Chapter 8 - The Viper in the Sunroom
The defeat of the O’Malley faction brought a temporary stillness to Detroit, but in Harlan’s world, peace was always a fragile illusion.
Three weeks after the incident at Pier 4, a high-society charity gala was announced at the Detroit Institute of Arts. It was an event designed to project an image of legitimate corporate power—a place where city council members, industrial titans, and high-society elites gathered to trade favors.
Harlan insisted I accompany him as his official guest.
"I don't belong in a ballroom, Harlan," I said, standing in front of the full-length mirror in the master suite as a team of stylists adjusted a stunning emerald-green silk gown around my waist. Diamond earrings glinted at my ears—a gift Harlan had left on my vanity that morning.
Harlan stepped behind me, wearing a crisp black tuxedo. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, looking at our reflection in the glass.
"You belong wherever I am, Rue," he said softly, pressing a kiss against the curve of my neck. "Tonight, the city sees who stands beside me."
When we arrived at the gala, the room went dead silent the moment Harlan Voss walked through the entrance with his hand firmly resting on the small of my back. Whispers erupted across the crowd of three hundred elite guests.
"Who is she?"
"Is that the girl from the diner?"
"Voss brought a woman?"
Harlan paid them no attention. He walked through the ballroom like a king inspecting his court, keeping me close to his side, introducing me to senators, bank presidents, and shipping executives with cold, polite authority.
While Harlan was pulled into a private conversation near the terrace with the city's Port Authority Commissioner, I stepped toward the champagne fountain to grab a glass of water.
"So... you’re the little charity case Harlan picked up off the street."
A sharp, cruel voice spoke from behind me.
I turned to see a tall, breathtakingly beautiful woman in a crimson dress holding a glass of wine. Her blonde hair was styled in a rigid chignon, and her blue eyes were laced with pure venom.
This was Victoria Sterling—daughter of Detroit's largest real estate mogul and a woman who had spent three years trying to arrange a political marriage with Harlan Voss.
"Excuse me?" I said calmly, setting my water glass down.
"Don't play innocent, sweetie," Victoria sneered, stepping closer, her tone dripping with disdain. "We all know who you are. A broke, uneducated waitress who got lucky by finding a sick kid in a alleyway. You think because Harlan gave you a pretty dress and a shiny necklace, you’re special?"
I looked at her—at her expensive jewels, her immaculate dress, and the utter emptiness in her eyes. Two months ago, her words might have crushed me. But tonight, I was no longer the girl shivering in a parking garage.
"I didn't get lucky, Victoria," I replied, my voice steady, clear, and quiet. "I saved a dying six-year-old child while people like you were busy drinking champagne in warm rooms. And if you think Harlan Voss chooses women based on their dress size or bank account, you don't know him at all."
Victoria’s face flushed red with rage. She raised her hand, her fingers tightening around her wine glass as if she were about to throw it into my face.
"Is there a problem here, Miss Sterling?"
Harlan’s voice cut through the air like a steel blade.
He stepped out of the shadows, his expression so dark and menacing that several guests standing nearby instinctively backed away. He walked up beside me, slipping his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side.
Victoria went pale. "Harlan... I was just explaining to your... guest... that she might feel uncomfortable in a crowd like this—"
"Miss Callaway does not feel uncomfortable anywhere in my city," Harlan interrupted coldly, his grey eyes locking onto Victoria with lethal intensity. "However, your father’s lease agreements for the Sterling Tower on 5th Street expire at midnight tonight. Tell him I have decided not to renew them."
Victoria gasped, her eyes wide with terror. "Harlan! You can't do that! That will bankrupt my family's development firm!"
"Then I suggest you leave this ballroom immediately," Harlan whispered, his voice laced with absolute finality. "Before I decide to take your father's bank accounts next."
Victoria turned on her heel and fled through the crowd, crying into her hands.
May you like
I looked up at Harlan, a slight smile touching my lips. "You didn't have to destroy her family's real estate firm for me."
Harlan looked down at me, his sharp features softening into a warm, devoted smile. "I’d burn down the entire city for you, Rue. Don't ever doubt that."
