Chapter 4 - The Metropolitan Gala
The Grand Hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was a sea of glittering diamonds, tailored tuxedos, and flowing champagne. Classical violin music floated beneath the soaring arches as Manhattan’s most powerful figures mingled under the heavy security of armed guards disguised as ushers.
At 9:00 PM, the grand doors opened, and Damian Vance walked in.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. But the whispers didn't start because of Damian; they started because of the breathtaking woman on his arm.
Sienna moved through the crowd with supreme, effortless grace. She carried herself not like a former law student or a former bartender, but like a queen who owned every square inch of the floor.
Across the room, standing near an ancient Egyptian exhibit with a glass of champagne in his hand, was Garrett Holloway.
Holloway was fifty-five, silver-haired, with heavy, ruthless features and a smug smile that had gone unpunished for decades. He turned toward the entrance, his eyes casually sweeping the crowd—and then froze.
His champagne glass wobbled in his hand.
He recognized her instantly. The chestnut hair, the high cheekbones, the fierce, fearless eyes. It was the girl he had humiliated at the club—the girl he thought his men had frightened off three nights ago. And she was standing beside his greatest enemy, looking like a million dollars.
"Damian," Holloway sneered, stepping forward as Damian and Sienna approached the VIP bar. "I didn't realize you were bringing trash to a black-tie event."
The surrounding socialites hushed instantly, sensing the sudden spike in tension.
Damian didn't flinch. He placed a protective hand on the small of Sienna’s back, stepping forward into Holloway’s personal space. "Watch your tongue, Garrett. You’re speaking to the future Vice President of Vance Logistics."
Holloway let out a harsh, disbelieving bark of laughter. "A bartender? A VP? Have you lost your mind, Vance? Or are you just so desperate for company that you pick up leftovers from my table?"
Sienna stepped forward, her voice ringing out crisp, clear, and utterly terrifying in its cold precision. "The last time you saw me, Mr. Holloway, you threw dessert like a child having a tantrum because you knew I was watching your wire transfers. Tell me, how are those accounts in Zurich holding up since the federal freeze took effect this morning?"
Holloway’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of crimson. "What did you say?"
"You heard her," Damian said smoothly, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one to Sienna. "Enjoy the evening, Garrett. It’s likely your last one as a free man."
Holloway’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Furious, humiliated, and utterly thrown off balance, he turned on his heel and stormed toward the private elevator leading to the museum’s restricted executive offices on the second floor.
Sienna looked at Damian, a sharp, triumphant glint in her eyes. "He’s taking the bait. He’s going up to check his secure terminal."
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"You have six minutes before his personal guards realize the security cameras on the second floor are looping," Damian whispered, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. "Be careful, Sienna."
"I’m always careful," she replied, and melted seamlessly into the crowd.
