Chapter 7 - The Ashford Gala
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel glittered under massive crystal chandeliers, filled with Chicago’s elite, politicians, corporate moguls, and high-society families. It was the annual charity gala hosted by the Ashford Foundation, an event designed to showcase wealth, influence, and immaculate social standing.
Margaret Ashford stood near the entrance, greeting arriving guests with a practiced, radiant smile. Sienna stood beside her, wearing a breathtaking custom gown, though her eyes scanned the crowd with a restless anxiety.
“Have you heard anything from Elias?” Sienna whispered out of the corner of her mouth, keeping her smile fixed for the cameras.
“Nothing,” Margaret murmured back, her expression tightening. “He hasn't attended a public event since the breakup. Rumors are swirling that his health has deteriorated completely. Some say he’s confined to a wheelchair permanently, hidden away in that fortress of his.”
“Good,” Sienna said bitterly. “Let him rot there.”
Suddenly, the ambient noise in the grand ballroom seemed to shift. Conversations faltered. Heads turned toward the grand double doors at the entrance. A heavy, suffocating silence swept through the room like a wave.
Margaret and Sienna turned their gaze toward the doorway.
Elias Marchetti walked into the ballroom.
He wasn't in a wheelchair. He walked with absolute, unyielding authority, his tailored black tuxedo fitting him to perfection, his stride steady and powerful. The crowd parted instinctively before him, whispering in shock and awe as rumors of his permanent disability were shattered in a single moment.
But it wasn't just Elias’s miraculous return that made the room gasp.
Walking right beside him, with her hand resting lightly on his arm, was Maeve Donnelly.
She wore a stunning, elegant emerald-green silk evening gown that accentuated her graceful posture. Her hair was swept up in an intricate style, and a diamond necklace sparkled at her throat—a piece of jewelry that easily rivaled any heirloom in the Ashford family vault. She carried herself with calm, unshakable poise, looking every bit as elegant as any woman in the room.
Margaret Ashford’s face drained of all color. Sienna clutched her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles turned white, her jaw dropping in sheer disbelief.
Elias and Maeve walked down the center aisle, the eyes of every powerful person in Chicago fixed upon them. Elias didn't look at the crowd. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his arm offering steady support to the woman who had seen through his games and loved him anyway.
As they approached the dais where Margaret and Sienna stood, Elias stopped. The silence in the ballroom was absolute. You could hear a pin drop on the marble floor.
May you like
Elias raised his right hand, slowly turning the black onyx ring around his finger.
“Good evening, Margaret. Sienna,” Elias said, his voice cutting through the silent room like cold steel. “I trust you’re enjoying the gala.”
