Chapter 6 - The Drake Hotel Gala
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel glittered under five hundred crystal chandeliers. Chicago’s elite—senators, real estate moguls, high-society philanthropists, and corrupt judges—sipped vintage champagne while string quartets played classical waltzes.
When the double doors opened at 8:30 PM, the music didn't stop, but the conversation died instantly.
Gabriel Moretti walked in, commanding the room like an emperor entering a conquered province. In his tailored midnight-blue tuxedo, he was devastatingly handsome. But the real shockwave swept through the room because of the woman on his arm.
Hannah Brooks had been transformed. Gone was the ill-fitting felt elf costume and scuffed boots. She wore a bespoke emerald-velvet gown that sculpted her generous, beautiful curves, dropping into an elegant sweep that trailed along the marble floor. Her fiery red curls were swept up into an intricate, romantic updo, secured with diamond pins, leaving her creamy shoulders bare. Around her neck sat a three-tiered collar of raw Colombian emeralds and diamonds—a Moretti family heirloom that had not been seen in public for thirty years.
And holding her other hand, dressed in a miniature matching tuxedo, was Noah.
A collective gasp echoed across the floor. Flashbulbs from invited press photographers exploded like a sudden lightning storm.
Standing near the center champagne fountain, Dr. Evelyn Price froze, her glass slipping between her manicured fingers and shattering against the parquet floor. Beside her stood a burly man with silver hair and a crooked, broken nose—Sergei Volkov, disguised in a high-end tuxedo.
""Keep walking, darling,"" Gabriel whispered softly in Hannah’s ear, his hand pressing warm and possessive against the small of her back. ""You own this room.""
""I feel like I'm marching into a firing squad,"" Hannah muttered under her breath, maintaining a radiant, dazzling smile for the cameras.
""With me beside you, even the firing squad shoots at the ground,"" Gabriel replied with a low, wicked chuckle that sent shivers racing down her spine.
Reporters surged forward with microphones outstretched. ""Mr. Moretti! Is it true Miss Brooks was held against her will?"" ""Miss Brooks, Dr. Price claimed you were in grave danger!""
Hannah stepped forward before Gabriel could speak, her clear, melodious voice cutting through the clamor with absolute authority.
""The only danger I was ever in, ladies and gentlemen, was the danger of letting petty, narrow-minded administrators define what healing looks like,"" Hannah said, her eyes locking directly onto Dr. Evelyn Price across the room. Price turned an ugly shade of puce. ""I resigned from Lakeshore Pediatric because their focus was on superficial vanity, not clinical compassion. Gabriel Moretti brought me into his home to give his son a voice. And tonight, Noah has something he wants to say himself.""
Hannah knelt down, not caring that her velvet gown pooled on the ballroom floor. She looked at Noah with complete confidence.
Noah stepped forward, looked up at the sea of flashing cameras, and took a deep breath. His small hands didn't shake. He let go of his father’s fingers, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small, laminated holiday card.
""Merry Christmas,"" Noah said into the cluster of microphones. His voice was sweet, steady, and clear as a bell. ""Hannah is my mom now. Santa brought her to me.""
The ballroom erupted in applause. Seasoned socialite women openly dabbed tears from their mascara, and television cameras captured the moment for live broadcast across three national networks. Dr. Price turned on her heel and fled toward the rear exits, utterly ruined in front of the city's highest-paying donors.
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Behind the applause, Sergei Volkov slipped into the shadows, his eyes burning with venomous rage. He tapped a hidden earpiece beneath his collar.
""Plan B,"" Volkov rasped in Russian into his microphone. ""The woman dies tonight. Cut the service elevators and take the roof.""
