Chapter 3 - The Gala
The Spring Foundation Gala at the Drake Hotel was the crowning event of Chicago’s high-society calendar.
It was where legitimate industrial fortunes, political dynasties, and the clean money of the city’s criminal underground met beneath three massive Austrian crystal chandeliers.
Victoria DeLuca had spent three weeks supervising Evelyn’s preparation.
The dress was a custom creation from a French fashion house—emerald green silk that clung to Evelyn’s slender waist and fell in a heavy, flowing train to the floor. Her dark hair was styled into an elegant chignon held by emerald-and-diamond pins that had once belonged to Roman’s grandmother.
"Hold your head higher," Victoria commanded, standing behind Evelyn in the suite at the Drake two hours before the event. "You are representing the DeLuca name tonight. You look like a schoolteacher who won a raffle."
Evelyn adjusted the diamond bracelet on her wrist. "I feel like a specimen in a jar."
"A very expensive specimen," Victoria corrected, checking her own diamond watch. "Remember your role tonight. Senator Walsh will be at our table. His committee is reviewing the riverfront development permits next month. Smile when he speaks. Keep Roman’s glass full. Do not engage with the press."
Roman walked into the suite five minutes later.
He was wearing a custom double-breasted tuxedo from Milan. His shirt was brilliant white, his studs were black onyx, and his dark hair was combed back with precision. He looked imposing, cold, and entirely in control of his domain.
He stopped when he saw Evelyn standing near the window, the green silk reflecting the golden light of the streetlamps below.
For the first time in six months, his expression shifted slightly. His gray eyes narrowed, lingering on the curve of her throat, the exposed line of her back, and the quiet, defiant dignity she carried despite everything they had done to her.
"Is something wrong?" Evelyn asked, her voice tight.
"No," Roman said quietly. He walked over to her, reaching out a hand.
For a second, Evelyn thought he was going to touch her cheek. Her heart skipped a beat—a instinctual reaction to the sudden proximity of a dangerous man.
Instead, he reached past her shoulder and gently adjusted the clasp of her emerald necklace, his cold fingers brushing against her bare skin for a fraction of a second.
A sharp, electric shudder ran down her spine.
"The clasp was loose," Roman said, his voice dropping an octave. "We wouldn't want you to lose it."
"Thank you," she managed to say.
"Let's go," he said, offering her his arm. "Three hundred people are waiting to see how much I paid for you."
The grand ballroom of the Drake was a sea of black ties, silk gowns, and silver champagne buckets. Three hundred guests filled the room, their laughter floating beneath the gilded ceilings while a string quartet played classical waltzes near the marble stage.
Roman moved through the crowd like a king inspecting his court.
Men shook his hand with deep, respectful nods. Politicians leaned in close to whisper in his ear. Women stared at Evelyn with a mixture of envy, pity, and intense curiosity.
Everyone knew the rumors.
The story of Roman DeLuca’s infertility was not a secret in the upper echelons of Chicago society; it was a well-documented fact, whispered over cocktails at the University Club and debated in private boxes at the opera. It was the reason Roman had no brothers, no legitimate heirs, and why Victoria held such immense power over the family’s corporate trusts.
"Mrs. DeLuca," a plump, heavily jeweled woman named Mrs. Harrison purred, leaning toward Evelyn near the bar. "You look stunning tonight. Tell me, how are you finding Lake Forest? It must be so quiet after... wherever it was you grew up."
"It's very peaceful, Mrs. Harrison," Evelyn said smoothly, holding a glass of sparkling water. "The lake views are beautiful."
"Yes, well, Roman has always preferred quiet things," Mrs. Harrison murmured, her eyes flicking toward Roman, who was speaking to a city alderman twenty feet away. "Such a pity about the family line, isn't it? Victoria must be so disappointed that the DeLuca name ends with him."
Evelyn felt a cold knot form in her stomach. She smiled politely. "My husband’s legacy is built on his work, Mrs. Harrison, not just his name."
"How sweet," the woman laughed, taking a sip of her champagne. "You really are a loyal little wife, aren't you?"
Evelyn turned away, her throat feeling tight.
The heat in the ballroom was becoming unbearable. The scent of heavy perfumes, expensive cigars, and roasted meats mixed together into a suffocating fog.
She walked toward the perimeter of the room, looking for a breath of fresh air near the terrace doors.
Suddenly, a strange, violent cramp rippled through her lower abdomen.
Evelyn stopped. She pressed two fingers against the green silk over her stomach.
It wasn't a normal cramp. It was a sharp, searing pain that made her knees feel instantly weak, like a hot wire pulling tight deep inside her pelvis.
"Evelyn?"
She turned her head.
Roman was walking toward her, his forehead creased with a subtle frown. He had noticed her sudden change in posture from across the room.
"Are you alright?" he asked, stopping three feet away.
May you like
"I... I don't feel well," Evelyn whispered. She took a step toward him.
Then the world tilted.
