Chapter 3 - The Wolves at the Gala
Forty-eight hours later, Nora’s simple cotton dresses were replaced by emerald silk.
The marriage license had been signed in Asher’s living room by a private judge, their rings exchanged in complete silence. Nora wore a platinum band adorned with a rare, emerald-cut diamond that felt impossibly heavy on her left finger. Asher had taken her hand during the ceremony with such tender reverence that she had momentarily forgotten the sterile, contractual nature of their union.
Now, she was being thrust into the belly of the beast: the annual Metropolitan Innovation Gala.
The grand ballroom of the Plaza was choked with billionaires, venture capitalists, and socialites dressed in dazzling couture. Flashbulbs went off in blinding bursts as Asher guided Nora through the double doors, his large, warm palm pressed firmly against the small of her back. The touch sent unexpected ripples of warmth through her spine.
“Breathe,” Asher murmured, bending his head close to her ear. “You belong here. Never look down.”
“They’re staring at my stomach,” Nora whispered through a practiced smile. Her emerald gown hugged her silhouette, showcasing the faint, unmistakable swell of her fourteen-week bump.
“They’re staring because you are breathtaking,” Asher replied smoothly, his tone remarkably devoid of deceit.
Before Nora could process the compliment, a sharp, patronizing laugh cut through the ambient jazz music. Standing near the champagne fountain was Victoria Sterling, heiress to Sterling Dynamics and Asher’s former high-society fiancée. Beside her, wearing an ill-fitting designer tuxedo, was Ryan.
Nora stiffened. Asher’s hand tightened against her waist, anchoring her.
“Asher, darling!” Victoria purred, stepping forward with a glass of vintage Dom Pérignon. Her eyes raked over Nora like a scanner assessing cheap fabric. “Everyone is abuzz with the scandal. We all thought you had taste, yet here you are parade-marching the Crownbridge’s former janitor as your bride. And so visibly pregnant, too. Tell me, did you hire her off the cleaning roster, or did she corner you in an elevator with a fabricated sob story?”
Ryan smirked, emboldened by Victoria’s presence. “Careful, Cole. Nora’s an expert at playing the helpless victim. I lived with her for four years. She couldn't even manage our household budget, and now she thinks she’s a tech mogul’s wife? You’re raising another man’s bastard, and the whole city knows it.”
The temperature around their circle plunged below freezing.
Several nearby guests froze, turning to watch. Nora felt the familiar, crushing shame that Ryan had inflicted on her for years clawing at her throat. She prepared to shrink back, to apologize, to hide—
“Ryan Bennett,” Asher spoke, his voice quiet, calm, and terrifyingly clear. He didn’t drop his hand from Nora’s back. Instead, he pulled her closer against his side. “I find it fascinating that a man who was fired for gross health-code violations and embezzlement from the Crownbridge banquet funds still feels entitled to speak in public.”
Ryan’s smirk vanished instantly. “What? That's a lie!”
“The forensic audit of your kitchen inventories concluded this afternoon,” Asher continued mercilessly, taking a sip of sparkling water from a passing waiter's tray. “Over two hundred thousand dollars of premium dry-aged beef and imported wine routed directly to private catering events managed by you and Miss Dalton. The NYPD financial crimes division already has the warrant. They are waiting for you in the lobby.”
Ryan took a frantic step backward, his eyes darting toward the exits.
Victoria sneered, turning her back on Ryan in an instant. “Even if he’s a thief, Asher, that doesn’t explain this pathetic charade. You marrying down to this... nobody?”
Asher turned his icy glare entirely upon Victoria. “Nora is the mother of my child. The blood running through that baby is Cole blood, confirmed by DNA sequencing certified by Mount Sinai Hospital.” He paused, letting the statement ripple through the gasping crowd. “Furthermore, Nora holds a master’s degree in comparative literature from Columbia, an honor she abandoned to support a husband who proved unworthy of her shoe leather. She is ten times the woman you will ever be, Victoria. And if you ever speak to my wife with disrespect again, I will personally short your family’s stock into bankruptcy before the opening bell tomorrow.”
Victoria turned pale and stumbled backward into the crowd.
Two plainclothes detectives stepped up behind Ryan, clamping handcuffs around his wrists before he could make a dash for the terrace. Nora watched her ex-husband get dragged through the ballroom doors in disgrace, his shouts swallowed by the orchestra's sudden crescendo.
When Nora looked up, Asher was watching her, his jaw relaxed, his eyes questioning.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
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“Nobody has ever defended me like that,” Nora whispered, tears threatening the corners of her eyes.
Asher lifted his hand, his thumb gently catching a stray tear before it could ruin her makeup. “Get used to it, Nora. From now on, you will never fight alone.”
