Chapter 4 - The Winter Gala
The grand ballroom of the Volkov downtown manor was a dizzying display of opulence and deceit. Crystal chandeliers cast a glittering glow over hundreds of guests dressed in high-end tuxedos and breathtaking evening gowns. Champagne flowed like water, but beneath the laughter and the classical violin music, the tension was palpable. Every smile was a weapon; every glance was a calculation.
Clara stood in front of the full-length mirror in the private dressing room, barely recognizing herself. The dress Nikolai had provided was a masterpiece of deep emerald silk, clinging perfectly to her curves before draping elegantly to the floor. High-collared to hide any trace of her bakery life, it made her look like a queen. Yet, beneath the heavy fabric, her heart was beating a frantic rhythm.
Leo was strapped securely to her chest in a custom, hidden silk carrier concealed by a matching emerald wrap. He was fast asleep, lulled by the steady beat of her heart.
The door opened, and Nikolai walked in. He wore a flawless black tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding height. For a moment, his icy eyes softened as he looked at her, scanning her from head to toe.
“You look beautiful, Clara,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft.
“I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter,” she replied, adjusting the wrap over Leo.
“You are no lamb,” Nikolai said, stepping up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. His gaze met hers in the mirror. “You survived the fire. You saved my heir. Tonight, we finish this.”
They walked out into the ballroom together, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. A sudden, dead silence washed over the room as hundreds of eyes landed on Nikolai—and the woman beside him.
At the far end of the room stood Mikhail Volkov, an older man with silver hair, a cruel, heavy jaw, and eyes filled with pure malice. Beside him stood several high-ranking members of the Council. When Mikhail saw Nikolai, his face turned completely pale, his champagne glass shattering against the marble floor.
“Nikolai,” Mikhail hissed, stepping forward, trying to mask his shock with a fake smile. “We... we heard rumors of a tragedy at the hospital. We thought the child was gone.”
“The child is perfectly healthy,” Nikolai announced, his voice booming across the silent ballroom, filled with lethal authority. He gestured to Clara. “And he is under the care of the finest protection details. The Volkov line is secure. Anyone who attempts to alter that fact will be dealt with permanently.”
Mikhail’s eyes locked onto Clara, analyzing her, trying to see through the emerald silk wrap. A sinister, knowing smile slowly spread across the old man’s face. He leaned in close to Nikolai, his voice a low snake-like whisper that Clara just managed to catch.
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“Enjoy your little victory celebration while you can, nephew,” Mikhail muttered. “You think you’ve protected him. But you brought him right to us. Look around you. The Council has already voted. The boy doesn't leave this building alive.”
Before Nikolai could respond, the lights in the grand ballroom suddenly went pitch black.
