Chapter 3: The Red Carpet Trap
The Chicago Symphony Center was bathed in dramatic crimson and gold lighting. Spotlights arc'd across the night sky, capturing the heavy snowfall that had begun to blanket the city. Hundreds of paparazzi and financial journalists lined the red carpet, their cameras clicking furiously as the elite of the global business community arrived for the event of the year.
A sleek black Escalade pulled up to the curb. The door opened, and Derek Rivers stepped out, looking every bit the high-flying billionaire executive. He turned, offering his hand to Tiffany Blake.
Tiffany stepped onto the carpet, virtually vibrating with triumph. Her emerald dress swept across the velvet runner, and she threw her head back, smiling brilliantly for the flashing cameras. The reporters shouted questions, asking if she was Derek’s official partner for the evening. Derek kept a firm hand on her waist, guiding her past the velvet ropes with a smug, knowing grin.
"Look at them," Tiffany whispered maliciously as they entered the grand, vaulted lobby. "They adore us."
"Just keep moving toward the VIP lounge," Derek murmured, though he was soaking in the attention. "We need to greet the board members before Cameron arrives."
As they entered the main ballroom, which was filled with massive crystal chandeliers and towering ice sculptures bearing the Rivers Industries logo, Derek noticed a strange shift in the atmosphere. The hedge fund managers who had been on the private jet with him the day before were standing near the bar. When Derek caught their eye and waved, they didn't wave back. Instead, they quickly turned around, engrossed in sudden, tense conversations.
Strange, Derek thought, a faint prickle of unease returning to his neck. They were laughing at my jokes yesterday.
Before he could dwell on it, a commotion near the main entrance drew the entire room’s attention. The heavy oak doors swung open, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Cameron Rivers walked in. He wore a flawless midnight-blue tuxedo, his presence commanding an immediate, deferential silence from the room. But he wasn't alone.
Walking beside him, her arm elegantly looped through his, was Simone Rivers.
A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom.
Simone was breathtaking. She wore a custom-tailored, off-the-shoulder gown of midnight-blue silk that perfectly complemented Cameron’s tuxedo. The fabric flowed gracefully over her seven-month pregnant belly, making her look like a celestial goddess rather than a victim. Her hair, which had been torn and tangled twenty-four hours ago, was styled into a sophisticated, regal updo that revealed the sharp, elegant lines of her jaw and neck. She wore no heavy jewelry—only a pair of simple pearl drop earrings that had belonged to her grandmother.
Beside her walked Gabrielle Thompson, dressed in a sharp black velvet tuxedo suit, looking like a guardian demon disguised as an attorney.
Derek’s breath caught in his throat. His face drained of color, turning a sickly shade of gray. "What... what the hell is she doing with Cameron?"
Tiffany’s hand tightened on Derek’s arm so hard her acrylic nails dug through his suit jacket. Her face distorted into a mask of pure rage. "How dare she? How dare she show up here looking like that? And with your brother?!"
Derek marched forward, his anger overriding his caution. He intercepted Cameron and Simone near the center of the ballroom, right beneath the largest chandelier.
"Simone," Derek hissed, his voice low but dripping with venom. "What is the meaning of this? You turn off your phone, you vanish for twenty-four hours, and then you show up to my company's gala on my brother’s arm? Have you lost your mind?"
Simone didn't flinch. She stood tall, looking directly into the eyes of the man she had loved for half a decade—the man who had watched her be assaulted and done nothing. For the first time, she felt absolutely nothing for him. No love, no sorrow, not even anger. Just a profound, liberating pity.
"It’s not your company, Derek," Simone said, her voice cool, clear, and perfectly carrying to the surrounding executives who were shamelessly eavesdropping. "And I am not your wife. Not anymore."
"You don't get to make a scene here!" Tiffany stepped forward, her voice rising in a shrill octave, entirely breaking her sophisticated facade. "You’re a parasite, Simone! You think you can use Cameron to get back at us? You're nothing but a ghetto charity case who got lucky, and everyone in this room knows it!"
Several board members gasped. Derek tried to pull Tiffany back, realizing the optics were rapidly spiraling out of control, but she threw off his hand.
"Get her out of here, Derek!" Tiffany demanded, pointing a manicured finger at Simone. "Security! Remove this woman!"
Cameron stepped into the space between Tiffany and Simone. He didn't raise his voice, but when he spoke, the temperature in the entire three-story ballroom seemed to drop below freezing.
"The only people being removed tonight, Ms. Blake," Cameron said, looking down at her as if she were an unpleasant smudge on his shoe, "are the ones who don't belong in this room. And if I were you, I’d enjoy the champagne while you can still afford the glass it's poured into."
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Before Derek could reply, the house lights began to flicker, signaling that the main presentation was about to begin.
"To your seats, everyone," Cameron said, his voice ringing out with effortless authority. He turned, offering his arm back to Simone with a chivalry that made Derek’s blood boil. "The show is about to start."
