Chapter 10 - The Maritime Gala
Seventy-two hours later, the Baltimore Maritime Gala opened its grand ballroom doors at the Four Seasons Hotel.
It was the most prestigious social and corporate event of the year. Every shipping baron, real estate mogul, and state politician in Maryland was in attendance.
In years past, Arthur had forbidden me from attending, claiming the tickets were “too expensive” while Rebecca, Madison, Lauren, and Emily wore ten-thousand-dollar designer gowns bought with Whitmore Freight credit cards.
Tonight, there was no Arthur Whitmore on the guest list.
A black Maybach pulled up to the red carpet outside the hotel. The valet opened the door, and Dominic Vale stepped out, looking impossibly lethal in a custom black tuxedo. He paused, extended his hand back into the vehicle, and helped me step down onto the red carpet.
The flashing lights of dozens of press photographers exploded against the night sky.
I wasn't hiding. I wasn't shrinking.
I wore an emerald green satin gown with an off-the-shoulder neckline that accentuated every curve my mother had given me. A diamond pendant—the exact necklace Arthur had pawned from my mother’s estate, which Dominic had quietly tracked down and bought back three days ago—glittered against my collarbone. My dark hair fell in soft, voluminous waves around my shoulders, and my chin was held high.
“Look at her!” a reporter shouted. “Miss Whitmore! Is it true you took over the entire company?”
“Claire! Over here!”
Dominic placed his hand lightly, possessively, against the small of my back as we walked up the carpet, ignoring the shouting press.
“You look breathtaking,” he murmured into my ear as we entered the grand ballroom under the towering crystal chandeliers.
The moment we walked through the double doors, a wave of stunned whispers washed through the crowded room. Heads turned. Drinks paused mid-air.
Near the champagne fountain stood a miserable, pitiful cluster.
Rebecca, Madison, Lauren, and Emily had managed to get into the gala using guest passes provided by an old family friend. They were standing near the service entrance, looking like ghosts who had wandered into their own funeral. Madison wore a dress from two seasons ago, her eyes puffy from crying. Rebecca looked frantic, clutching an empty champagne flute, desperately searching the room for someone who would still speak to her.
When Rebecca saw me on Dominic’s arm, her face twisted into a mask of pure, bitter venom. She grabbed Madison’s arm and marched straight toward us, abandoning every ounce of social etiquette.
“Claire!” Rebecca hissed, her voice cutting through the ambient classical music. “You think you can parade around here like a queen while your father is sitting in a cheap motel room with an ankle monitor?”
The nearby socialites turned to watch, their eyes wide with scandalous delight.
I stopped. I didn't blink. I didn't look down.
“Rebecca,” I said calmly, looking at her with nothing more than mild boredom. “You shouldn't be by the champagne fountain. The public transport shuttles stop running at ten, and I understand you sold your car yesterday to pay your credit card minimums.”
“You ruinous, hateful little—” Rebecca raised her hand, intending to strike me in front of the entire Baltimore elite.
Before her hand could move two inches, Dominic’s fingers caught her wrist like a steel vice.
He didn't squeeze hard enough to break bone, but the cold, murderous promise in his eyes made Rebecca’s breath catch in her throat.
“Touch her,” Dominic whispered with chilling precision, “and I will ensure the state tax authorities audit your personal bank accounts going back fifteen years. Leave this room now. You do not belong among people who work for a living.”
Security officers, summoned by a single nod from Dominic, immediately stepped between us.
“Ladies,” the head of security said firmly, gesturing toward the exit. “Your invitations have been revoked by the host. Please follow me to the lobby.”
Madison burst into humiliated tears, covering her face as she was escorted out past the very society circles she had spent her life trying to impress. Rebecca dragged her daughters toward the door, glaring back at me with burning hatred, but the crowd simply stepped aside, laughing and turning their backs on them.
Dominic turned back to me, raising his glass of champagne.
May you like
“To the new master of the harbor,” he smiled.
I clinked my glass against his, the crystal chiming clearly above the music. For the first time in my life, I felt the full, glorious weight of my own freedom.
