Chapter 5 - The Gala of Knives
The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel shimmered with crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and the predatory smiles of New York’s elite. The Annual Valentine Foundation Gala was historically a celebration of corporate dominance, but tonight, the atmosphere was thick with impending slaughter.
Richard Vance stood near the center stage, champagne flute in hand, murmuring with Victoria Sterling and her father, Arthur Sterling.
“Zane has lost his mind,” Richard whispered maliciously. “He’s distracted, skipping meetings, and defending a nobody. Tonight, we present the vote of no confidence. With your family’s voting bloc, we strip him of his CEO title by midnight.”
Victoria smirked, adjusting an emerald necklace. “Let him have his little peasant girl. He won’t have a dime left to spoil her with.”
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the ballroom parted, and the chatter ceased as if sliced by a razor.
Zane Valentine walked into the room. But he was not alone.
On his arm was Jocelyn Mercer.
She wore no designer label covered in logos, but a bespoke, midnight-blue velvet gown with clean, architectural lines that accented her slender waist and graceful posture. Her dark hair was pinned up with antique silver combs, and her eyes held no fear, no hesitation—only the cool, analytical precision of a woman who understood every angle of the room.
Zane looked like an emperor escorting his queen. His hand rested firmly over hers, his posture rigid and commanding.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
“Is that her?”
“The tutor?”
“How dare he bring her to the Plaza?”
Victoria’s smile vanished, replaced by a scowl of pure venom. She stepped forward, blocking their path near the grand staircase. “Zane, darling. How delightfully theatrical. Did you bring your nanny to serve dessert?”
Jocelyn didn’t flinch. She stepped forward slightly, looking Victoria up and down with an amused tilt of her head. “Miss Sterling, I would offer to tutor you in social etiquette, but unlike calculus, manners require an inherent capacity for basic empathy. I doubt even a miracle worker could balance your deficits.”
A collective gasp went up from several nearby socialites. Victoria’s face turned bright crimson. “You insolent little—”
“Victoria,” Arthur Sterling intervened, stepping forward with Richard Vance. His voice was cold, authoritative. “That’s enough. Miss Mercer, this room is for shareholders and executives who control the destiny of this country. Your presence here is an embarrassment to Valentine Capital.”
“Actually, Mr. Sterling,” Jocelyn replied smoothly, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet room, “your presence here is an embarrassment to your risk assessment committee.”
Richard Vance laughed loudly. “What are you talking about, girl? Be quiet before we have security drag you out into the rain!”
May you like
Jocelyn smiled—a sharp, brilliant, devastating smile. She turned to Zane. “Should I tell them, or would you like to do the honors?”
Zane looked at her with unvarnished pride. “Explain the mathematics to them, Jocelyn. They never were very good with numbers.”
