Chapter 3 - The Gala of Knives
The transformation was nothing short of staggering. When Elena stepped out of the luxury dressing suite on Fifth Avenue, dressed in an emerald green silk evening gown that hugged her curves and flowed down to the floor, Ryan forgot how to breathe. A diamond pendant rested against her collarbone, catching the warm light of the room. Her dark hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, emphasizing the delicate arch of her neck.
“Stop staring,” Elena murmured under her breath as she approached him, tugging self-consciously at the edge of the silk. “I feel like an imposter wrapped in luxury wrapping paper.”
Ryan stepped forward, his eyes dark with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. He gently reached out, his thumb lightly grazing the bare skin of her shoulder before adjusting the strap of her gown. His touch sent a jolt of static through her skin.
“You’re not an imposter, Elena,” he said softly, his voice gravelly. “You outshine every single person in this building.”
Elena’s breath hitched, but she forced a teasing smile to mask the sudden flutter in her chest. “Save the sweet talk for the photographers, boss.”
The Metropolitan Museum of Art gala was a battlefield disguised as a high-society banquet. Camera flashes burst like silent explosions as Ryan walked Elena down the red carpet, his hand firmly resting on the small of her back. His palm was warm, solid, and protective against the sheer silk of her dress. Rumors of their secret relationship had already hit the tabloids, dubbed the “Cinderella of Ashford Global.”
As they stepped into the grand hall under towering arches and floral displays, the whispering began. High-society matriarchs stared through their crystal champagne glasses; corporate rivals exchanged predatory glances.
At the center of the room stood Victoria Caldwell, radiant in a crimson couture gown, accompanied by William Ashford. As Ryan and Elena approached, Victoria smiled—a cold, venomous baring of teeth.
“Elena, darling,” Victoria purred loud enough for the surrounding executives to hear. “How charming. That dress looks almost authentic on you. Tell me, do you miss the subway, or has Ryan hired an Uber driver to bring you all the way from Queens?”
The surrounding guests chuckled quietly behind their glasses. Elena felt the familiar sting of class warfare, the humiliating prick of shame she had fought her whole life. She was about to speak when Ryan’s hand tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.
“Elena took the subway because she values hard work and real life, Victoria,” Ryan said, his voice ringing with cold authority across the circle. “Unlike people who inherited their wealth and have never accomplished anything on their own. And as for her dress—it’s custom Givenchy. But more importantly, the woman wearing it has more integrity in her little finger than your entire shipping board.”
Victoria’s face drained of color. William’s fists clenched at his sides. “Watch your tongue, Ryan,” William warned.
“I’m stating facts, Father,” Ryan answered smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to introduce my fiancée to the foreign dignitaries. She speaks four languages fluently, so she won't need someone to translate the culture to her.”
Ryan led Elena onto the polished dance floor as the orchestra struck up a slow waltz. Elena placed one trembling hand on his broad shoulder, while Ryan’s fingers wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her into the rhythm of the music.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Elena whispered, looking up at him, her heart beating wildly against her ribs.
“Yes, I did,” Ryan replied, gazing down at her with an emotion so fierce it scared her. “Nobody insults you in my presence. Not even my father.”
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“It’s just a contract, Ryan,” she reminded him, her voice barely audible over the swelling violins.
Ryan pulled her a fraction of an inch closer, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. “Are you sure, Elena? Because when I hold you, it doesn't feel like a contract at all.”
