Chapter 6 - The Encounter at the GalaThe annual Met Gala Charity Auction was the pinnacle of New York high society. Chandeliers glittered like fallen stars across the grand ballroom of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, while socialites, tech billionaires, and international aristocrats mingled over champagne and caviar.
Emma descended the grand marble staircase wearing a breathtaking emerald-green velvet gown that hugged her silhouette, adorned with vintage diamond jewelry that belonged to her grandmother. Every head in the room turned as she entered.
At the edge of the ballroom, standing near a pillar with a cheap plastic cup of tap water in his hand, was Alexander Carter.
He looked unrecognizable. Without his custom-tailored Italian suits, his expensive watches, or his arrogant swagger, he looked small. He wore an off-the-rack tuxedo that didn't quite fit his shoulders, his hair slightly disheveled, desperately trying to corner a mid-tier venture capitalist who was actively trying to walk away from him.
“Please, Julian, just five minutes of your time,” Alexander pleaded, grabbing the capitalist's arm. “Carter-Whitmore is reorganizing—”
“Carter-Whitmore doesn't exist anymore, Alexander,” Julian snapped, pulling his arm away in disgust. “And everyone in this room knows you're radioactive. Stay away from me.”
As Julian walked away, Alexander turned around—and froze.
Emma was standing right in front of him.
She held a glass of champagne, her expression completely neutral, looking at him as if he were a speck of dust on her shoe.
“Enjoying the party, Alexander?” she asked quietly.
Alexander’s face twisted into an ugly mask of rage and humiliation. “You did this. You systematically destroyed everything I spent ten years building out of spite!”
“Spite?” Emma tilted her head, taking a slow sip of her champagne. “Alexander, spite is petty. What I did was business. You tried to treat me like a disposable trophy wife while robbing my family blind behind my back. You brought this entirely upon yourself.”
“I’ll ruin you,” he hissed, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “People like you think your money makes you gods, but you’re nothing without men like me running the engines!”
Before Emma could respond, two burly security guards in black tie appeared on either side of Alexander, each gripping his biceps with bone-crushing force.
“Mr. Carter,” the head of security said smoothly. “Your invitation was revoked at the door. Please leave quietly before we involve the city police for trespassing.”
May you like
“Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?!” Alexander thrashed wildly, but the guards didn't budge an inch. They dragged him backward across the gleaming marble floor as dozens of New York's elite watched in absolute silence.
Emma watched him go without the slightest flicker of emotion in her eyes. She turned back to the crowd, raised her glass in a silent toast to Arthur Sterling across the room, and smiled.
