Kenia POV:

The crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the Hamptons estate blinded me as I walked down the grand spiral staircase.

I gripped Holden’s arm. The fabric of his tuxedo was smooth beneath my fingers, but his muscles were rigid. We reached the bottom step, stepping onto the marble floor of the main banquet hall.

Holden’s mother, Annabella, sat in a high-backed velvet chair near the fireplace. She didn't even look up as we approached. She kept her eyes fixed on a wealthy socialite next to her, loudly discussing the bloodlines of her racing horses.

I felt the eyes of the room on me. Dozens of women in designer gowns turned their heads. Their eyes raked over my starry blue dress, followed by sharp, cruel whispers behind their champagne flutes.

Holden suddenly pulled his arm out of my grip.

"I need to speak with the bankers from Wall Street," he said coldly, not looking at me. He turned and walked into the crowd, abandoning me instantly.

I stood alone. I walked over to a passing waiter and took a glass of sparkling water. I couldn't touch alcohol because of the baby. I retreated to a quiet corner next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the rain beat against the glass.

Suddenly, the heavy carved mahogany doors of the hall swung open. A collective gasp rippled through the room.

Estella walked in. She wore a blood-red haute couture gown that clung to every curve. She walked with her chin held high, acting like she already owned the Dalton estate.

My eyes immediately locked onto her neck.

Resting against her collarbone was a massive pink diamond necklace. It caught the light, throwing pink sparks across the room. I recognized it instantly. It was the finale piece from the Sotheby’s spring auction. It cost five million dollars. Holden had proudly told the press he bought it for his future wife.

And now, it was wrapped around Estella’s neck.

Estella scanned the room. Her eyes found me in the corner. A vicious, triumphant smile stretched across her red lips.

She took a full glass of Cabernet from a waiter and walked straight toward me. The crowd of women parted for her, eager to watch the slaughter.

Estella stopped two feet away from me. She looked me up and down, her eyes full of disgust.

"What an interesting fabric," Estella said, her voice loud enough for the surrounding guests to hear. "It looks so cheap. No label, I assume? You really lower the standard of the Dalton family by wearing rags to a formal event."

I kept my face perfectly still. "I designed and sewed it myself," I replied evenly. "The value of art doesn't come from a price tag."

A few older men standing nearby—art investors—nodded slightly in agreement.

Estella’s eyes flashed with pure malice.

She took a step forward. Suddenly, her ankle twisted in an exaggerated, theatrical motion. She lunged forward.

Her hand jerked, and the entire glass of dark red Cabernet splashed directly onto my chest.

The cold liquid soaked through the starry blue silk instantly. The heavy red wine spread across my bodice, staining the beautiful fabric with an ugly, dark patch. Because my reflexes were slightly dulled by the pregnancy, I couldn't step back in time. Drops of wine splattered against my chin and neck.

The crowd let out a fake chorus of gasps.

"Oh my god!" Estella cried out. She covered her mouth with her hand. "I am so sorry! I tripped."

She grabbed a paper napkin from a table and stepped into my space. She aggressively rubbed the napkin against my chest. Through the wet silk, her sharp acrylic nails dug hard into my skin, scratching me.

I grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away. My eyes burned with rage.

Before I could speak, heavy, uneven footsteps pushed through the crowd. Holden appeared.

Estella immediately let out a whimper. Her eyes filled with tears. She threw herself against Holden’s chest. "Holden! I tripped and spilled my wine, and I tried to help her clean it, but she pushed me!"

Holden wrapped his arm tightly around Estella’s waist. He pulled her close, protecting her. Then, his dark, furious eyes snapped to me.

I stood as tall as I could. The wet silk clung to my skin, freezing me to the bone. I stared into his eyes, waiting for him to see the truth. I waited for just one word of defense.

Holden looked at the massive stain on my dress, his upper lip curling in disgust.

"Kenia, stop embarrassing yourself. Go to the restroom and clean yourself up."

Kenia POV:

I turned my back on the crowded banquet hall. My high heels clicked against the thick Persian rug in the hallway. Every step felt like walking on broken glass.

I pushed past the main corridors and found a secluded guest restroom at the far end of the east wing.

I pushed the heavy door open and locked it behind me.

I walked up to the mirror. The starry blue silk was ruined. The dark red wine looked like a massive bloodstain spreading across my chest and stomach. My throat tightened, and the hot sting of tears threatened to spill over.

I turned on the cold water. I cupped the water in my hands and rubbed it into the silk, but the fabric only absorbed more water, making the stain look larger and darker.

Suddenly, a sharp cramp twisted in my lower abdomen.

I stopped breathing. I dropped my hands and grabbed the edge of the sink. I closed my eyes and took deep, slow breaths, silently begging my baby to be okay.

As the pain slowly faded, I heard footsteps in the hallway outside. They were slow, heavy, and deliberate. Then, the sharp, metallic *snick* of a lighter wheel turning broke the silence.

I opened my eyes and looked through the slight crack in the bathroom door.

A tall shadow leaned against the Roman pillar in the dim hallway. The man wore a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit. A thick Cuban cigar rested between his fingers, the tip glowing orange in the dark.

He felt my gaze. He turned his head slightly, revealing a sharp, hard jawline and a profile carved from stone.

My breath caught in my throat. I knew that face.

It was Gael Russo. The Don of the Russo family. He was Holden’s deadliest rival, a man who controlled the docks and half the city’s underground. Holden had told me Gael was a monster.

Panic spiked in my chest. I reached for the door handle to pull it completely shut.

But Gael had already crushed his cigar into an ashtray. He pushed off the pillar and walked toward me. His long legs covered the distance in seconds.

A heavy, terrifying pressure filled the air as he approached. I stepped back, my spine hitting the edge of the marble sink.

Gael stopped just outside the open door frame. His deep green eyes swept over me. He looked at my wet, stained dress. He looked at my red-rimmed eyes.

There was no pity in his gaze. There was no disgust. It was a calm, piercing look that seemed to see right through my skin.

He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a neatly folded, dark grey silk handkerchief.

He extended his arm, offering it to me. His movements were slow, polite, and completely controlled. His fingers stayed inches away from mine, ensuring he didn't touch me.

I stared at the expensive silk. My hands trembled as I reached out and took it from him.

"Thank you," I whispered. My voice shook.

I pressed the dry silk against the wet stain on my chest.

"The cut of the shoulder is brilliant," Gael suddenly said. His voice was a low, rough rumble. "The asymmetrical draping elevates the entire piece. It’s a shame about the wine, but the talent is obvious."

I snapped my head up. My eyes widened in shock.

He was the first person tonight to look past the stain and see my work. He understood my art.

Gael met my eyes. For the first time in my life, I wasn't being looked down upon. Coming from an orphanage, I was used to eyes full of pity or contempt. Holden looked at me like a possession. But Gael looked at me as an equal. The intensity of his respect slammed into my chest, breaking through my defenses.

Down the hall, the heavy thud of security boots echoed. Holden’s guards were patrolling. Gael knew he couldn't stay in enemy territory.

He adjusted his silver cufflinks. He turned to walk away.

After two steps, he stopped. He turned his head, looking back at me over his broad shoulder. His green eyes locked onto mine, burning with a quiet intensity.

"You don't belong in this cage, Kenia."