Chapter 157 Emerald and Diamonds

Chapter 157 Emerald and Diamonds
Mila’s POV

The car rolled to a stop at the foot of the Salvatore Estate, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The mansion wasn’t just large — it was mythic. A sprawling, old‑world palace of carved stone and sweeping staircases, lit by hundreds of warm golden lights that made the entire façade glow like a cathedral built to worship money. The kind of place you didn’t walk into unless you belonged to the world that owned it.
I didn’t.
But tonight, I was dressed like I did.
Salvatore diamonds glittered at my throat and wrists — cold, heavy things that felt more like armor than jewelry. My gown was a deep emerald silk that clung to me like water, chosen by Nate, tailored by someone who probably charged more per hour than my father made in a month. My hair was pinned up, my makeup soft and luminous, my heels impossibly tall.
I looked like I belonged here.
I felt like a lamb in a den of lions.
Nate stepped out first, the valet practically sprinting to open his door. He looked devastating in a black suit tailored within an inch of its life, the Salvatore crest pinned discreetly at his lapel. When he came around to my side, he didn’t offer his hand like a gentleman — he offered it like a promise.
I took it.
His fingers tightened around mine, warm and steady. “Ready?”
No. Absolutely not. Not even close.
But I nodded anyway.
We walked up the marble steps together, the cold night air brushing against my bare shoulders. The closer we got to the entrance, the louder the noise became — laughter, clinking glasses, the low hum of conversations between people who had never once worried about rent or debt collectors or being stalked on a college campus.
The Salvatore Gala.
The Masked Lions.
A night where the elite gathered to congratulate themselves for being elite. A night where alliances were forged, reputations were sharpened, and enemies were politely destroyed over champagne.
A night where Alexandra Salvatore reigned.
The doors opened, and the sound hit me like a wave. The ballroom was enormous — vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors reflecting the soft gold light. People in gowns and tuxedos moved like a slow, elegant tide.
And every single head turned when Nate walked in with me on his arm.
My stomach dropped.
Nate didn’t slow. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t look away. His hand stayed firm around mine, guiding me through the crowd like he was leading me somewhere safe — or somewhere dangerous, but with purpose.
I tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to. The Alverstone elite were here — board members, donors, professors who pretended not to know me when rumors spread. Their eyes flicked over me with thinly veiled curiosity, judgment, and surprise.
And then I saw her.
Alexandra Salvatore.
She stood near the center of the room, surrounded by people who looked like they’d been curated for her — politicians, CEOs, old‑money families with last names that appeared in textbooks. Her gown was black and severe, her hair swept into a perfect chignon, her posture straight enough to cut glass.
She looked triumphant.
Her gaze landed on me, and her smile sharpened — not polite, not welcoming, but victorious. Like she’d been waiting for this moment.
Nate’s hand tightened around mine.
Before Alexandra could reach us, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Mila!”
I turned just in time to see Gavin weaving through the crowd, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread titled Men Who Don’t Deserve Their Own Confidence. His suit was navy and immaculate, his hair perfectly tousled, his grin wide.
And on his arm was a woman who looked like she’d been sculpted out of champagne bubbles and lip gloss. Blonde, tall, glittering, wearing a dress that probably violated several fire codes.
My stomach twisted.
Eliza.
He was supposed to be with Eliza.
“Gavin?” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
He spread his arms like he was greeting royalty. “Look at you! You’re practically glowing. Nate, you brought a goddess.”
The woman on his arm giggled — a high, tinkling sound that made me wonder if she’d practiced it in a mirror.
I forced a polite smile. “Hi.”
She beamed. “Hi! I’m—”
“I know,” I said gently, cutting her off before she could introduce herself like she was auditioning for a perfume commercial. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Gavin leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Eliza and I are… taking space.”
“Taking space?” I repeated, my chest tightening. “Gavin, she’s my friend.”
He winced. “I know. It’s complicated.”
Complicated.
That was one word for it.
Another was cowardly.
Theodore appeared behind him with a glass of champagne, looking sharp and composed, his suit charcoal gray, his expression unreadable. But his eyes softened when they landed on me.
“Mila,” he said. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, though my attention flicked back to Gavin and his date — Tiffany, or Brittany, or something ending in ‑ny. Eliza didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve him parading around with someone new like she was disposable.
Before I could say anything else, the crowd shifted.
Alexandra was approaching.
The ballroom seemed to tilt around her, people parting instinctively as she moved. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble, her smile poised, her eyes cold.
“Nathaniel,” she said, her voice smooth as lacquer. “You brought her.”
Not you made it.  
Not good to see you.  
Just you brought her.
Her gaze slid to me — slow, assessing, cruel.
“Mila Stone,” she said, tasting the name like it was something sour. “I see you’ve dressed the part tonight.”
My throat tightened. “Mrs. Salvatore.”
Her smile sharpened. “Diamonds suit you. Though I imagine they’re heavier than what you’re used to.”
Nate stepped forward, blocking her line of sight. “Mother.”
She didn’t look at him. “I do hope you enjoy the evening, Mila. Try not to get overwhelmed. These rooms can swallow people whole.”
A chill ran down my spine.
Nate’s voice dropped. “We’re done here.”
Alexandra’s smile didn’t falter. “Enjoy the gala.”
She drifted away, swallowed by the crowd.
I exhaled shakily.
Nate turned to me, his expression softening. “Ignore her.”
“I’m trying,” I whispered.
He brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “Stay with me.”
I nodded.
But as the music swelled and the crowd shifted, I couldn’t shake the feeling that every eye in the room was on me — watching, judging, waiting.