Chapter 3 - The Gala of MirrorsThe grand ballroom of the DeMarco Manor was a palace of light, marble, and crystal.
Three hundred of the most powerful elite in the tri-state area—senators, venture capitalists, European royalty, and media moguls—milled about the space, sipping four-hundred-dollar champagne while a live string quartet played softly in the balcony.
Vanessa Sinclair glided across the polished floor, looking radiant in a silver silk gown that hugged her slender frame. She held her glass high, accepting congratulations from two prominent city councilmen.
"Arthur’s new architectural pavilion is being unveiled tonight," Vanessa boasted, her laughter echoing brightly. "It’s a revolutionary organic design. The board is calling it the pinnacle of modern architecture. And of course, Lorenzo and I are organizing the international tour."
At the edge of the service area, Olivia stood dressed in her standard black housekeeper’s uniform, holding her inventory clipboard. She watched Vanessa with a quiet, steady gaze.
Her heart was pounding like a war drum.
Only an hour ago, in Lorenzo’s private study, Lorenzo had asked her to change into an evening gown he had personally ordered for her from Paris—a emerald green velvet dress designed to celebrate every single curve of her body.
But Olivia had refused.
"Not yet," Olivia had told him, looking into his eyes. "If I enter that room in a silk dress, Vanessa will claim you bought me. She will claim I am just a bitter mistress trying to destroy her family. Let them laugh at my uniform first, Lorenzo. Let them show the world who they really are when they think no one is watching."
Lorenzo had looked at her with pure admiration, kissing her knuckles before walking out to open the gala.
And now, the moment had arrived.
Vanessa, floating on the high of her own vanity, walked over toward the dessert table near the service entrance. She caught sight of Olivia standing quietly near the pillar.
A cruel, patronizing smile spread across Vanessa’s painted lips. She turned to the three wealthy women standing beside her, intentionally raising her voice so the nearby guests could hear.
"Look at her," Vanessa chuckled softly, gesturing toward Olivia with her champagne glass. "You would think Lorenzo could afford staff uniforms that actually fit. Look at how the seams are begging for mercy on that poor woman."
The women beside her let out soft, hushed giggles.
Vanessa stepped closer to Olivia, her eyes scanning Olivia’s voluptuous frame with open disgust. "Tell me, Olivia... when you clean these rooms, do you ever get confused and think you actually belong in a house like this? A woman built like that standing beside someone like Lorenzo DeMarco? It’s almost a tragic comedy."
The laughter spread through the nearby circle of guests like a stain.
Olivia’s round face went pale, but she squeezed her clipboard tighter against her chest, lowering her eyes, keeping her composure exactly as she had trained herself to do.
Then, from the grand marble staircase, a voice boomed across the ballroom—cold, clear, and terrifyingly sharp.
May you like
"You’re laughing at her again."
The pianist’s hands froze over the keys. The chatter in the room instantly died. Three hundred pairs of eyes swung toward the bottom of the staircase, where Lorenzo DeMarco stood, looking like an ancient king about to pass a death sentence.
