Chapter18
Grace's POV
I changed into a red form-fitting mermaid gown that flared beautifully with each step. The color made my skin glow.
Not wanting to embarrass myself on the dance floor, I spent twenty minutes watching basic ballroom dance tutorials on YouTube, practicing the steps in my hotel room. Fortunately, I'd always had good coordination, and the basic movements weren't particularly complicated.
The corridor to the ballroom was a semi-open colonnade overlooking the hotel's central atrium. I told Sophia to go ahead—I needed a moment alone to center myself before facing the crowd again.
I was halfway down the corridor when Samantha stepped out from behind a column, blocking my path. The champagne glass in her hand was clearly not her first of the evening.
"How did you do it?" she demanded, her words slightly slurred. "What kind of spell did you cast on Alex? No one gets that kind of attention from him, especially not some... social-climbing imposter who appeared out of nowhere."
"Excuse me," I said coolly, attempting to step around her.
The sharp heel of her stiletto came down deliberately on the flowing hem of my dress. As I took another step, there was a sickening riiiiip as the delicate fabric tore, leaving a jagged gash in the expensive material.
Samantha's lips curled into a triumphant smile. "Oops. Looks like your dress isn't of very good quality."
Something cold and hard crystallized in my chest. I pivoted sharply, using the momentum to shove her backward with enough force that her alcohol-compromised balance failed her. She staggered back, arms windmilling, before landing ungracefully on the marble floor, champagne splashing across her designer gown.
I stared coldly as Samantha sprawled on the marble floor, champagne soaking her designer gown. The look of utter shock on her face was almost worth the tear in my dress. Almost.
Security personnel materialized from nowhere, surrounding us within seconds. Two men in dark suits gently but firmly helped Samantha to her feet, her protests growing increasingly shrill.
"She attacked me! Did you see what she did?" Samantha struggled against their grip, mascara starting to streak down her flushed cheeks.
Before I could respond, Sophia appeared at my side, her expression cool and composed. She brought a tailored jacket and draped it over my shoulders, effectively covering the damage to my dress.
"Take Ms. Davidson somewhere to... compose herself," Sophia instructed the security team. Her voice carried the unmistakable authority of someone who never needed to raise it to be obeyed.
As they escorted the still-protesting Samantha away, Sophia turned to a man I recognized as part of the Davidson entourage who had frozen nearby.
"Tell Mr. Davidson that if he can't teach his daughter basic social etiquette, Wilson Holdings will need to reconsider the renewal of his retail lease agreements for next quarter." Her tone was conversational, as if discussing the weather, but the threat couldn't have been clearer.
The man paled. "Of course, Ms. Wilson. I'll convey your message immediately."
I gained a new appreciation for Sophia. Usually sunny and cheerful, when serious she transformed into a formidable businesswoman who got things done.
"Ready to go back in?" Sophia asked, her smile returning to its usual brightness as she linked her arm with mine.
"Actually, I think I'll head back to the suite," I replied, suddenly exhausted by the evening's drama.
"Of course. I'll walk you part way."
As we neared the grand ballroom, the music swelled—the dancing portion of the evening had begun. My eyes were drawn to a man and woman in the center of the floor. Alex moved with fluid grace, leading a beautiful woman through a perfect waltz.
"Who is that?" I asked, hating the slight catch in my voice.
"Violet Cooper," Sophia replied. "The Cooper family's daughter."
They made a stunning pair—like something from a fairy tale. People around the dance floor whispered approvingly.
"They look perfect together," commented a woman nearby. "Morgan and Cooper—that would be quite the power merger."
One of Samantha's friends caught my eye and smirked. "Some sparrows might dress in phoenix feathers, but they'll never truly belong in certain circles."
I maintained my neutral expression, but something cold and sharp twisted in my chest. What was I doing here, pretending to be someone I wasn't? I took a final sip of my mocktail and turned away.
"Let's go," I said to Sophia, my voice deliberately flat.
As we walked toward the elevators, Sophia glanced at me. "Violet is Alex's childhood friend. She's also openly lesbian. They're strategic business allies, nothing more."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Who Alex danced with shouldn't matter to me. This was all business. Yet the relief I felt at Sophia's words was undeniable and irritating.
---
Back in my suite, I kicked off my heels and sank onto the plush sofa. The events of the evening played through my mind on loop—the speech, the confrontation, the dancing. So much had happened that I felt overwhelmed. I closed my eyes and quickly drifted into darkness.
When I woke again, it was already midnight.
My phone screen lit up, displaying three missed calls from Richard and one voicemail.
I played the message, Richard's voice coming through with that familiar fake concerned tone.
"Grace, when are you coming back to Starport? Please call me back."
I had no desire to respond. Looking at the three missed calls, I noticed one was from Alex. I stared at his name for two seconds, my fingertip hovering over the callback button before putting the phone down.
The arranged marriage should proceed according to plan. Any additional contact would only seem forced.
Having experienced a fake marriage, I'd learned to separate emotions from interests.
---
The next morning, a discreet knock at my door revealed the hotel manager.
"Good morning, Ms. Wilson. Mr. Morgan asked me to deliver this to you." He extended a small velvet box. "He regretted not being able to present it himself last night."
Inside lay the most breathtaking emerald ring I'd ever seen. The deep green stone was surrounded by vintage-cut diamonds set in platinum.
"That's the 'Tears of Romanov,'" Sophia gasped, peering over my shoulder. "The Morgans paid a fortune to recover it at auction. It's practically priceless."
"It's too much," I said, closing the box. "I should return it."
"Refusing it now would seem petty," Sophia advised. "Wait until we're back in Starport, then return it in person if you wish. That's the socially appropriate response."
---
By four o'clock that afternoon, the Wilson family's jet touched down at Starport's private aviation terminal. As we taxied toward the hangar, I spotted a familiar Bentley parked near the VIP exit.
"It seems like many people want to learn about your identity," Sophia noted, following my gaze.
Through the window, I could see Richard pacing, repeatedly checking his watch and smoothing his tie. He looked nervous—a state I rarely saw him in.
"Your ex is quite persistent," Sophia remarked. "Charles mentioned he's been desperately trying to connect with the Wilson heiress for business purposes."
I smiled thinly. "He doesn't know it's me."