Inside the lavish venue, three hundred of the most powerful names in finance, journalism, and elite
society mingled beneath the glow of crystal chandeliers, surrounded by raised champagne glasses and
the graceful notes of classical violins.
The atmosphere carried the scent of luxury perfume, vintage wine, and ruthless ambition.
Standing at the heart of the grand ballroom were Julian Duval and Dalia Fontaine.
Julian looked exactly like the all-powerful tycoon he imagined himself to be.
Surrounded by three prominent technology investors, he spoke confidently about his newest venture—an artificial intelligence platform designed to manage private wealth.
Dalia remained at his side, holding her head at the perfect angle to display both her diamond necklace
and the silver crown she had received after winning Miss Global Elegance only six months earlier.
“True market dominance requires more than innovation,”
Julian declared, his polished voice easily reaching everyone gathered around him. “
It requires control. Once you control the story, the money follows.”
“Since you mentioned controlling the story,” a senior Wall Street Journal reporter interjected, raising a recorder,
“can you confirm that Ascend Capital intends to lead your Series B financing round next month?”
Julian’s lips curved into a restrained, carefully rehearsed smile.
“Gabriel Lancaster and I have held several highly productive discussions. Gabriel recognizes a winning investment when he sees one.”
Dalia laughed delicately and rested her perfectly manicured hand on Julian’s arm.
“Julian always finds a way to get what he wants.”
Then, without the slightest warning, the violin music ceased.
A tense silence settled over the sweeping staircase before spreading through the ballroom like icy water across polished marble.
Conversations ended in the middle of sentences.
Guests turned away from Julian and directed their attention toward the upper landing.
Irritated at losing his audience, Julian frowned and looked toward the stairs.
He expected to see a senator arriving late or perhaps a famous Hollywood actor making a dramatic entrance.
Instead, the sight before him stripped every trace of color from his face.
A woman was descending the marble staircase in a floor-length gown made of midnight-black velvet.
The elegant fabric followed her silhouette and emphasized the proud curve of her five-month pregnancy.
Her dark hair had been arranged in smooth vintage waves.
Around her neck rested a rare, untreated blue sapphire encircled by diamonds—a museum-quality jewel that silently announced extraordinary wealth.
Her composed, regal presence made every other woman in the ballroom appear as though she were merely dressed for a performance.
It was Khloe.
Walking beside her and holding her hand with natural, protective affection was Gabriel Lancaster.
At six feet two inches tall, Gabriel was broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed in a custom-made tuxedo that made Julian’s expensive designer suit seem mass-produced.
At forty-two, Gabriel was already considered a legend.
He acquired and sold technology companies like Julian’s almost as a hobby.
His private foundation supported major charitable causes on four continents,
and he was also the principal sponsor of the beauty pageant that had awarded Dalia her crown.
“Is that Khloe Duval?” a nearby woman whispered, loud enough for others to hear.
“Look at her—she’s pregnant!” someone else exclaimed. “Julian told everyone she was unable to function after their divorce!”
“Who is that beside her? Is that Gabriel Lancaster?”
Julian’s breath caught.
The champagne glass in his hand trembled so violently that a drop splashed onto the cuff of his white shirt.
He searched Khloe’s face for some sign of the shattered, withdrawn woman he had abandoned in Los Angeles two years earlier.
He expected to recognize the desperate wife who had once wept alone on the bathroom floor of their glass-walled penthouse.
That woman no longer existed.
In her place stood someone who regarded him from the staircase with complete, effortless indifference.
Dalia’s smile stiffened.
Her gaze moved rapidly between Khloe’s breathtaking sapphire necklace and Gabriel Lancaster’s hand resting securely against Khloe’s waist.
“Julian…” Dalia murmured, uneasiness tightening her voice. “Who is she? Why is everyone staring at her?”
Julian offered no reply.
He was incapable of speaking.
When Khloe and Gabriel reached the foot of the staircase, the guests separated before them as though an invisible force had divided the crowd.
Gabriel motioned to a waiter, accepted two fresh glasses of sparkling water, and handed one to Khloe.
He leaned closer and whispered something in her ear, prompting a soft laugh from her.
Seeing Khloe smiling—radiant, elegant, and carrying another man’s child—sent a wave of jealous fury crashing through Julian.
Acting without thought, he shoved his way past the investors and marched across the marble floor.
His polished shoes struck the stone with sharp, echoing clicks.
Dalia hurried after him, nearly losing her balance in her high heels as she struggled to keep pace.
“Khloe?” Julian called. Shock mingled with manufactured authority in his voice as he stopped several feet away.
Khloe came to a halt and slowly turned toward him. Her dark eyes met his without fear, tension, or concern.
“Good evening, Julian,” she said in a calm, silken voice.
“What is the meaning of this?” Julian demanded.
His gaze dropped toward her rounded stomach before quickly returning to her face.
“Why are you here? And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Gabriel Lancaster moved forward, placing himself slightly between Khloe and Julian.
His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes were cold and unyielding.
“She is attending as my guest, Mr. Duval,” Gabriel said, his deep voice carrying through the silent group of spectators.
“You will address her respectfully, or you will be removed from this ballroom before the second course reaches the tables.”
