Chapter 5 - The Gala of Wolves
The Grand Ballroom of the historic Drake Hotel was a glittering spectacle of old money, modern power, and ostentatious luxury.
Crystal chandeliers the size of small automobiles hung from the gilded ceilings, casting a prismatic glow over three hundred of Chicago’s most influential figures. Governors, senators, aerospace executives, and venture capitalists mingled over glasses of vintage Dom Pérignon and platters of beluga caviar.
Near the champagne fountain stood Ryan Mitchell and Amber Collins.
To the untrained eye, they looked like the epitome of success. Ryan wore a rented midnight-blue velvet tuxedo that fit him just well enough to pass as custom. Amber was draped in an emerald silk backless gown that she had purchased on an emergency store credit line that morning, her neck adorned with a rented diamond collar from a high-end jeweler in the Gold Coast.
"Look at this room, Ryan," Amber whispered feverishly, her eyes darting from billionaire to billionaire. "That’s Jonathan Hastings, the real estate developer! And over there—that’s the CEO of United Dynamics! If you get this position, we are on this list every year!"
"When I get this position, baby," Ryan corrected her, taking a deep sip of champagne, feeling the alcohol fuel his swelling ego. "Did you see how Vance looked at me yesterday? He was intimidated. He knows I'm the real deal. The Chairwoman watched the entire interview and invited us here personally. You know what that means? The job is already mine. Tonight is just a coronation."
"Did you find out who she is?" Amber asked, smoothing her dress over her hips. "The Chairwoman?"
"Nobody knows," Ryan scoffed. "Some reclusive heiress or private equity vulture. Probably sixty years old, bitter, and surrounded by cats. But it doesn't matter. Once I get my hands on the supply chain budget, I’ll run that division like my own personal kingdom."
Across the room, the crowd suddenly began to part.
A murmur rippled through the ballroom, hushed and reverent, like the sound of wind sweeping through an ancient forest. The orchestra ceased playing mid-crescendo, switching seamlessly to a low, elegant waltz.
"She’s here," someone near the entrance whispered.
"The Chairwoman of Apex."
Ryan turned, setting his champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray. He straightened his velvet lapels, plastering his most charming, subservient-yet-confident grin across his face.
"Stay close, Amber," Ryan instructed out of the side of his mouth. "Smile, look expensive, and let me do the talking."
Flanked by four stone-faced executive security guards and accompanied by Marcus Vance, the owner of Apex Horizon stepped into the light of the grand chandelier.
The breath was violently sucked out of Ryan Mitchell’s lungs.
The glass of champagne in Amber Collins’s hand tilted, spilling pale golden liquid over the bodice of her rented emerald gown, but she did not even notice.
The woman walking into the room was not an aging, reclusive heiress.
She was radiant.
She wore a strapless, architectural column gown of liquid black silk that accentuated every sculpted, perfect curve of her body. Her bare shoulders were dusted with subtle shimmer, her collarbones sharp and regal. Around her neck sat a seventy-carat untreated Ceylon sapphire surrounded by a halo of micro-pave diamonds—a museum-grade heirloom worth more than every property Ryan had ever set foot in.
Her chestnut hair swept across one shoulder in glossy, Hollywood waves, framing a face of devastating symmetry, high cheekbones, and piercing hazel eyes that swept across the room with absolute, undisputed dominion.
She walked with the grace of a panther and the authority of a monarch.
Beside her, holding her hand with quiet confidence, was a five-year-old boy in an immaculate miniature tuxedo, his hazel eyes wide and intelligent as he looked at the grand ballroom without a trace of fear.
Ryan stumbled backward, his heel catching on the carpet. His face turned the color of damp parchment.
"No..." Ryan choked, his voice cracking into a high, pathetic squeak. "No... that’s... that’s impossible..."
Amber gripped Ryan’s arm with manicured nails so hard they dug through his velvet jacket into his skin.
"Ryan..." Amber gasped, her voice trembling with sheer, unadulterated terror. "Ryan, look at her face... Ryan, who is that?!"
Ryan couldn't speak. His tongue felt swollen, thick like lead in his mouth.
It was the woman he had abandoned in an empty rental house five days before her due date.
It was the woman whose pregnant belly he had sneered at in a courthouse lobby, calling her 'depressing' and 'unattractive.'
It was the woman he had told was an absolute mistake who brought nothing to the table.
May you like
Olivia Parker.
***
