Chapter 3 - The Billionaire’s Gala
We left them standing in the apartment, completely paralyzed by shock. As we descended in the creaky elevator, I leaned my head against Logan’s shoulder and started laughing.
“That was the most incredibly arrogant thing I have ever witnessed,” I gasped.
Logan kissed the top of my head, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't use my name to intimidate people, but watching that guy look at you made me want to buy the entire block just to evict him.”
The black Maybach waiting on the street was a stark contrast to Logan's beaten-up Honda. As we slid into the leather seats, Logan turned to me, suddenly looking nervous.
“The gala tonight is the Whitmore Global annual charity ball. My father is going to be there. The entire board is going to be there. I was going to skip it, but after what just happened... I think it's time I stop hiding. Both of us.”
I looked down at my simple jeans and cream coat. “I'm not exactly dressed for a high-society ambush.”
Logan pressed a button on the intercom. “Arthur, divert to the penthouse. Call the styling team.”
Two hours later, we walked into the grand ballroom of the Four Seasons. I was wearing a breathtaking emerald green silk gown that clung to my curves, my hair swept up in an elegant twist. Logan wore a custom tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders flawlessly.
When the double doors opened and the announcer called out, “Mr. Logan Whitmore, Chief Executive Officer, and Mrs. Claire Whitmore,” the entire room went dead silent.
Cameras flashed. Whispers erupted like a tidal wave.
I kept my chin high, my arm looped through Logan’s. As we descended the grand staircase, I spotted familiar faces. High society elites. Powerful politicians. And, standing near the champagne fountain looking like she had seen a ghost, my mother. She had clearly rushed from our apartment straight to the gala, desperate for damage control.
But my eyes weren't on her. They were on the imposing, silver-haired man marching aggressively across the ballroom floor toward us.
May you like
Richard Whitmore. Logan’s father.
He didn't look happy. He looked like a man preparing for war.
