Chapter 8 - A Night of Masks
The intrusion at the estate turned out to be an attempted data breach; someone had hacked the internal surveillance system, attempting to scrub footage from the night before the gala. Whoever was working against Isabella was inside their perimeter.
To flush out the traitor, Isabella proposed a daring move: host the annual Moretti Foundation Charity Gala at their private estate on Saturday night. Every prominent figure in high society—and every suspect—would be under their roof.
“And you, Emma,” Isabella insisted that evening in her salon, “will not be serving drinks. You will attend as my guest of honor.”
Emma tried to refuse, but Isabella would hear none of it. By Saturday evening, Emma stood before the full-length mirror in her guest suite, utterly stunned by her reflection.
She wore an off-the-shoulder evening gown of midnight-blue velvet, cut perfectly to accentuate her slender waist and sweeping down to the floor in elegant folds. Her auburn hair was swept up in an intricate chignon, with soft curls framing her delicate features.
A knock sounded at her door. When Emma opened it, Vincent was standing in the corridor wearing a midnight-black tuxedo that made him look lethally handsome.
He stopped dead in his tracks. For the first time since Emma had met him, Vincent Moretti seemed completely at a loss for words.
His eyes swept down the length of her dress and back to her face, a smoldering heat flaring in his dark gaze. “You look... extraordinary, Emma.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. “I feel like an imposter.”
“You are the only real person in this house,” Vincent said quietly, stepping forward and offering his arm. “Keep your head high tonight. Let them look. Let them see who holds the power.”
Downstairs, the grand ballroom was alive with music and laughter. As Vincent and Emma descended the grand marble staircase together, a wave of stunned murmurs washed across the crowd. Socialites gasped into their champagne flutes; corporate moguls lowered their voices.
May you like
Among the crowd, standing by the edge of the terrace with a drink in her hand, was Victoria Sterling. Her father had posted bail, and through family connections, she had slipped into the event unnoticed. When Victoria saw Emma descending beside Vincent—treated like royalty—pure, unadulterated venom flashed across her features.
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