Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Bea hadn’t worn heels this high since her scholarship interview. Back then, she was trying to make herself look older. Tonight, she needed the confidence boost. Or maybe just the height. A few more inches to help level the field.
Gage had chosen the company-chauffeured car, signaling the weight of the evening. He sat beside her in the back seat, black tuxedo crisp, cufflinks catching the light from passing streetlamps. His hand rested firm and warm on her knee.
She adjusted the neckline of her gown, fingers steady even if she wasn’t.
Pale blue, soft as a breath, embroidered with delicate vines that curled along the bodice and spilled down the flowing skirt.
Gage had sent a selection delivered from a boutique earlier that week, all carefully chosen, all impossible to refuse.
Normally, she didn’t let him dress her. But tonight, fear and strategy won out. She was stepping onto a battlefield, and couture was the armor.
“Relax,” he said, feeling her tension. “It’s just a room full of rich people who think they’re very important.”
“Because they are. Rich and important.”
“Good thing you’ll be with me.” He picked up her hand, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “That makes you untouchable.”
She took a deep breath. That helped.
King Global Capital Tower loomed like a self-possessed, silver monolith.
Outside, there were no cameras. No frenzy. Gage had made sure of that. Just a line of black cars and a discreet perimeter of bodyguards scanning the pavement with serious, deadly ease.
Gage stepped out first and turned, offering his hand. “Ready?”
She wasn’t. Not at all.
But Bea nodded. “Ready.”
Inside, the Imperium event unfolded like a living magazine spread, all polish and perfect lighting.
Plush seating formed quiet pockets around the room, the whole space designed for whispered deals and casual dominance.
Bea adjusted the silver chain around her neck and tried not to think about her toes going numb.
Gage’s hand pressed at the small of her back, steering her through the arrivals. Names she half recognized from articles and whispered campus gossip. Titans of industry. Bankers. Venture capitalists.
“Smile,” Gage murmured near her ear. “You’re making them wonder.”
“That’s not a good thing,” she whispered back.
“You’re in that dress. On my arm,” he reminded her.
She couldn’t not smile. It helped that his thumb drew slow circles at her waist, grounding her in ways nothing else could.
“Come,” he said quietly. “Let’s get this part over with.”
Bea’s heart pounded in her throat as they crossed the room toward a couple under a chandelier.
The man was tall, with the kind of posture that looked like it had been forged from steel.
His hair was silver at the temples, immaculately groomed, and his features were sharply cut; cheekbones that mirrored Gage’s, eyes the same icy blue, but colder.
His expression looked hewn from stone. The woman beside him wore deep emerald satin, the fabric pooling around her like liquid wealth.
Her dark blond hair was pinned in an elegant chignon.
She was less rigid, but no less imposing, watching Bea with the interest of someone evaluating a potential acquisition.
“Mother. Father,” Gage introduced, voice cool, respectful, “this is Bea. Bea, my father Victor, and my mother Elena.”
Bea offered her hand. “Lovely to meet you both.”
Mr. King’s handshake was brief. “Canadian, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
Beside her, Gage stood still, his stance quiet but watchful. He was letting the moment unfold.
“St. Ives only accepts the best,” Mr. King said, as if reciting a quarterly report. “I hope they’re treating you well.”
“They are,” Bea said. “And even if they weren’t, I’m still glad to be here.”
Something passed through the man’s eyes—not quite approval, but in that vein. “What are you studying?”
“Economics and finance.”
“Ah.” He looked at her then, sharper. “And which do you believe holds more power?”
Bea’s mouth twitched. “I guess…the one your opponent underestimates.”
Gage’s thumb brushed against the inside of her wrist like a tick of approval.
His father gave a single nod. “Hmm.”
Mrs. King’s voice broke in, smooth as silk. “So, Bea, how are you finding the Republic?”
She turned slightly toward Elena. “I’m…adjusting,” she said. Her smile felt a little self-conscious. “There’s a clarity to things here. Everyone knows the rules. Even if they don’t say them out loud.”
Mrs. King smiled faintly, tilting her head. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.”
“I figured honesty wrapped in tact is a safe way forward.”
“Clever.” Mrs. King’s gaze drifted slowly over Bea’s dress. “And necessary.” Her tone softened. “You look lovely, dear.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You as well.”
“Gage, is the announcement proceeding?” His father asked.
Bea sensed Gage’s attention shift a second before he spoke. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Bea noted the formality, the way conversation ended the moment business was covered. No excess. No filler.
“Bea and I are going to mingle,” Gage announced, placing a hand to her back, his fingers barely pressing, but his meaning unambiguous.
His parents nodded.
“That is as charming as they get,” Gage murmured once they were out of earshot.
Bea exhaled slowly, allowing herself a small smile. She had survived Victor and Elena King. If she could handle that, the rest of the night should be manageable.
At the buffet, Gage handed her a delicate china plate. Without a word, he began selecting for her: sushi, duck, a careful arrangement of delicacies that appeared effortless but weren’t. Nothing heavy, nothing messy. Just exactly what she’d eat, what she’d manage in a dress like this.
“I don’t want you fainting on me, sweetheart,” he said, setting a pair of chopsticks neatly on the side.
Bea gave him a look.
Fainting? Unlikely. Drowning? Possible.
But she kept that to herself, and took the plate.
To her surprise, being on Gage’s arm meant intrigue with minimal interruption.
His presence alone commanded a kind of deference, like even their curiosity had boundaries.
When he introduced her as his girlfriend, the word landed like a small detonation.
The glances lingered, taking measure of her in a way that felt like silent appraisal.
Even so, the conversation stayed mostly focused—business, finance, the market.
Bea had little to contribute, but she listened, absorbing the rhythm of it, the way power passed like currency from one speaker to the next.
Then, a shift. It wasn’t obvious, not at first. Just a subtle ripple in the atmosphere, a current of awareness threading through the space. Bea felt it before she understood it. The way glances flicked in one direction. Even Gage’s posture readjusted. Barely, but enough.
She followed his gaze.
Across the room, a man stood in low conversation with a cluster of executives.
Tall, dark hair slicked back, his features aristocratic, a pair of black-rimmed glasses framing dark eyes.
He wasn’t the loudest in the group, but he didn’t need to be.
There was something in the way people moved around him. A careful orbit, a quiet deference.
“Who’s that?”
Gage lifted his glass, took a slow sip. Then, finally: “Cassian Montenegro.”
Bea frowned. The name meant nothing. But the way Gage said it did. “Should I know that name?”
Gage’s gaze lingered on Cassian for a moment longer before turning back to her. “Not yet.”
No elaboration. Just his thumb caressing the back of her hand. Reassurance. Or maybe a distraction.
Bea was just starting to relax when Victoria approached, all sharp angles and glossy blond hair.
“Mr. King,” she said, alert and professional. “Miss Cruz.”
Bea nodded in greeting, offering a smile.
Victoria leaned in to speak quietly to Gage, too low for Bea to hear. But whatever she said made his shoulders stiffen.
“Speaker issue,” he murmured to her. “I’ll be up front a bit.”
Bea balked. “You’re leaving me?”
“Ten minutes.” His thumb traced her knuckles. “Want me to find you a seat?”
She shook her head. “I can handle standing.”
Her toes screamed that she was lying.
Gage’s eyes flicked over her, assessing, like he didn’t quite believe her but was contemplating the time it would take to verify.
Victoria didn’t interrupt, but Bea could feel her tension.
Finally, Gage exhaled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I won’t be long.”
Then he was gone.
Bea straightened, resisting the urge to fidget. The room felt different without him beside her. More open. And suddenly she felt exposed. She scanned for a quiet corner.
“It’s so kind of Gage to bring you tonight.”
Bea whirled, keeping her expression smooth. “I’m sorry?”
Catherine Vale stood serenely, champagne in hand, her expression the perfect blend of idle curiosity and detached amusement.
Bea had felt this play before, knew its dance. Twice before, Catherine had tested the edges, leaving small puncture wounds where Bea wasn’t meant to notice them.
I love that St. Ives offers scholarships. It must be such an opportunity for students like you.
He likes his things refined. Predictable.
Her lips curved, gaze drifting over the room, pausing on Bea, then sweeping past her, like she barely registered. “It must be thrilling,” she said. “Getting to be part of this world, even for a little while.”
Bea didn’t tense. Not this time.
Be the queen. Protect the king.
Catherine took a slow sip of champagne, letting the silence go dark before landing a strike.
“You should enjoy it, Bea.” A pithy smile. “Before things fall into place.”
Her heartbeat kicked up, hot.
“That’s funny,” Bea intoned, her voice light. “I thought they already had.”
Catherine hummed, gaze frisking over her with something almost…delighted. “You’re sweet.” A taste of champagne. “I suppose that’s why he’s taking his time with you.”
“And what does that mean?”