Chapter 25
Taking a step back, I held my breath at the sight before me.
The hum of the air conditioner in my atelier felt like steady background support.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, my hand trembled slightly as my fingers brushed against the fabric.
After weeks of sketches, fabric selections, and secret fittings, the masterpiece was finally ready.
"This will definitely highlight her features," I whispered to myself, pulling the mannequin forward. "Now... let's give it to her as a gift."
I was about to head out when my phone rang. Fishing it from my pocket, my brow arched at the caller ID. With a sigh, I slid my finger across the screen. "Ms. Catherine," I greeted.
"Ms. Aurora," she replied smoothly. "I visited Monsieur Bianchi in detention."
Humming, I leaned back against my workstation. "Uh-huh. Did we get anything new?"
"No, ma'am. He's still keeping his lips sealed. He doesn't want to talk."
I nodded to myself, glancing up at the ceiling. "Well, then. Let's keep the CFO and finance department on continuous review. Monsieur Bianchi isn't going anywhere. With his assets frozen by the courts, I doubt he has another option but to start talking."
"As for the paper trail..." Catherine hesitated. "The tech team found confidential email exchanges. But when they tried to trace the address, they couldn't pin down its origin."
"Email exchanges?" I echoed, blinking.
"Yes. I believe Monsieur Bianchi's working with someone else. The email is a fake—likely a burner with advanced authentication. Our team couldn't hack it, couldn't bypass its walls. It's like it was designed to disappear the moment it served its purpose."
My jaw tightened as frustration burned low in my chest. "What's in those exchanges?"
"They were discussing the progress of the embezzlement."
I straightened, the weight of it pressing down. "Do you think this could be connected to Mr. Leonardo Vasquez? Didn't Veraux Holdings face a similar issue last year with him? Could it be tied?"
"With Mr. Vasquez dead, there's no way to trace it back—or confirm it," Catherine replied.
"I can," I murmured, more to myself than her. "Selene and I... we're close enough. I can talk to her, see what she knows. I'll update you if it proves useful. For now, keep digging into the paper trail."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Thank you," I said before ending the call. My thumb hovered over Selene's name, ready to dial, when my gaze caught on the mannequin in the corner. "Right," I murmured, slipping my phone into my pocket. "Let me give this to Sol first."
Pulling the mannequin out, I carefully guided it down the hall toward the master bedroom. A smile tugged at my lips the entire way—I was certain she'd love it. Stopping at the door, I knocked softly before twisting the knob open.
"Sol," I called, peeking inside.
Sloane glanced up, brows knitting in curiosity. "What is it?"
I stepped fully into the room, revealing the gown draped over the mannequin. Midnight navy silk shimmered beneath the soft lights, its iridescent threads catching like starlight. At the hem, a delicate gradient faded to teal—a hidden touch meant only for her.
She froze. Her sharp gaze raked over every detail, and for once, her composure cracked. Her lips parted, eyes softening. "Ro..."
I rolled the mannequin closer, my fingers brushing the fabric as I smoothed it down. "It's yours," I whispered. "Every detail... made just for you."
She moved toward me, hesitant, her hand hovering just above the gown as though touching it might break the spell. "It's... perfect."
My chest tightened at her sigh. I closed the distance, leaning down slightly so I was level with her eyes. "Try it on," I urged with a smile. "I want you to feel it... the way I feel when I'm with you."
Her hand flew to her mouth, color rushing into her cheeks. I eased the gown from the mannequin and placed it into her arms. "Go on," I said softly. "It's meant for you."
A faint hum escaped her as she turned, carrying the gown into the walk-in wardrobe. I exhaled slowly, sinking onto the edge of the bed to wait. Moments later, the door opened again.
And there she was.
The gown clung to her in all the right places, flowing around her body like liquid night, the train spilling elegantly behind her. For a moment, all I could do was stare. My breath caught, and I rose slowly to my feet.
Damn. She was breathtaking.
The way my wife carried herself—the seamless blend of confidence and elegance—made time feel suspended, as if the world existed only for the two of us.
Our eyes met, and a knowing smile curved Sloane's lips. "You really did this for me? You really made something like this... for me?"
I nodded, stepping closer until the space between us was nothing but a whisper. "I did," I murmured. My hand reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, my knuckles brushing against her cheek. "Because you deserve everything... and more, my Sol."
Her fingers lifted, grazing my face with the same tenderness. A quiet laugh slipped from her, her cheeks flushed, the tips of her ears reddening. "Gosh... you always know how to surprise me."
I leaned into her touch, resting my forehead against hers. "And I always will," I whispered, brushing a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.
Sloane scoffed lightly before pulling me into a kiss.
I smiled against her lips, wrapping an arm around her waist as I kissed her back.
Her arms curled around my neck, drawing me closer, grounding me.
When we finally pulled away, she lingered for a heartbeat, pressing one more peck to my lips before laughing softly.
"Thank you, Ro," she whispered, her voice warm as she folded me into her embrace.
Eyes closing, I hummed and held her tight, breathing her in. "You know I'll do everything for you," I murmured. "Only for you, Sol."
?·???°???°???·?
H?tel de Paris glowed like a constellation, chandeliers scattering fractured light across crystal flutes and polished marble floors.
Monaco's elite pressed in close, murmuring about acquisitions, alliances, and betrayals masquerading as charity pledges.
At the center of it all, Sloane moved like she owned the room—because goddamn it, she did.
I couldn't help but smile. "Good thing the event hasn't started yet," I whispered, stepping inside. Heads turned as I entered, the subtle hush always following me like a tide.
One of the elite business partners greeted me; I returned the smile with a slight nod. Then the hush spread through the ballroom like wildfire, reaching my ears as a wave of whispers.
I tilted my head, following the line of sight from the crowd. And fuck—my body froze.
A woman stood beneath the chandelier, draped in scarlet silk. Almost Sloane's height, but slightly taller. And her features... my chest tightened. She had mine. Eyes sharp as cut glass. It was like staring into a distorted mirror: same elegance, but rendered in bolder, sharper strokes.
Was this what Sloane wanted? To flaunt a shadow of me? The thought slid through my mind, bitter and uneasy.
Our eyes locked. She walked toward me, stopping just before me, tilting her head slightly upward to meet mine.
I straightened instinctively. Yes, we resembled each other—too much.
Whispers ricocheted around the room, impossible to ignore.
"Is Ms. Duvall collecting the same type of woman?"
"Rivals... or replacements?"
A glass slipped somewhere. The shattering crash silenced everything, leaving only the electricity of our gaze.
One guest's words made me bite back a chuckle: "She's found her twin."
Twin? Not even close. I was far superior.
A knot formed in my throat as the woman before me smiled. But it wasn't the kind of smile that calmed—it provoked.
"So..." she began, smirking. "You must be the ghost I keep hearing about. The one she can't bury."
My brow raised, a chuckle escaping me. Ghost? Really? "Ah," I said, sliding my hand into my pocket and tilting my head at her. "You're Margot."
The air between us constricted. Cameras flashed from the corners, elites leaning in as if savoring the spectacle.
From near the stage, I glimpsed Sloane, her faint smirk betraying satisfaction as she watched us, champagne glass in hand like a queen surveying her chessboard.
I took a measured step forward. "Margot," I said, voice low but steady. "I suppose this is your grand entrance."
Her smile curved wider, teeth flashing behind red lips. "Not mine," she replied, tilting her head toward Sloane. "Hers. I'm just the mirror she wants you to face."
I hummed, eyes flicking over her, sharp and assessing. "Mirrors crack easily."
Margot stepped closer, her perfume warm and lingering between us. "Then... I shall enjoy watching you shatter first."
I couldn't help but chuckle, picking up a passing waiter's champagne and offering it to her before taking a sip of mine. She mirrored me perfectly, lifting her glass in sync, sipping with deliberate poise.
The resemblance between us was undeniable—so uncanny that whispers swelled into a tangible ripple of fascination through the crowd.
"Funny, isn't it?" she said, loud enough for the nearby crowd to hear. "How easily people mistake us. Though I imagine you hate that, right, Aurora?"
I shrugged, smoothing the lapel of my suit. "Mistakes are common when one confuses imitation for originality." I raised my champagne flute subtly toward her before taking another sip.
Gasps and soft laughter rippled through the crowd.
Margot leaned in, almost on tiptoe, brushing her lips against the edge of my ear. "And yet, I'm the one standing here with Sloane's backing." She pulled back with a dazzling smile, letting her words land like a blade before our captivated audience.
I exhaled softly, a wide smile tugging at my lips.
"Did you hear that?" whispers fluttered among the elites, as if they thought we couldn't hear them.
"Ms. DeLacroix looks pale—oh, this is dangerous..."
"Which one will Sloane claim?"
My fingers curled at my sides, but I remained composed—the picture of elegance. My silence said everything the crowd needed to hear; not a word was required to confirm anything.
Then Sloane moved. From the dais, she descended with slow, deliberate steps, her midnight navy gown shimmering beneath the chandeliers. All eyes followed her as she glided through the room, sliding between me and Margot, her arm sliding into mine.
"Come on, everyone," she announced smoothly, her voice like honey-coated steel. "My wife doesn't need to compete. Because she's already mine."
A hush fell over the room, shattered moments later by the eruption of cameras, whispers, and speculation—simultaneously.
I hitch my breath as Sloane smiles at me. I can see Margot's smile tighten, and I know the elites of Monaco understood one thing: tonight wasn't just about business. It was about dominance, possession, and rivalry.
I winked at Margot, who rolled her eyes in irritation. See? There's no competition at all.
"Right," Sloane slides her hand into mine, intertwining our fingers. "Well, formalities," she said, turning to Margot. "Margot, this is my wife, Aurora."
"And Ro," she smiled at me, "this is Margot, the one I've been mentioning. My business partner."
"Pleasure to meet the one person who keeps bugging my wife even late at night," I said, shrugging, making Sloane laugh softly.
"Come on now," Sloane's other hand wrapped around my arm, tapping it lightly. "Don't be like that, sweetie. Margot here is just checking on me. After all, we're like sisters."
My eyes flick to Margot, who behaves like a domesticated animal in front of my wife. I know your moves. You like my wife. But she's mine. And no—you're not taking her away. Sloane is mine, and that will never change.