Chapter 7 - The Drake Hotel
The Gold Coast Ballroom at the Drake Hotel was the undisputed center of Chicago’s high-society establishment.
Under towering crystal chandeliers and gilded vaulted ceilings, three hundred of the Midwest’s most influential figures gathered—real estate moguls, syndicate leaders, corrupt politicians, judges, and high-society matriarchs dressed in designer gowns and millions of dollars of family jewels.
When the heavy brass doors opened and Gabriel Moretti walked into the ballroom, the noise level in the room dropped instantly by half.
Gabriel was a legend in Chicago business circles—a man whose wealth was vast, whose power was undisputed, and whose personal life was completely impenetrable. He rarely attended public galas, and when he did, he arrived alone.
Tonight, he walked in with his arm offered to a stunning, full-figured woman in a deep emerald silk gown.
I walked beside him, my posture straight, my chin lifted, my left leg peeking through the dramatic slit of my dress as we moved across the hardwood floor. I could feel three hundred pairs of eyes locking onto us. I heard the sharp, sudden intake of breath from three women standing near the champagne fountain. I saw two real estate developers whisper behind their leather-bound programs.
I knew what they were doing. They were scanning my face, my figure, trying to figure out which European banking family I belonged to, or which industrial heiress had suddenly arrived in Chicago.
They didn't see a housekeeper from the West Side. They saw a queen.
"Keep walking, sweetheart," Gabriel murmured softly beside me, his hand warm and steady over mine on his arm. "You're doing perfectly."
"I feel like I'm walking through a minefield," I whispered back, maintaining a cool, effortless smile for the photographers near the press wall.
"It is a minefield," Gabriel agreed smoothly. "Which is why they're all terrified of stepping near us."
As we moved toward the VIP lounge near the rear balcony, a tall, slicked-back man in a five-thousand-dollar suit stepped directly into our path. He held a glass of scotch in one hand, his eyes narrow, his expression carrying a mixture of corporate arrogance and personal malice.
It was Daniel Vance—my ex-fiancé.
Daniel was a senior vice president at a regional private equity firm that handled logistics investments. Two years ago, after three years of dating, Daniel had quietly broken off our engagement three weeks before the wedding, telling me over coffee that his firm’s senior partners were "very traditional" and that my "public image" didn't align with the corporate lifestyle he was trying to build.
Daniel stared at me, his eyes widening in absolute, unadulterated shock. His scotch glass tilted slightly in his hand.
"Sophie?" Daniel gasped, his voice tight and bewildered. "Sophie Bennett?"
I stopped, looking at him with cool, detached composure. "Hello, Daniel."
Daniel’s eyes darted frantically from my emerald necklace, to my glowing face, to the massive, terrifying man standing beside me with his arm around my waist.
"What... what is this?" Daniel stammered, looking at Gabriel. "Mr. Moretti... do you... do you know this woman?"
Gabriel looked down at Daniel as if he were a minor insect that had accidentally landed on his lapel.
"Daniel Vance, isn't it?" Gabriel asked, his tone flat and icy. "Senior Partner at Vance Capital?"
"Yes, sir!" Daniel said quickly, straightening his posture and holding out a trembling hand. "We... our firm submitted a proposal for the North Docks expansion project last month—"
Gabriel didn't take Daniel’s offered hand. He kept his fingers resting comfortably on my hip.
"I reviewed your proposal, Vance," Gabriel said smoothly. "I found it lacking in substance. Much like your character."
Daniel’s face flushed a deep, violent red. "Mr. Moretti, I don't understand—"
"Two years ago," Gabriel interrupted, his voice quiet enough that only the three of us could hear, "you ended an engagement with Miss Bennett because you believed she didn't fit the 'public image' of your corporate partners."
Daniel froze. His jaw dropped open.
"I make it a rule," Gabriel continued, taking a slow step closer to Daniel until the smaller man had to tilt his head back, "never to do business with men who are too foolish to recognize true value when it stands in front of them."
He looked down at Daniel’s hand, which was still hovering awkwardly in the air.
"Vance Capital's bid for the North Docks project is rejected," Gabriel stated flatly. "And if I see your firm listed on any Moretti Holdings subcontractor list by morning, I will pull our accounts from your clearing bank."
Without waiting for Daniel to answer, Gabriel placed his hand gently against the small of my back, guiding me past my speechless, ruined ex-fiancé and toward the private balcony overlooking Lake Michigan.
As we stepped into the cool night air of the balcony, away from the glittering noise of the ballroom, I let out a long, breathless laugh that echoed over the water.
"That was terrible," I said, looking up at Gabriel with a wide, glowing smile. "Directly destroying his firm's bid at a formal gala?"
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Gabriel leaned against the stone balustrade, looking at me with a soft, affectionate smile.
"I told you, Sophie," Gabriel murmured, reaching out to gently touch the edge of my cheek. "Four months from now, people like Daniel and Evelyn Cross won't even be memories. You are done apologizing for taking up space in this world."
