Chapter 5 - Celeste’s Desperate Gamble
Humiliation in high society is a bitter pill, but for someone like Celeste Moreau, it was fatal to her ego.
By Friday, the social columns had shifted entirely. The narrative of the poor bargain-dress girl being laughed at in the Plaza ballroom had been completely rewritten into a legendary corporate coup where the underestimated underdog had acquired the company, outsmarted the syndicate, and claimed Chicago’s most eligible billionaire.
Celeste was spiraling.
That evening, a high-end charity gala was being held at the Art Institute of Chicago. Attendance wasn't mandatory for us, but when Roman received word that Celeste was planning a public stunt to salvage her ruined reputation, we decided to make an appearance.
I wore a floor-length emerald silk gown that shimmered under the gallery lights, paired with the vintage sapphire ring that now felt like a permanent part of me.
As Roman and I walked through the grand arched entrance of the museum, the whispering crowd parted instantly. People who had sneered at my vintage dress a week ago now offered deep, respectful nods, eager for a glance, a smile, or a brief nod of acknowledgment from the new power couple of Chicago.
Then we saw her.
Celeste stood near the grand staircase, surrounded by a tight cluster of reporters from the city’s gossip columns and tabloid blogs, holding a microphone connected to her live-stream channel. Her eyes locked onto us as we approached, burning with a frantic, desperate malice.
“Well, well, well,” Celeste announced loudly into her live stream, stepping directly into our path as the cameras swung around to face us. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence. The Cinderella of the bargain rack.”
The surrounding guests froze. Several reporters held their breath, their camera flashes firing in rapid succession.
“Celeste,” I said, my voice calm and steady as I stopped a few feet away. “You look... stressed. Has your father’s port authority audit been keeping you awake at night?”
Celeste’s face flushed an ugly shade of red. She let out a high-pitched, brittle laugh. “Oh, please! Everyone in this city knows the truth, Lena! You didn't win a fairytale romance. You trapped a billionaire with old-world debt tactics and corporate extortion! You’re still just a nobody playing dress-up in someone else’s life!”
She stepped closer, her voice rising hysterically. “Do you really think Roman loves you? He doesn't even know who you are! He bought you out of pity because your family was drowning, and the moment his syndicate council gets bored of your little corporate games, he’ll discard you like—!”
Before Celeste could finish her sentence, Roman stepped forward.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't yell. But the sheer, glacial frost in his eyes made Celeste physically stumble backward, her live-stream microphone trembling in her hand.
“You talk about price tags, Celeste,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a register that made the entire gallery hold its breath. “You spent your entire life believing that people are defined by what they wear, what they own, and who they step on to reach the top.”
He looked down at me, his expression softening into something so profound and tender that the flashbulbs around us captured it in stunning detail.
“My wife earned her place in this world through resilience, intelligence, and an unyielding strength that people like you could never comprehend in a thousand lifetimes,” Roman continued, his gaze snapping back to Celeste with terrifying precision. “And if you ever speak her name with disrespect again, I will personally strip your family of every remaining asset they hold in this city until you are living in a studio apartment wondering where your empire went.”
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Celeste’s phone slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the marble floor. She stared at Roman in absolute terror, realizing too late that she had crossed a line from which there was no return.
Without another word, Roman took my hand, turned us away from the cameras, and led me up the grand staircase, leaving the silenced gallery and the shattered socialite far behind.
