Chapter 2 - The Intervention
Mabel was not finished.
Seeing Ayla standing alone, clutching a glass of champagne like a shield, Mabel signaled two other women from the marketing department. They approached Ayla in a coordinated formation, trapping her against the edge of the mahogany bar.
"Ayla, darling," Mabel projected her voice, ensuring the surrounding guests could hear. "We were just discussing the upcoming charity auction. Jean wants us all to bid on something to show company solidarity. But I suppose we can exempt you. After all, if you couldn't afford a new dress for tonight, we certainly can't expect you to open your purse for charity."
A few people in the vicinity chuckled. Jean Dubois stood a few feet away, swirling his drink, a look of smug approval on his face.
Ayla’s cheeks burned. The ballroom felt as though it was shrinking, the crystal chandeliers suddenly glaring and oppressive. She looked down at her simple shoes, wishing the marble floor would open and swallow her whole.
"I give what I can," Ayla managed to say, her voice trembling.
"Which is exactly nothing," Mabel laughed, stepping closer, her expensive perfume suffocating. "Really, Ayla, you don't belong here. It’s embarrassing for all of us."
"The only embarrassment in this room is your behavior, Miss Laurent."
The voice was not loud, but it carried a lethal, freezing weight that instantly severed the ambient noise of the gala.
The string quartet seemed to falter. The conversations nearby died in an instant.
Mabel spun around, an indignant retort on her lips, but the words vanished the moment she saw who was standing behind her.
Matteo Cipriani.
He wore a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo that draped perfectly over his broad shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on Mabel with the terrifying intensity of a predator assessing a very insignificant, very annoying insect. Kyle Torres stood silently a step behind him, his hands clasped, surveying the room for threats.
The color completely drained from Mabel's face. Everyone in the city knew Matteo Cipriani. They knew about his legitimate enterprises, and they whispered about the empire of violence he controlled in the shadows.
"Mr. Cipriani," Jean Dubois stammered, rushing forward, nearly spilling his drink in his haste. "What an absolute honor. I am Jean Dubois, the regional director of—"
Matteo did not look at him. He stepped effortlessly through the small circle of women, forcing Mabel to scramble backward to avoid touching him.
He stopped directly in front of Ayla.
The terror and humiliation in her eyes slowly gave way to absolute shock. Matteo reached out. His large, warm hand wrapped gently around Ayla’s trembling fingers, pulling the champagne glass from her grip and handing it blindly to Kyle.
May you like
Then, Matteo bowed his head slightly and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of Ayla’s hand.
"Forgive me for leaving you alone for so long, mia cara," Matteo murmured, his voice rich and entirely devoted. "I was delayed by business. But I am here now."
