Chapter 6 - Whispers in the Gallery
The ballroom was an echo chamber of shocked whispers as Roman guided Tessa toward the sweeping grand staircase.
Every head turned. Every conversation died. Women who had sneered at Tessa’s lack of diamonds now stared in horror at their own reflection, realizing they had spent the evening gossiping about the woman who would soon rule the Vale estate. Board members who had ignored her presence were suddenly sweating through their stiff collars, realizing that the hospital’s survival rested on the whims of a woman they had allowed Caleb to push out.
"Tessa, wait!" Caleb scrambled after them, his dignity completely shattered. He stumbled past the velvet ropes, Julianne trailing behind him in tears. "Tessa, you can't let him do this! This is my career! We were together for three years!"
Marco stepped into Caleb’s path like a wall of concrete. A single hand clamped onto Caleb’s shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to force the younger doctor down onto one knee with a sharp gasp of pain.
"The lady didn't give you permission to address her," Marco said quietly, his voice like grinding stones.
Tessa paused at the foot of the stairs, turning back just enough to look down at Caleb.
Eight months ago, she had stood in Caleb's luxury apartment, weeping as he packed her things into cardboard boxes, telling her that she was an anchor dragging down his ambitions. He had called her needy, plain, and uninspired. He had told her she would never make anything of herself outside of his shadow.
Now, he was kneeling on the cold marble floor of the city's grandest ballroom, begging for his professional life while her husband held her against his side.
"You asked me what happened to me, Caleb," Tessa said, her voice clear and carrying over the silent gallery. "I grew. In more ways than one."
She turned her back on him, not waiting for an answer.
Roman escorted her up the carpeted stairs, his hand never leaving the small of her back, supporting her weight with effortless strength. When they reached the landing, he glanced down at her, the faintest ghost of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips.
"You enjoyed that," he murmured.
"A little," Tessa admitted, leaning against his shoulder. "Though I could have handled him myself."
"I know you could have, *mia cara*," Roman replied, his voice thick with unyielding respect. "You survived eight months of hell in my world without flinching. But handling pests is my job. Your job is growing our son."
May you like
He pulled open the heavy doors leading to the private VIP mezzanine, where a secluded salon awaited them, far away from the prying eyes of the city's hypocrites.
***
