Chapter 5: Stealing the Spotlight

​The grand ballroom of the Grand Regency Hotel was a sea of crystal chandeliers, champagne flutes, and elite high society. Camera flashes reflected off the polished marble floors as the city's most powerful shipping magnates gathered for the Annual Maritime Gala.

​Standing in the penthouse foyer just thirty minutes earlier, Vivian had felt her heart skip a beat when Oliver stepped into the living room.

​He was wearing a charcoal double-breasted tuxedo designed by Milan’s top tailor. The sharp cut emphasized his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and towering stature. His dark hair was styled back, revealing a jawline so sharp it looked sculpted by fine art. He looked less like a temporary substitute husband and more like a king returning to his throne. Yet, the moment his eyes met hers, his sharp gaze melted into that same gentle, devoted smile.

​"Do I pass inspection, CEO Miller?" he had asked playfully, adjusting his cufflinks.

​Vivian had cleared her throat, forcing her pulse to calm down. "You look... acceptable, Mr. Ross."

​Now, stepping onto the red carpet outside the Regency, Vivian felt Oliver’s large, warm hand settle firmly around her waist. The grip was possessive, steady, and unexpectedly comforting. Photographers swarmed them instantly, shutter buttons clicking like rapid gunfire.

​"Miss Miller! Is it true you got married a week ago?"

"Who is your new husband?"

"Is Miller Group facing a leadership takeover?"

​Vivian kept her head held high, plastering a poised, confident smile on her face as she guided Oliver into the main ballroom.

​"You're doing great," she whispered under her breath, glancing up at him.

​"I'm just enjoying the view," Oliver murmured back, his deep voice brushing against her ear, making her skin tingle.

​Before they could reach the VIP lounge, two figures stepped directly into their path, blocking their way.

​Eleanor was wearing a loud, glittery gold gown, but her face was tight with fake concern. Beside her stood Julian. He looked disheveled; his tie was slightly crooked, and dark shadows hovered beneath his eyes—the clear physical toll of spending the past week dealing with frozen bank accounts and rejected credit lines.

​"Well, well, well," Julian sneered loudly, ensuring his voice carried over the classical string quartet playing in the background. Several nearby executives turned to look. "If it isn't Vivian and her little charade."

​Vivian stopped, her expression hardening into solid ice. "Julian. Eleanor. I see you managed to scrape together enough cash to attend."

​Julian’s face twitched violently at the insult, but he quickly forced a malicious grin. "Enjoy your little red carpet walk, Vivian. But everyone in this room knows the truth. You panicked because of your father's will, so you hired a broke, nobody athlete off the street to play house."

​A few murmuring comments broke out among the surrounding guests. Eleanor smirked, swirling her champagne.

​Julian stepped closer, towering over Oliver with an arrogant scowl, pointing a finger at his chest. "Look at him. He’s a zero. A nameless parasite clinging to your purse strings. He doesn't belong in this room, Vivian, and by next week, when the board annulls this fake union, I'm going to make sure he's thrown out of this city!"

​Oliver didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice or drop his soft, polite composure. He simply looked down at Julian’s pointing finger, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, quiet amusement.

​"Are you finished, Mr. Sterling?" Oliver asked softly.

​"I'm just getting started, you broke—"

​"Julian!" a booming, authoritative voice suddenly echoed from the entrance of the VIP section, cutting Julian off mid-sentence.

​The crowd instantly parted.

​Walking toward them was Arthur Cole—the sixty-five-year-old Chairman of the International Maritime Federation. He was the single most powerful figure in global logistics, a legendary tycoon whose approval could make or break shipping empires.

​Julian’s eyes lit up. He immediately straightened his jacket, pushing past Vivian to greet the old man. "Chairman Cole! What an honor. I was just explaining to the press how Miller Group is handling—"

​Arthur Cole completely ignored Julian. He pushed past him as if he were nothing more than a ghost, stepping directly into Oliver’s path.

​Julian froze, his jaw dropping open. Eleanor’s glass halted mid-air.

​The ruthless, terrifying Chairman Cole looked at Oliver, his harsh, weathered face instantly softening into a genuine, overjoyed smile.

​"Oliver!" Arthur exclaimed heartily, placing a heavy, affectionate hand on Oliver's shoulder and shaking his hand warmly. "My boy! It has been way too long! I had no idea you were back in the city!"

​The entire ballroom fell into a stunned, suffocating silence.

​Vivian stared at Oliver, her breath catching in her throat. Julian’s face drained of all color, his mouth hanging open in complete shock.

​A broke personal trainer? A street runner?

​The Chairman of the International Maritime Federation was greeting him like a beloved heir.

​Oliver smiled smoothly, giving Arthur’s hand a firm shake. "Good to see you, Arthur. You're looking well."

​"I'm fantastic!" Arthur boomed, before glancing over at Vivian with deep respect. "And this must be your lovely wife, Vivian Miller. Her father was a good man. You've picked a fine woman, Oliver."

​Vivian stood rooted to the spot, her mind spinning violently. She looked at Arthur’s deep deference, then turned her eyes to Oliver, who gave her a subtle, reassuring wink.

​Who on earth did I just marry? Vivian thought, her heart hammering against her ribs.