Chapter 7 - The Gala of Wolves
The public unveiling of their marriage took place at the annual Metropolitan Charity Gala—a glittering event where the city’s highest society mixed with its most powerful political figures.
Camille stood before the full-length mirror in her room, adjusting the strap of her midnight-blue satin gown. The dress clung to her curves like liquid night, its low back revealing the smooth line of her spine.
A quiet knock sounded at her door.
"Come in," she said.
Valentin stepped into the room. He was impeccably dressed in a custom black tuxedo, looking every inch the aristocratic lord of the city. He stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on her, his grey gaze darkening with a sudden, intense heat that made Camille’s breath catch in her throat.
"You are stunning," he said softly, walking toward her.
"Thank you," she whispered, her heart giving a sudden, traitorous thud against her ribs.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Inside rested a necklace of brilliant, square-cut sapphires surrounded by diamonds.
"A gift," Valentin said, lifting the heavy necklace from the velvet casing. "To complete the ensemble. May I?"
Camille nodded, turning her back to him and lifting her hair away from her neck.
Valentin stepped up close behind her. His fingers brushed against her bare skin as he fastened the clasp, his touch sending a sharp, electric shock straight down her spine. His hands lingered on her shoulders for a second longer than necessary, his broad chest pressed almost against her back.
"Remember," Valentin murmured near her ear, his deep voice sending shivers down her arms. "Tonight, we are a couple deeply in love. The city will be watching every breath you take. Lean into me. Let them see that you belong to me."
"I know how to act," Camille said, turning around to face him, her chin held high.
"It shouldn't be an act," Valentin replied softly, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that terrified her far more than any mob threat ever could.
An hour later, they entered the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel.
The moment Valentin offered his arm to Camille and stepped through the double doors, the room fell into an absolute, stunned silence. Flashbulbs exploded like tiny stars. Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire across dry brush.
Camille saw her former acquaintances—women who had pitied her three days ago—standing with their mouths open, staring at the massive sapphire on her neck and the powerful man holding her close to his side.
"Keep walking, darling," Valentin murmured, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her firmly against his hip. "Let them choke on it."
Camille leaned into his broad frame, letting her hand rest against his chest. She felt the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart beneath the expensive wool of his jacket.
As they moved through the crowd, greeting city councilors and wealthy donors, a tall man with slicked-back dark hair and a sharp, cruel face stepped into their path. He carried a champagne glass, his eyes fixed on Camille with a repulsive, mocking gleam.
May you like
It was Dante Moretti—Valentin’s cousin and his main rival within the syndicate's inner council.
"Well, well, Valentin," Dante drawled, his voice oily and dripping with fake warmth. "So the rumors are true. You married Trevor Hunt's leftover bride."
