Chapter 4 - The Founders' Gala
The silk of the emerald-green gown clung to my curves like a second skin. The personal stylist Giovanni had hired hadn't held back—the dress was backless, with a plunging neckline that was tasteful yet undeniably alluring. Around my neck hung a diamond collar worth more than my entire medical school tuition would have been. My hair was swept up in an elegant, modern updo, leaving my neck bare.
I stared at the mirror in my suite, barely recognizing the woman looking back. The tired, overworked nurse was gone. In her place stood a queen.
A knock on the door broke my trance.
"Come in," I said, my voice shaking slightly.
The door opened, and Giovanni walked in. He wore a flawless black tuxedo that emphasized his broad shoulders and commanding height. He froze for a fraction of a second when he saw me, his amber eyes darkening as they raked over my silhouette.
"You look... breathtaking, Jessica," he said, his voice lower than usual.
"I feel like an imposter," I admitted, nervously touching the diamonds at my throat.
He walked over, standing directly behind me in front of the mirror. He placed his large, warm hands on my bare shoulders. The contrast between his dark skin and the pale emerald silk was striking. "An imposter hides because they are afraid. You have nothing to fear. You belong on my arm."
He leaned down, his lips almost touching my ear. "Tonight, Francesca will try to bait you. Elena Vance will try to humiliate you. And Tyler Brooks will try to regret you. Stand tall. Remember who you are."
"Who am I?" I whispered, looking at our reflection.
"You are my wife," he said firmly. "Now, let’s go make them bleed."
The Founders' Gala was held at the Art Institute of Chicago. The grand marble halls were filled with the city's elite—politicians, CEOs, and old-money dynasties. The moment Giovanni and I walked through the entrance, a wave of whispers washed over the crowd. Flashes from photographers' cameras blinded me for a moment, but Giovanni’s arm around my waist was an immovable anchor.
"Giovanni, darling!"
A sharp voice cut through the noise. It was Francesca Fierro, looking regal in gold. Beside her stood Elena Vance, wearing a crimson dress that screamed for attention.
"Aunt Francesca," Giovanni greeted coldly. "I see you made it."
"Of course. I wouldn't miss your public debut with your... secret bride," Francesca said, her eyes boring into me like drills. "Jessica, isn't it? Tell me, dear, where exactly did Giovanni hide you all these months? Cozumel is lovely, but it’s hardly a place for a permanent residence."
"We valued our privacy, Mrs. Fierro," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady and calm, just as Giovanni had coached me. "Giovanni’s work keeps him very busy, and the quiet moments we shared away from the spotlight were precious to us."
Elena sneered, stepping forward. "Privacy? Or shame? I did some digging, Jessica. You're a nurse at a county hospital. You live in a run-down apartment. How does a girl from the slums manage to capture the heart of a Fierro?"
The insult was public, and several nearby guests turned to watch the drama unfold. My cheeks burned, but before I could lose my temper, I felt Giovanni’s grip on my waist tighten ominously.
"Careful, Elena," Giovanni warned, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper that made the surrounding guests freeze. "You are speaking to the matriarch of my household. One more disrespectful word out of your mouth, and I will ensure your father's shipping containers are held at the Port of Chicago indefinitely for 'inspection.' Do not test my patience."
Elena went pale and stepped back, looking terrified. Francesca’s eyes flashed with fury, but she knew better than to push Giovanni further in public.
"We shall see how long this little fairytale lasts," Francesca muttered before walking away, dragging Elena with her.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Thank you," I murmured to Giovanni.
"No need to thank me for defending what is mine," he replied.
"Look who it is. The high and mighty nurse."
I closed my eyes for a second. Tyler.
He was standing there with Vanessa, who looked fit to burst in a tight maternity dress. Tyler’s eyes were fixed on my dress, his expression a mix of shock, jealousy, and anger.
"Jess, what kind of game are you playing?" Tyler demanded, stepping into our space. "You think because you put on a fancy dress and snagged a rich thug, you're better than us? Vanessa's father knows the mayor. We can have your little boyfriend investigated."
Vanessa smirked. "He’s right, Jessica. You're just a charity case. Everyone knows he’s using you for something."
I looked at Tyler, the man who had abandoned me when I needed him most, the man who had told me just yesterday that I had ruined my future. Something inside me snapped, replaced by a cold, unwavering strength.
I stepped away from Giovanni slightly, standing on my own two feet.
"Tyler," I said, my voice clear and loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear. "The only mistake I ever made in my life was believing that you were a man. You left me when I was pregnant because you were too cowardly to be a father. You married for money because you were too lazy to build your own success. Look at me carefully."
I gestured to my gown, the diamonds, and the man standing beside me.
"I am no longer the girl you can abuse or belittle. I am Jessica Fierro. And if you or your wife ever look at me or speak to me again, my husband won't just destroy your career—I will personally ensure you never find a job in this city again. Move along."
Tyler’s jaw dropped. Vanessa gasped in outrage.
Beside me, Giovanni let out a low, dark chuckle of pure satisfaction. He stepped up, wrapping his arm back around my waist, pulling me tight against his chest.
"You heard my wife," Giovanni said to Tyler, his amber eyes burning with a dangerous pride. "Get out of our sight."
As Tyler and Vanessa slunk away into the crowd, defeated and humiliated, Giovanni looked down at me, a genuine, fiery admiration in his gaze.
"You were spectacular, Jessica," he whispered.
"I just told the truth," I said, my heart racing from the thrill of it.
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"Then the truth is a weapon in your hands," he said, his face closing the distance between us. For a breathless second, I thought he was going to kiss me. My lips parted in anticipation, the fake relationship suddenly feeling terrifyingly real.
But he stopped just inches away, his eyes locked onto mine. "Let's go home, wife."
