The first thing Adrian Vale noticed after his wife disappeared was that she had taken nothing he had ever bought her.

The Municipal Art Society Gala was held inside the vaulted grand atrium of the Chicago Cultural Center.

Under the massive, illuminated Tiffany stained-glass dome, five hundred of the city’s elite—politicians, old-money heiresses, corporate raiders, and museum directors—mingled amidst floating champagne trays and live harp music.

Evelyn stood beside Adrian near the main marble staircase, wearing a stunning midnight-blue velvet dress with a simple diamond necklace he had insisted she wear for the press photos. Her hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, exposing the delicate line of her neck.

Adrian’s hand rested solidly against the small of her back. His touch was warm, heavy, and undeniably possessive—a physical anchor that communicated absolute ownership to every camera lens in the room.

“You’re standing too stiffly,” Adrian murmured into her ear, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned down, pretending to whisper a sweet secret. “The society photographer from the Sun-Times has been watching us for ten minutes.”

“My spine is stiff because your hand is pressing directly against my ribcage,” Evelyn replied through a perfectly serene, dazzling smile aimed at the crowd.

“It’s called public affection, darling,” Adrian whispered back, his fingers tightening just slightly against her waist, pulling her an inch closer to his side. “Try to look less like a captive hostage.”

Before she could offer a witty retorts, a tall, elegantly dressed woman with sharp features and a crimson dress approached them, carrying a glass of champagne.

Victoria Sterling.

Victoria was the daughter of Sterling Financial’s founder and a woman who had spent three years publicly dropped as Adrian’s rumored social companion before he abruptly married Evelyn.

“Adrian,” Victoria cooed, her voice smooth and dangerous as venom. “And the new Mrs. Vale. How delightful to finally catch you both out of hiding.”

“Victoria,” Adrian acknowledged with a cold, polite nod. “I trust your father’s firm survived the quarterly audit?”

Victoria’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before she turned her sharp gaze entirely onto Evelyn.

“We were all so surprised by the announcement, Evelyn,” Victoria said, taking a slow sip of champagne. “Adrian has always been so... particular. We all assumed he would marry someone within the financial council. Art restoration must be such... quiet, modest work. How do you find managing a man who owns half the skyline?”

Evelyn felt the subtle, barbed insult hanging in the air. She didn't flinch. She took a small glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter’s tray and smiled warmly at Victoria.

“Art restoration requires immense patience, Victoria,” Evelyn said effortlessly. “You spend months analyzing dark, weathered surfaces, carefully removing layers of cheap, superficial varnish that inferior artists applied to hide the true masterpiece underneath.”

She paused, taking a slow sip of water before adding:

“It teaches you how to recognize true, enduring value versus temporary decoration.”

Victoria’s jaw tightened visibly, her eyes flashing with pure annoyance.

Beside Evelyn, she felt Adrian’s broad frame stiffen slightly. He didn't speak, but when Evelyn glanced up at him, she saw a faint, dark flick of immense amusement dancing in his eyes.

“How charming,” Victoria spat out, turning on her heel. “Enjoy your evening.”

As Victoria disappeared into the crowded atrium, Adrian leaned down to Evelyn’s ear once more.

“Cheap superficial varnish?” Adrian murmured, his voice low and raspy. “That was brutally efficient, Mrs. Vale.”

“I learned from watching you, Mr. Vale,” she replied coolly, looking up at him. “Did I fulfill Clause 4 of the public representation agreement?”