Chapter 9 - THE CROWN OF EMERALD AND GOLD
Two weeks after the tribunal at the Gold Coast estate, the city of Chicago was quiet once more.
The Sterling family had quietly sold off their assets and departed for Europe, their financial empire completely erased from the Midwest. Robert Moretti had vanished into retirement in a small, isolated town in Central America, completely stripped of his former power and influence. Emily had been given a full scholarship and relocation grant to pursue her master's degree in manuscript preservation at a prestigious university in London, safely away from any lingering dangerous influences.
It was a gorgeous, crisp autumn evening in Lincoln Park.
The Moretti Foundation was hosting its annual Autumn Cultural Gala—not in a cold, corporate hotel ballroom, but inside the newly restored Lincoln Park Library and Archives building.
The grand hall was lit with warm, glowing chandeliers. Elegant flower arrangements of emerald, gold, and white roses adorned the long velvet tables. Chicago’s highest political figures, art patrons, and business leaders filled the room, conversing softly under the vaulted ceilings.
At the center of the hall stood Grace.
She looked radiant, wearing a breathtaking floor-length emerald silk dress designed specifically for her soft, voluptuous figure. Her dark hair was styled in an elegant updo, exposing her graceful neck and shoulders. On her wrists were delicate gold cuffs, but the true focal point of her attire was the glittering diamond solitaire and platinum wedding band on her left hand, catching the light as she demonstrated a paper preservation technique to an attentive group of university directors.
She spoke with effortless confidence, her passion for her craft illuminating her face. She was no longer a woman hiding in the shadows of her husband’s formidable reputation; she was the undisputed queen of the evening, admired and respected by everyone in attendance.
From across the grand hall, standing near the marble columns with a glass of sparkling water, Adrien watched her.
He wore a bespoke black tuxedo, looking impeccably handsome and calm. Every executive, city councilor, and shipping director who approached him was met with his sharp, decisive intelligence, but his dark eyes kept drifting back across the room to rest on his wife.
Marcus stepped up beside Adrien, holding an encrypted tablet.
"Pier 42 operations are fully normalized, Boss," Marcus reported low. "The new union stewards have signed the ten-year labor agreements. Everything is secure."
"Good," Adrien murmured, his gaze never leaving Grace.
"She looks extraordinary tonight, sir," Marcus added with a rare, warm smile. "The entire city council is talking about her restoration grant initiative."
"She is extraordinary," Adrien replied softly, his voice thick with pride.
At that moment, Grace turned across the room and caught Adrien’s eye. A warm, beautiful smile broke across her lips. She murmured a quick excuse to the university directors and began making her way toward him, her emerald silk dress rustling softly as she walked.
Adrien stepped out from the shadow of the marble column to meet her halfway.
"Are you enjoying your evening, Mrs. Moretti?" Adrien asked gently, taking her soft hand in his and pressing a tender kiss to the back of her fingers.
"It’s perfect," Grace whispered, leaning up to kiss his jawline. "Though I must admit, I miss having you all to myself."
Adrien smiled, a genuine, beautiful expression that lit up his sharp features. "Then let’s leave."
Grace blinked in delightful surprise. "Leave? Adrien, you’re the host of the gala!"
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"I own the building, my love," Adrien murmured into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "I can leave whenever I want. And right now, I want to take my wife home."
Grace laughed—a melodic, joyous sound that echoed through the grand hall—and took his arm. "Lead the way, Mr. Moretti."
