PART 8: THE GALA OF MASKS
Two weeks later, the annual Biscayne Bay Charity Gala was in full swing.
The ballroom was a sea of black tuxedos, diamond necklaces, and whispered speculation.
Rumors had spread like wildfire that Julian Vance had suffered a catastrophic liquidity crisis, mysteriously transferring his most valuable assets to a blind trust.
When the double doors of the grand ballroom opened, the silence was instantaneous.
Alejandro walked in first, radiating the kind of absolute authority that cannot be bought in a store.
Beside him walked Camila.
She wore a backless emerald silk gown that contrasted strikingly with her dark hair, a diamond pendant resting against her collarbone.
She did not look like a survivor of a corporate betrayal.
She looked like the undisputed sovereign of the room.
Across the hall, hiding near the champagne bar, Mateo stood frozen.
He looked worn, his cheap rented tuxedo hanging loosely on his frame.
He watched Camila move through the crowd, laughing with governors and international diplomats.
Driven by a toxic cocktail of grief and desperation, Mateo stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path near the terrace doors.
"Camila," he whispered, his voice cracking.
Alejandro’s hand immediately shifted toward the small of Camila’s back, his body subtly angling between his wife and her ex-fiancé.
But Camila gently placed a hand on Alejandro’s arm, stopping him.
She looked at Mateo.
Her expression held no anger. It held no hatred.
It held only pity.
"Mateo," she said quietly. "You shouldn't be here."
"I lost everything," he choked out, tears pooling in his eyes. "Vance cut me loose. The banks froze my last accounts. I don't even have an apartment."
"You made your choices when the fire started three years ago," Camila said, her voice steady enough to cut glass.
"You chose your own skin over my life."
"I was afraid!" he pleaded, reaching out a hand toward her silk sleeve.
Before his fingers could cross the threshold of her personal space, Alejandro’s hand closed around Mateo’s wrist.
The grip was not fast. It was terrifyingly slow, applying just enough pressure to make the bones grind together.
"Touch her," Alejandro said, his voice barely louder than the ocean breeze, "and they will never find your shadow."
Mateo gasped, stumbling backward as Alejandro released him.
May you like
Camila didn't even blink.
She linked her arm through Alejandro’s, turning her back on Mateo forever as they stepped out onto the moonlit terrace.
