Chapter 2 - The Red Carpet Ambush
Three weeks later, the transformation was complete, though I still occasionally looked in the mirror of the Tribeca penthouse and wondered who the hell was staring back.
The apartment was staggering—floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the Hudson River, minimalist white oak furniture, a kitchen stocked with artisanal groceries I didn't know how to cook, and a walk-in closet filled with designer dresses that cost more than my first car. Julian had kept his word. We occupied opposite wings of the apartment. We shared coffee in silence on Tuesday mornings, discussed logistics like two executive board members, and lived entirely separate lives behind closed bedroom doors.
Until tonight.
Tonight was the annual Northstar Systems Global Gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Every tech titan, venture capitalist, and society gossip columnist in Manhattan was packed into the grand hall under the gaze of ancient Egyptian statues.
And standing right near the champagne fountain, laughing too loudly and holding a glass of Dom Pérignon, were Ryan and Tessa Collins.
Ryan looked immaculate in a midnight-blue tuxedo. Tessa was draped in a silver sequined gown that screamed desperate social climbing. When Ryan’s company had merged its mid-level marketing accounts with an affiliate firm, he had somehow finagled an invitation to the tech industry's biggest event of the year.
I felt Julian’s hand slide gently, possessively, into the crook of my elbow.
“Your heart rate just spiked,” Julian murmured against my ear, his breath warm, his tall frame shielding me from immediate view. “Are we encountering an obstacle?”
“My ex and his trophy accessory are twelve feet to our left,” I whispered back, keeping my smile locked in place for the cameras flashing around us. “If I look over there right now, my mascara will run and ruin your company's pristine public image.”
Julian didn't hesitate. He shifted his stance, turning his body so his broad shoulders completely blocked Ryan and Tessa from my line of sight. Then, with a practiced, effortless grace, he guided me forward into the center of the room, right toward where the keynote journalists and financial editors were gathered.
“Julian! Over here!” a reporter from the Wall Street Journal called out, waving a notepad. “Mr. Shaw, we didn't expect you to bring Mrs. Shaw tonight. Rumor had it your marriage was a quiet, private affair.”
Julian smiled—a rare, dazzling smile that made half the women in the room stop breathing. He pulled me closer, his hand resting firmly on the small of my back, his fingers pressing through the heavy silk of my emerald-green velvet gown.
“My wife prefers privacy when she isn't running her own architectural design projects,” Julian said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly over the ambient chatter. “But missing our first major public appearance together was simply out of the question. I’m a man who knows a priceless acquisition when he sees one. I wasn't about to keep her hidden.”
The reporters laughed appreciatively. Flashbulbs exploded in a blinding wall of white light.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryan turn around.
I saw the exact moment his gaze locked onto us. I saw the glass of champagne freeze halfway to his mouth. I saw the color drain entirely from his face as he stared at the four-billion-dollar tech mogul holding me like I was the most precious thing on earth, dressed in haute couture, smiling with absolute, unshakeable confidence.
Tessa turned too. Her jaw dropped so low I thought her earrings might fall off.
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I didn't flinch. I didn't look away. I turned my face up toward Julian, letting him catch my chin with his thumb in a gesture that looked intensely, breathtakingly intimate, and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Don't mention it, Mrs. Shaw,” Julian whispered back, his grey eyes burning into mine with a sudden, fierce intensity that sent a violent shiver straight down my spine. “Show them what they lost.”
