad in a floor-length white chiffon maternity gown that billowed like angel wings. She gripped Julian’s elbow with both hands, her doe eyes widening in theatrical shock the moment she locked eyes with me.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Julian snarled under his breath, grabbing my wrist with enough force to bruise. His breath smelled of sour mints and raw anxiety. "Did you forge an invitation?! Stalking me to the hospital wasn't enough, so now you sneak into the Sovereign Grand to humiliate my firm in front of the entire business elite?!"

I slowly pulled my wrist from his grip, not flinching an inch. "I don't need to forge an invitation to be in this room, Julian."

"Stop lying through your teeth!" Julian spat, looking frantically around the ballroom to see if any senior executives were watching. "This is the preliminary tender gala for the Kensington Group’s Grand Bay development! A fifty-million-dollar architectural contract! Do you know how many strings I had to pull just to get on the guest list?! And here you are, dressed like a funeral director, ready to make a scene because your tiny, jealous heart can’t stand seeing me succeed!"

"Evelyn, please, I beg of you..." Chloe stepped forward, tears instantly welling up on her lower lashes. She raised her manicured hands in a pathetic, trembling gesture. "Julian worked so hard for this night! If you’re still angry about the pregnancy, slap me! Spat in my face! But don't ruin Julian’s career! Ethan sacrificed his life for Julian—don't spit on Ethan’s sacrifice out of petty spite!"

Her soft, trembling voice carried just far enough. Several wealthy socialites paused their conversations, turning their heads with raised eyebrows and judgmental stares.

"Did you hear that?" a woman in an emerald gown murmured. "That's Julian Sterling's ex-wife... sneaking into high-society galas just to harass a pregnant widow."

"How utterly shameless," another scoffed.

Julian puffed out his chest, emboldened by the surrounding murmurs. He sneered down at me, his finger jabbing toward the exit doors.

"You hear that, Evelyn?! Even total strangers see what a disgusting, parasitic creature you are! You have sixty seconds to walk out those doors before I call the guards to throw you into the gutter where you belong!"

Before I could answer, a sudden hush fell over the grand ballroom.

The heavy double mahogany doors at the main entrance swung open.

Four burly security guards in dark tactical suits entered first, parting the crowd like the Red Sea. Walking between them was a tall, sharp-featured man in his early thirties. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored double-breasted Italian suit, twirling an antique gold pocket watch between his manicured fingers, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face.

Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.

"It’s him... Tristan Thorpe!"

"The secret heir of the Kensington family! The old man never shows his face, but Thorpe runs all his primary affairs!"

"He's the gatekeeper to the Grand Bay project!"

Julian gasped, his eyes lighting up with manic, sycophantic greed. "Mr. Thorpe! He's here!"

Chloe’s face lit up in pure ecstasy. She let go of Julian’s arm, lifted the hem of her white gown, and practically skipped across the polished marble.

"Tristan!" she cried out, her voice loud, clear, and dripping with familial warmth. "Brother!"

The entire ballroom went dead silent.

Julian froze in utter disbelief. His jaw dropped. "B-Brother...?"

Tristan stopped in his tracks. His arrogant sneer dissolved into an affectionate grin. He stepped forward and caught Chloe by the shoulders, kissing both her cheeks before turning to the stunned crowd.

"Chloe, my sweet sister!" Tristan declared, his voice booming with smooth, aristocratic authority. "What are you doing standing in the drafty hall in your delicate condition? You know that as the future master of Kensington, I promised to protect you and Ethan's legacy with everything our family owns!"

Julian practically fell to his knees in sheer reverence. His chest swelled so large his tuxedo buttons strained.

Chloe was Tristan Thorpe’s foster sister?! The Kensington heir’s family?! That meant he , Julian Sterling, was now blood-bound to the nation’s wealthiest dynasty!

"Julian, come here!" Chloe beckoned, her voice overflowing with triumph. "Tristan, this is Julian. Ethan’s brother... and the father of my baby."

Tristan clasped Julian’s hand, patting his shoulder with royal condescension. "Good man, Sterling. Fulfilling your brotherly duty. The Grand Bay masterplan tender is yours. Consider it my personal gift to my sister's new family."

Julian’s eyes were practically wet with greed. "Thank you, Mr. Thorpe! Thank you, brother-in-law! I will never let the Kensington name down!"

Then, Chloe turned her head, pointing a slender, diamond-ringed finger straight at me.

"Tristan... that woman over there," Chloe sniffled, hiding behind Tristan's arm. "She's Julian's barren ex-wife. She snuck in here to stalk us and ruin our night. She even claimed she had an invitation!"

Tristan’s cold, arrogant gaze swept over me. He had been hired as Marcus Kensington’s chief executive assistant only three years ago—long after I had left the family estate to live humbly with Julian. He had never seen my face. He had spent the last two years exploiting my father’s reclusive health to pose as the Kensington family's sole, unacknowledged son.

Tristan took three slow, heavy steps toward me, sneering with pure revulsion.

"A pathetic, low-class scam artist," Tristan announced to the room, his voice dripping with venom. "Sneaking into a Kensington private gala to extort my sister and her husband? Do you know who I am?! I am Tristan Thorpe Kensington! You are an insignificant worm beneath my boots!"

He raised a hand, signaling the tactical guards.

"Break her legs and toss her into the alley. Let everyone know what happens to fake imposters who dare insult my family!"

The crowd broke into cruel snickers. Julian grinned from ear to ear, watching me like a condemned dog.

I didn't move. I didn't blink.

Slowly, I reached into my clutch and pulled out a sleek, matte-black satellite phone stamped with the Kensington obsidian crest. I tapped one single speed-dial button and raised it to my ear.

The call connected in half a second.

"Princess?" my father's sovereign, terrifying baritone answered through the encrypted speaker.

I looked straight into Tristan’s laughing eyes, my voice ringing through the silent ballroom like a funeral bell.

"Dad? I’m standing in your Sovereign ballroom. Come down and explain to me... when did your executive assistant adopt a brother and sister under our family name?”