chapter 24

Louis’s POV

Preparations for the gala took over the house like a silent, efficient army. My mother’s stylist, a severe French woman named Claudette, arrived with racks of gowns and a team of assistants. For two days, the east wing was a flurry of fabric, pins, and rapid-fire French criticism that somehow seemed to build Sierra up rather than break her down.

I watched from the doorway sometimes. Sierra stood on a low platform, patiently turning as Claudette fussed over a line of midnight blue silk. She looked like a stranger, and yet more herself than ever. There was a new stillness in her posture, a quiet acceptance of the armor she had to wear.

“She has a good spine,” my mother observed, appearing beside me one afternoon. “Not just physically. Morally. She didn’t flinch from the hard choice with Victor. She won’t flinch from a room full of vipers.”

“I don’t want her to have to face vipers,” I said, the old protective anger simmering.

“Then you live in a cave. This is the world you built, Louis. You wanted an empire. Empires have courtiers. And courtiers have forked tongues. She understands that now. She is choosing to stand with you in your world, not hide from it. Respect that.”

My mother was right. Sierra was choosing me, all of me, including the burdens of my name. The least I could do was ensure her introduction was a coronation, not an ambush.

Marcus handled security, coordinating with the event team to ensure every guest was vetted, every employee screened. The threat was gone, but the habit of vigilance was bone-deep.

“There is one loose end,” Marcus said, pulling me aside in my study the night before the gala. He looked uneasy. “Victor’s former head of security, a man named Elias Crowe. He wasn’t on the payroll we froze. He was… freelance. Victor used him for discrete surveillance. He’s gone to ground, but my contacts say he’s still in the city. And he’s unhappy. He feels Victor’s exile cost him a lucrative long-term client.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning traced down my spine. “Is he a threat?”

“He’s a ghost. And ghosts are unpredictable. He has no loyalty to Victor, but he has a reputation to uphold. If he feels slighted, or sees an opportunity for profit…” Marcus let the implication hang. “I’ve doubled the detail on Sierra and Katie. Just as a precaution.”

The peace I had started to feel fractured. Victor was a known quantity, a beast in a cage I had built. This Crowe was a shadow, a rumor. You cannot fight a shadow with a sword.

I didn’t tell Sierra. She had enough to worry about. I just made sure the security plans were airtight.

The night of the gala arrived. I stood at the top of the grand staircase, waiting. The house was filled with the distant sounds of the event team putting final touches on the ballroom below.

Then she appeared.

Sierra stepped out of the hallway, and the world narrowed to the space between us. The midnight blue gown was a second skin, shimmering like a deep lake under the stars. It was modest yet devastating, hugging her curves before falling in a soft sweep to the floor. Her hair was swept up, leaving the elegant line of her neck bare. Diamonds, simple and fierce, sparkled at her ears and throat—my mother’s loan, a silent show of alliance.

But it was her face that stopped my heart. She was pale, but her eyes were clear and steady. She looked regal. She looked like mine.

“Wow,” I breathed, the word utterly inadequate.

A small, nervous smile touched her lips. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up.”

“You’re not.” I closed the distance between us, taking her hands. They were cold. “You look like the woman who stole my heart and changed my life. You look perfect.”

I kissed her, gently, careful not to disturb her lipstick. “Ready?”

She took a deep, centering breath and nodded. “Ready.”

The descent down the staircase felt like walking into an arena. The ballroom doors were open, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses spilling out. As we appeared at the top of the short flight of steps into the room, a hush fell, followed by a wave of applause initiated by my mother, standing strategically near the entrance.

Cameras flashed. A thousand eyes assessed, judged, admired.

I kept Sierra’s hand firmly tucked in the crook of my arm, my other hand covering hers. A clear, possessive signal. *She is with me.*

We were swallowed by the crowd. I introduced her to investors, diplomats, celebrities. She was flawless. Her smile was warm but not eager. Her handshake was firm. She listened more than she spoke, and when she did, her voice was low and carried a surprising weight. She talked about Katie with genuine love, about the new charity initiative with a passion that wasn’t rehearsed.

I saw the moment the room’s perception shifted. They saw a beautiful woman, yes, but they also saw a partner. A strength to match mine.

Pride, a feeling I was unaccustomed to, bloomed hot and bright in my chest.

The dinner passed in a blur of speeches. Mine was short, focused on legacy and family. Then, it was her turn.

My mother had insisted. *They need to hear her voice.*

Sierra stood, a solitary, blue figure at the podium under the spotlight. The room was utterly silent. I could see the pulse fluttering in her throat.

“Good evening,” she began, her voice clear, carrying to the back of the room. “A few months ago, my world was flour and ovens and the beautiful, sticky hands of my five-year-old daughter. It was a small world, a hard world, but it was ours.” She paused, her gaze finding mine across the tables. “Then Louis came back into it. And he brought with him a different world. One of staggering privilege, but also of profound responsibility.”

She looked back at the crowd. “The Katherine Hope Initiative isn’t about charity from on high. It’s about pulling up a chair. It’s about recognizing that a single parent fighting to keep the lights on isn’t struggling due to a lack of character, but a lack of support. I know that fight. Louis is learning it. And together, we want to build a table big enough for everyone.”

The applause was thunderous, genuine. She hadn’t just given a speech; she had given them a piece of her soul. And they loved her for it.

As she returned to the table, her eyes shone with unshed tears of relief. I stood and pulled out her chair, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “You were magnificent. I have never been more in love with you.”

The rest of the evening was a victory lap. We danced. Her body melted against mine, a perfect fit. For a few hours, the shadow of Elias Crowe, the memory of Victor, all of it faded away. There was only the music, the feel of her in my arms, and the dawning realization that we had not just survived our storms—we had somehow begun to thrive in their aftermath.

It was late when we finally retreated upstairs, leaving the party to wind down without us. In the quiet of our bedroom, I helped her with the intricate clasp of her necklace.

“We did it,” she sighed, leaning back against me.

“You did it,” I corrected, turning her to face me. I kissed her, deeper now, tasting the champagne on her lips. The gown was a barrier I was eager to remove. My fingers found the hidden zipper at her side.

But as the silk pooled at her feet and I lifted her into my arms to carry her to bed, my phone, set to silent, lit up on the dresser. A single, priority alert from Marcus.

I ignored it. For once, the empire could wait.

Tomorrow, the shadows could return. But tonight belonged to her. To us.