15. Scarlett
15
SCARLETT
The room buzzed with anticipation. Chandeliers cast a golden glow over the lavish ballroom, the air thick with the scent of champagne and money.
This was the kind of event where reputations were made—or ruined. Tonight, Christian and I were making damn sure it would be Victoria’s turn to fall.
I took a slow, steadying breath, smoothing my hand over the sleek black gown I wore.
On the surface, I looked every bit the composed, successful chef, mingling with some of the city’s most powerful elites. But underneath, tension coiled tight in my stomach.
Beside me, Christian stood tall, exuding effortless confidence in a tailored suit. He reached for my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before murmuring, “You ready?”
I nodded, forcing a small smile. “More than ready.”
Victoria was here somewhere. The woman who had spent months sabotaging me, who had tried to destroy everything I’d worked for, everything I cared about—including Christian.
Not tonight.
Tonight, we turned the tables.
Christian’s investigator had uncovered everything—Victoria’s bribes, her anonymous tips to health inspectors, and most importantly, her latest scheme.
She was planning to plant fake evidence of unsanitary conditions tied to my restaurant in order to discredit me in front of future investors.
Only, she had no idea we were waiting for her to make a move.
We had tipped off a few trusted reporters, ensuring that when Victoria tried to execute her plan, the media would be watching.
Christian leaned in again, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “She’s here.”
I stiffened slightly but nodded. “Where?”
He tilted his head toward the catering station at the far end of the room. Victoria stood near the servers, speaking to a man in a dark suit.
A man I recognized—the food inspector who had given me hell during my last surprise visit. Reynolds.
A surge of anger pulsed through me. I turned to Christian. “She’s making her move.”
Christian’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Then let’s make ours.”
We mingled and spoke to other guests a little longer.
Then after some time, I excused myself from the small circle of guests I’d been speaking with, moving toward the catering station as if I were merely checking on the evening’s menu.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Victoria discreetly hand off a small, unlabeled container to the inspector.
My heart pounded. Got you.
I stepped forward just as the man was about to disappear into the kitchen. “Excuse me.”
Both Victoria and the inspector turned, surprise flashing across their faces.
“Scarlett,” Victoria said smoothly, recovering quickly. “Lovely event. I was just telling Mr. Reynolds here how much I admire your work.”
I smiled, but there was no warmth behind it.
“How kind of you.” Then I glanced at the container in Reynolds’ hands. “What’s that?”
Langston hesitated, but Victoria—always quick on her feet—tilted her head innocently.
“Oh, just a small sample I wanted him to try. I’d hate for an unfortunate oversight to affect the reputation of your lovely restaurant,” Victoria said quickly.
I narrowed my eyes. “A sample of what, exactly?”
Before she could answer, Christian appeared at my side, his presence as commanding as ever.
“That’s a great question,” he said, his voice deceptively casual. “And one I’m sure the press would love to hear the answer to.”
Victoria’s mask slipped, her eyes flicking to the journalists scattered around the room.
One of them, a sharp-looking woman from Food Weekly , had her camera pointed directly at us.
Reynolds swallowed hard. “I?—”
“I’d be careful with what you say next,” Christian cut in smoothly. “Wouldn’t want to incriminate yourself.”
Panic flickered across Victoria’s face. “This is absurd,” she snapped. “Are we really making a scene over a harmless sample?”
I held out my hand. “Then you won’t mind if I take a look.”
She hesitated, but under the weight of Christian’s glare and the press’s growing attention, she had no choice.
She passed me the container.
I flipped the lid open, my stomach churning at the sight of what was inside. Mold. Rotten food. An obvious setup meant to make it look like it had come from my kitchen.
I lifted my gaze, letting the weight of my fury show.
“You really thought this would work?” I demanded.
Victoria’s lips parted, but before she could say a word, Christian turned to the nearest reporter. “I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?” Christian asked.
The reporter stepped forward, her camera flashing. “Miss Snow, do you have a comment on this?”
Victoria’s face paled. “I—I had no idea?—”
Christian chuckled darkly. “That’s interesting, considering we have evidence linking you to multiple attempts to sabotage Amélie. Would you like to explain those, too?”
She was trapped. There was no smooth way out of this one.
And she knew it.
Victoria turned on her heel and stormed toward the exit, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floor.
Cameras followed her, reporters whispering amongst themselves. The damage was done.
She had lost.
I exhaled slowly, my hands still clenched into fists.
Christian turned to me, his expression softer now. “It’s over.”
I nodded, and the tension in my chest finally eased. Victoria was humiliated, her reputation in shambles.
“Thank you,” I told Christian.
His hand came to rest on the small of my back. “You don’t have to thank me. We did this together.”
I let out a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah, we did.”
But as I looked out across the ballroom, watching the way people whispered, some glancing at me with a mixture of admiration and wariness, a new fear crept in.
Had I won this battle only to lose something bigger?
Would Amélie recover from all of this?
I glanced at Christian, his steady presence grounding me. He squeezed my waist gently, as if sensing my turmoil.
“It’ll all work out,” he murmured. “I promise.”
The sun was barely up when my phone started buzzing.
At first, I ignored it, savoring the warmth of the sheets wrapped around me, the quiet hum of Christian’s steady breathing beside me.
After everything we’d been through, waking up in his arms felt like a small victory—one I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
But my phone wouldn’t stop.
With a groan, I reached for it, blinking at the screen.
12 missed calls. Text after text flooded my notifications.
My stomach clenched. Had something else happened? Had Victoria found a way to strike back already?
Heart pounding, I sat up, scrolling through the messages.
And then I saw it.
brEAKING NEWS: Business Mogul Christian Valen Stands By Girlfriend Scarlett Lane—Rival Victoria Snow Caught in Career-Ending Scandal.
Another headline:
Scarlett Lane Vindicated—Amélie’s Success Stands Strong Despite Attempted Sabotage.
One after another, articles and posts flooded my screen. Social media was ablaze with my name—and for once, it wasn’t attached to whispers of scandal or failure.
People believed in me again.
I exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to my chest as relief flooded me.
“Scarlett?”
Christian’s deep, sleep-rough voice pulled me from my thoughts. I turned to find him watching me, his dark eyes laced with concern.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his fingers brushing against my thigh.
I looked at him, my heart swelling. This man—he had stood by me through everything. Even when I pushed him away, even when I let my fears cloud my judgment, he never wavered.
Instead of answering, I leaned down, pressing my lips against his in a slow, grateful kiss.
He smiled against my mouth before pulling back slightly. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”
I held up my phone so he could see the headlines. “We did it,” I whispered. “It’s finally over.”
Christian sat up, taking the phone from my hand and scrolling through the articles. His expression remained unreadable for a moment, then he smirked. “Took them long enough.”
I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. “I still can’t believe it.”
He cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. “Believe it, baby. You won. Victoria’s finished. Amélie’s reputation is stronger than ever.”
I swallowed hard, emotions swelling inside me. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Christian’s gaze darkened with something deeper, more intense. “You could have,” he murmured. “But I wasn’t about to let you.”
My throat tightened.
He always said things like that—effortless declarations of loyalty, of love. He never asked for anything in return.
And I knew, now more than ever, that I didn’t want to face anything without him by my side.
I curled into him, letting my head rest against his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. His heartbeat was steady, strong. A silent promise.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt safe.
Later that day, Christian and I arrived at Amélie together.
I should have expected the swarm of reporters waiting outside, but the sheer size of the crowd still caught me off guard.
Cameras flashed, microphones were shoved in my direction, voices overlapping as questions were thrown my way.
“Scarlett, how do you feel about Victoria’s downfall?”
“What does this mean for Amélie’s future?”
“Mr. Valen, is it true you threatened legal action on Scarlett’s behalf?”
Christian tightened his grip on my waist, a silent reminder that he was right there with me. I took a steady breath, then stepped forward.
“I won’t lie—these past few months have been some of the hardest of my life,” I began, my voice steady despite the nerves coursing through me. “But the truth alway s comes to light. Amélie was built on passion, dedication, and love for this industry. No amount of sabotage or lies could ever change that.”
A few reporters scribbled notes. Some nodded in approval.
I glanced up at Christian, and he gave me the smallest, encouraging nod.
I turned back to the cameras. “And I’d be lying if I said I did this alone. I owe so much to the people who stood by me—my staff, my friends, and most of all…” I looked at Christian again, my voice softening. “To the man who never once let me fall.”
There was a ripple of murmurs, camera flashes intensifying.
Christian smirked, but there was something proud in his eyes as he pulled me closer, speaking for the first time.
“Scarlett Lane is a force to be reckoned with,” he said smoothly. “I never doubted for a second that she’d come out on top.”
The reporters ate it up.
That night, Christian and I returned to his penthouse.
The adrenaline of the day had worn off, leaving exhaustion in its place. But more than that, there was something else—something lingering in the way Christian kept watching me.
I curled up on the couch with a glass of water, stretching my sore legs. “You’ve been quiet,” I noted.
Christian smirked. “Thinking.”
I arched a brow. “Dangerous.”
That earned me a chuckle, but then his expression shifted into something more serious. “You trust me, right?”
I frowned slightly. “Of course.”
He exhaled slowly, then reached for my hand. “Then trust me when I say I have something planned. A surprise.”
I narrowed my eyes playfully. “Christian, if this is some kind of business deal, I swear?—”
His laughter rumbled through him, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. “It’s not business,” he promised. “It’s personal.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
Something about the way he said it, the way his thumb traced slow circles against my palm, sent my heart racing.
I swallowed hard. “You know I hate surprises.”
“I know,” he murmured, lifting my hand to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss to my knuckles. “But you’re going to love this one.”
I stared at him, trying to read between the lines.
Was this about the baby? About our future?
Hope fluttered in my chest, unsteady but real.
For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel terrifying.
It felt full—of possibilities, of us.
And whatever Christian had planned…I was ready.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I told him.