Chapter 16 - The Charity Gala
The Grand Charity Gala for the Metropolitan Arts Foundation was the social event of the winter season. Held in the breathtaking grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel, the room glittered with crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, and hundreds of affluent guests dressed in haute couture gowns and tailored tuxedos.
I wore an emerald green silk-crepe gown that swept the floor with quiet elegance, paired with minimalist diamond earrings and the lotus pendant my father had given me. As Julian escorted me into the grand ballroom with his hand resting lightly on the small of my back, dozens of heads turned.
Julian introduced me to gallery owners, prominent art collectors, and philanthropic directors with a palpable pride that made my heart swell. There was no awkwardness, no hiding in the shadows—only an effortless, magnetic synergy between us.
Halfway through the evening, as Julian was speaking with the director of the City Museum about an upcoming spring installation, I stepped away toward the terrace doors to grab a glass of sparkling water and enjoy a moment of quiet air.
"Well, well, well. Look who scrubs up nicely when she’s not hiding behind corporate spreadsheets."
I froze. The voice was smooth, arrogant, and unmistakably venomous.
I turned slowly. Standing near the marble pillars was Victoria Vance—Julian’s estranged older sister and a notorious board member of the arts foundation, who had made it very clear during preliminary planning meetings that she disapproved of Julian hiring my marketing agency.
"Good evening, Victoria," I replied evenly, keeping my posture straight and my expression completely unreadable.
Victoria stepped closer, her diamond-encrusted bracelet clinking against her champagne flute. Her eyes scanned my emerald gown with undisguised contempt. "I must hand it to you, Ms. Miller. You certainly know how to climb the social ladder. First you latch on to a respectable corporate man in the suburbs, and the moment that falls through, you sink your claws into my brother. Are you working your way through Manhattan's directory, or do you have a specific target?"
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The insult was so blatantly malicious that for a second, I was stunned. But years of navigating toxic corporate politics—and surviving my mother’s betrayal—had hardened my armor. I didn't flinch. I didn't lose my temper.
Instead, I took a slow sip of my sparkling water, let out a polite, amused smile, and met her hostile gaze head-on.
