Chapter 3 - An Unexpected Invitation
Emma swallowed the lump in her throat and took a tentative step forward. The gazes of several hundred billionaires, politicians, and celebrities bore into her spine, but she kept her eyes fixed on Isabella Moretti. She remembered the sheer panic in the older woman’s eyes just moments before Victoria’s cruel outburst.
Reaching out, Emma gently took Isabella’s weathered fingers in both of hers. “Are you feeling alright, ma’am? Your pulse was racing earlier.”
Isabella offered a soft, melancholic smile. “My pulse was racing from fright, my dear, until two gentle hands stopped that terrible girl from hurting me. You didn't know who I was, did you?”
Emma shook her head honestly. “No, ma'am. I just… I saw an elder in distress. Nobody should ever be treated with such cruelty, regardless of who they are or what clothes they wear.”
Vincent listened intently, his piercing dark eyes analyzing every subtle shift in Emma’s expression. As a man who swam in a sea of deceit, sycophants, and corporate sharks, he could detect a lie from a mile away. But in Emma’s wide hazel eyes, there was nothing but raw sincerity, laced with the exhaustion of someone carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“Marcus,” Vincent said quietly.
“Sir?”
“Have the banquet cleared. The event is concluded for the evening.”
A ripple of disappointment swept through the guests, but no one dared utter a word of protest. Within ten minutes, the ballroom was emptied of Chicago’s elite, leaving only private security, the catering cleanup crew, and Vincent’s inner circle.
Vincent turned back to Emma. “Miss Carter, you cannot stay here tonight. Mr. Sterling’s associates in this catering company are spiteful people. You will not be safe from petty retaliation here.”
Emma’s breath hitched. Fear suddenly eclipsed her relief. “Mr. Moretti, please… I need this job. I know it’s just catering, but my brother, Leo… he has a degenerative spine condition. His next round of medication is due on Friday, and if I lose this shift’s payout, the clinic won't dispense it.”
She hated sounding desperate. She had spent years biting her tongue, enduring degrading remarks from wealthy patrons just to collect her tips with a smile. But when Leo’s health was on the line, pride meant nothing.
Isabella gasped softly, turning an imploring look toward her son. “Vincent.”
Vincent held up a hand to reassure his mother, then focused on Emma. “How much is your brother’s treatment, Emma?”
“Twelve hundred dollars a month,” she murmured, feeling small. “That’s just the base therapy. The surgery he needs to walk normally again… is nearly eighty thousand dollars. It’s an impossible number, but I try to save every penny.”
Vincent nodded slowly, taking out a sleek silver card from his breast pocket and handing it to her. “Come with us to the private lounge upstairs. We need to speak without the staff listening in. I promise you, Miss Carter, you will not leave tonight worrying about twelve hundred dollars.”
May you like
Emma stared at the embossed black-and-silver card bearing the Moretti seal. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and hope. She nodded hesitantly, falling into step beside Isabella’s wheelchair as Vincent personally wheeled his mother toward the private elevators.
***
