Chapter 3: The Gala, The Gunshots, The Claim

The Kelsey was a grand old place—marble floors, gilded mirrors, the kind of hotel where secrets were traded in the shadows. The Langleys spared no expense, and the guest list read like a who’s who of New York’s elite.

Mrs. Langley’s smile froze, her eyes narrowing as she took me in. Old Mr. Langley gave me a polite nod, but his lips were pressed tight, as if he’d bitten into something sour.

Her voice was sharp, just loud enough for me to hear. She didn’t bother to hide her contempt, and I felt the weight of every eye in the room on me.

It was a calculated move—humiliate me, remind me of my place. I kept my head high, refusing to let her see me falter.

The city skyline glittered beyond the glass, a thousand points of light against the dark. I let my gaze wander, pretending not to notice the whispers, the sidelong glances. I took a deep breath, letting the chill of the window steady me.

The room shifted, everyone turning to watch as the Sinclairs swept in. Mrs. Langley’s transformation was instant—warm, gracious, every inch the perfect hostess. I watched her lead Harrison away, her arm linked with his, as if to stake her claim.

She looked like she’d stepped out of a college yearbook—crisp, clean, untouched by the city’s grime. Her hair was cut in the latest style, her dress plain but expensive. I felt a twinge of envy, but mostly I just felt tired. Maybe I’d never belonged here after all.

Their laughter drifted across the room, easy and unforced. I watched them, wondering if they ever thought about the people left behind.

Her words were pointed, her meaning clear. I felt the sting, but I refused to let it show. Instead, I smiled, playing the part of the unbothered outsider.

It was a look meant to cut, but I’d grown used to sharper blades. I met her gaze, unflinching, and let her see that she hadn’t won.

For a moment, I saw the boy I’d fallen for—gentle, uncertain, caught between duty and desire. I wanted to reach out, to tell him it was okay, but the words stuck in my throat.

The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation. I felt a chill run down my spine, knowing exactly who was about to walk through those doors.

He cut a striking figure—tall, broad-shouldered, every inch the soldier. The pistol gleamed at his hip, a silent warning to anyone who might forget who he was.

She straightened her spine, lips pressed into a thin line. The tension in the room was palpable, everyone waiting to see what would happen next.

Her voice was icy, but Victor just smiled, unfazed by the slight. He looked around the room, taking in every detail, every face.

His voice was smooth, almost charming, but there was a threat beneath it. He locked eyes with me, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

The thought sent a thrill of fear and excitement through me. I tried to hide it, but I could feel my cheeks flush.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek. The room faded away, leaving just the two of us in a bubble of tension.

He reached out, fingers brushing the necklace. His touch was light, almost reverent, but there was a possessiveness in the gesture that made my skin prickle.

His words were loud enough for everyone to hear, a deliberate provocation. I saw Mrs. Langley’s eyes narrow, Clara’s lips curl in disdain, and Harrison’s face go pale with shock.

He wanted to make a scene, to stake his claim in front of everyone who mattered. I felt a surge of anger, but also a strange sense of pride.

I met Harrison’s gaze, letting him see the hurt and defiance in my eyes. I wanted him to know I hadn’t chosen this, but I wouldn’t be shamed for it either.

My voice was sweet, but there was an edge to it—a dare, a challenge. I wanted everyone to hear, to know exactly what was happening.

He started to say more, but I cut him off, my fingers tightening around the pearls. I felt a surge of adrenaline, the room spinning around me.

He must have sensed what I was about to do. The air crackled with tension, everyone waiting for the next move.

The sound was sharp, final—a hundred tiny pearls hitting marble, rolling underfoot. Gasps echoed around the room, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. I caught my breath, stunned by my own audacity.

His jaw clenched, eyes darkening with something raw and wounded. For a split second, I almost regretted it, but the moment passed.

The threat was immediate, real. I didn’t flinch, just stared them down, daring them to make a move in front of all these witnesses.

I made a show of it, looping my arm through Harrison’s, leaning in as if nothing had happened. My smile was bright, brittle, a shield against the chaos swirling around me.

The words rang out, clear and defiant. I saw Mrs. Langley’s lips thin, Clara’s eyes flash with triumph, and Victor’s face go blank with shock.

Her voice was shrill, cutting through the silence like a knife. I ignored her, focusing on Harrison, willing him to stand with me.

His face was pale, eyes wide with shock. I waited for him to say something, to defend me, but the words never came.

The rejection was quiet but absolute. I felt the world tilt beneath my feet, but I forced myself to keep smiling.

I wouldn’t let them see me break. I’d learned long ago that dignity was all you had when everything else was stripped away.

Her words were meant to sting, but I’d heard worse from better people. I let her see the contempt in my eyes, refusing to rise to her bait.

I let my fingers trail over the fabric, the gesture deliberate. “That’s a funny thing to say, Miss Sinclair. You don’t sound like a modern, educated woman at all—more like a back-alley shrew.”

My voice was light, almost amused, but there was steel beneath it. The room tittered, a few people hiding smiles behind their hands.

The slap never landed. Victor’s hand shot out, catching her wrist in a grip that made her gasp. His face was unreadable, eyes cold.

He towered over her, the room shrinking in his presence. For a moment, I saw fear flicker in Clara’s eyes.

The gesture was almost ritualistic, as if cleansing himself of her touch. He moved with deliberate slowness, making sure everyone was watching.

The order was quiet, but absolute. His man nodded, tucking the handkerchief away as if it were evidence.

The word hung in the air, final and damning. Clara’s face turned red, then white, her lips trembling with rage.

She looked like she might cry, but I knew she’d never give me the satisfaction. I hid a smile, turning away before she could recover.

I let the moment linger, savoring the small victory. I’d learned to take my wins where I could get them.

I’d barely taken two steps when two gunshots rang out by the door. A bullet whizzed past my ear, burning, then sending a searing pain through me.

The world exploded into chaos. I dropped to the floor, clutching my ear, blood warm and sticky on my skin. Screams echoed around me, the sound of gunfire deafening. For a second, all I could do was gasp—pain, shock, terror all at once.

Victor’s voice, shocked and furious, was close by. He lunged forward, shielding me with one arm and drawing his pistol with the other, firing twice at the door.

His movements were swift, practiced. I felt his body tense around me, the heat of his arm a barrier between me and the bullets. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. My heart hammered—was this really happening?

The room was a battlefield, guests diving for cover. I saw Harrison grab Mrs. Langley, dragging her behind a table. Victor’s men closed ranks, guns drawn, faces grim.

His command cut through the panic, silencing her instantly. I saw the fear in her eyes, the realization that this was no longer her world.

We moved in a crouch, bullets whizzing overhead. Victor’s grip was iron, dragging me through the chaos with single-minded focus.

The crash of glass was loud in my ears. Victor’s eyes met mine—intense, searching, as if trying to memorize my face. Then he hoisted me up and out, the night air cold against my skin.

The ground was slick with rain, my dress soaked in seconds. I looked back just in time to see the doors burst open, a man in a sharp uniform striding in, his presence commanding.

His reputation preceded him—violent, cunning, untouchable. The room seemed to shrink in his presence, everyone instinctively giving him space.

The look he gave Victor was pure hatred, a silent promise of retribution. I shivered, knowing this wasn’t over.

He moved with purpose, never glancing back, as if the whole world was just another obstacle to overcome.

His voice was low, urgent. I hesitated, but the look in his eyes left no room for argument. I turned and ran, heart pounding, the city swallowing me up.