Part 2: He Brought His Mistress to Their Wedding and Never Expected the Mafia Boss in the Back Row to Follow the Plus-Size Bride Out

One week later, the Metropolitan Opera held its annual Autumn Gala—the absolute pinnacle of New York high society.

Grant Sterling had spent every dime of his remaining liquid cash to post bail. Wearing an ill-fitting tuxedo—his bespoke ones having been locked in his seized penthouse—he entered the gilded ballroom with Camille on his arm. He had begged, pleaded, and bought Camille back with a vintage diamond bracelet, desperate to prove to the board that his personal life was stable.

"Smile, damn it," Grant whispered through gritted teeth as reporters completely ignored him in the lobby. "We just need to talk to Senator Vance. If we secure the infrastructure endorsement, the SEC will back off."

"Grant, everyone is staring at us," Camille whined, clutching her clutch with clammy hands. "They're laughing."

Indeed, whispers spread like poison across the room.

"Look at him... pathetic."

"Broke on bail and bringing the mistress who ruined his wedding."

"Where is Nadine?"

Right on cue, the double bronze doors at the top of the grand marble staircase swung open.

The master of ceremonies cleared his throat, his microphone crackling through the grand chandelier hall: "Announcing Mr. Roman Thorne and his guest, Miss Nadine Ward."

The entire ballroom turned in unison. Grant’s jaw dropped so hard his champagne glass slipped through his fingers, shattering onto the Persian rug.

Descending the stairs on the arm of the city’s most terrifying titan was Nadine. She wore a midnight-blue silk gown encrusted with thousands of sapphire crystals that caught the light like the night sky. Her curves were celebrated, sculpted, and undeniably regal. Around her throat sat a five-strand diamond choker worth more than Grant’s entire liquidated portfolio.

Beside her, Roman walked with the lethal grace of a panther, his hand possessively resting over hers. He looked down at her with open, smoldering adoration, leaning in to whisper something that made Nadine laugh—a bright, confident sound that echoed through the ballroom.

"That's... that's my fiancée," Grant stammered, his eyes bulging.