Chapter 22 The Dumas Gala
The black car pulled up in front of the Dumas estate in Paris, glowing under the warm lights of the gala. Paparazzi stood behind barriers, cameras flashing like fireworks.
Inside, Layla smoothed the satin of her navy-blue gown, custom-designed to gracefully hug her 6-month baby bump. Her long hair was swept to the side, her makeup soft but radiant. Beside her, Jasper adjusted his tie, stealing a quick glance at her with a smirk. “You’re about to outshine the entire Dumas dynasty.”
She smiled, but nerves prickled at her spine. This wasn’t just any event—it was her first public appearance as a Dumas by blood. And the first time she would meet the extended family of a life she never knew she had.
As they stepped out of the car, the crowd erupted.
“Layla! Mr. Tate! Is it true you’re expecting the next Dumas heir?”
“Is this your first time meeting the Dumas family?”
“Jasper, what do you think of your wife’s true heritage?”
They didn’t answer. They only walked—together, hand in hand—up the marble steps.
Inside, the grandeur was overwhelming. Crystal chandeliers. Velvet drapes. Gold-trimmed everything. A string quartet played in the background. People turned as they entered, eyes wide. The Dumas siblings stood at the far end of the room, waiting.
Her biological brother, Matthieu, walked forward with a proud, affectionate smile. “S?ur.” He pulled her into a gentle hug, careful of her belly. “You look like our mother.”
Layla blinked back tears. “Thank you… for finding me.”
One by one, she was introduced to aunts, uncles, cousins—some curious, some skeptical, a few emotional. But all stunned by the grace and strength of the woman before them.
Jasper stayed close, offering a quiet strength.
Later that evening, Layla stepped out onto the grand balcony to catch her breath. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance. She rested her hands on the marble railing, the night air cool on her skin.
Jasper followed her out, slipping behind her and wrapping his arms around her belly. “You okay?”
“I’m overwhelmed,” she admitted. “But… happy.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You belong here, Layla. Dumas or not, you always did.”
Suddenly, someone cleared their throat behind them. It was Gregory Tate, Jasper’s grandfather. He studied them silently.
“I’ve never liked galas,” he said. “But I came tonight to see something with my own eyes.”
Layla tensed.
Gregory stepped closer. “You two… you’ve changed. You’re not pretending anymore, are you?”
Jasper opened his mouth—but Layla beat him to it. “No. It started as a lie. But it became everything real in my life.”
Gregory's eyes softened. “Then make sure you protect it. Don’t let this world steal what matters most.”
He turned and walked back inside.
Layla looked up at Jasper, stunned.
“Did Grandpa Tate just… approve of us?” she whispered.
Jasper laughed quietly. “I think he did.”
The night ended with a toast in her honor. Matthieu raised his glass and said, “To my sister. To family found. And to the little life growing within her—may they carry both the Dumas fire and the Tate strength.”
Applause erupted. Layla’s eyes found Jasper’s again.
Yes, all that glittered tonight wasn’t gold—it was truth, love, and finally… belonging.
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