Chapter 3 - The Ghost at the GalaForty-eight hours later, the whispers in Manhattan were no longer about Grant Callaway's glittering engagement to Claudia Voss. They were about the ghost that was about to walk through the doors of the annual Metropolitan Charity Gala.
Evelyn stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror in a private penthouse overlooking Central Park. The reflection looking back at her bore very little resemblance to the heartbroken woman who had dropped her engagement ring on a table two nights ago.
Gone was the vulnerable girl in the simple silver dress. In her place stood a high-society powerhouse clad in an obsidian-black, backless velvet gown designed by Schiaparelli, dripping with forty carats of cold, flawless white diamonds loaned directly from Roman Callaway's private vault.
The door behind her opened silently. Roman stepped into the room, impeccably dressed in a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo. He paused, observing her appearance with an appraising nod.
"Magnificent," Roman murmured. "Grant won't know whether to run or drop to his knees."
"He won't have time to do either," Evelyn said smoothly, adjusting a diamond drop earring. "Are the SEC filings ready?"
"Submitted three hours ago," Roman replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "The regulatory inquiry into Voss Capital's overseas logistics division is officially active. By tomorrow morning, Claudia's father will be spending more time answering federal subpoenas than planning wedding venues."
Evelyn turned around, her expression devoid of warmth. "Good. Let's go make an entrance."
When the heavy oak doors of the Metropolitan Ballroom swung open that evening, the low hum of conversation among three hundred of New York's wealthiest elite instantly died.
Flashbulbs popped like lightning storms.
May you like
All eyes turned toward the entrance. There stood Roman Callaway, a man who hadn't attended a public social function in over six years—and on his arm, gliding effortlessly across the marble floor, was Evelyn Carter.
At the far end of the ballroom, standing beside a tier of champagne flutes, Grant Callaway dropped his glass. It shattered against the floor, the sound ringing sharply through the stunned silence of the room.
