Chapter 16 — The Revelation #3
Ethan was a master. He navigated the room like a shark through a coral reef. He knew everyone's name, knew everyone's secrets, knew where to press and where to pull back. And all the while, he kept Maya anchored to his side.
He didn't let her speak much, but he didn't ignore her either. He included her with glances, with touches. If someone spoke to her, he responded, or gave her the space to smile and agree.
Maya drank a glass of champagne. Then another.
The alcohol softened the edges of her fear. Her anxiety transformed into a buoyant boldness. She began to notice the looks from the other women.
It wasn't just curiosity. It was envy.
Women who were richer than she'd ever dreamed of being, women with famous surnames and flawless plastic surgery, looked at her with pure green hatred.
They looked at the way Ethan held her. Looked at the choker.
They knew what it meant. Ethan Vance, Vegas's most unattainable bachelor, the man who never brought anyone, had brought her.
Maya felt a wave of power rush to her head, more intoxicating than the Dom Pérignon.
She wasn't the victim here. She was the envied one.
She was the chosen one.
She saw herself in a giant wall mirror. The green dress sculpted her body, transforming her into a living statue. The diamond blazed at her throat. And beside her, the most powerful man in the room looked at her with a possessiveness that burned anyone who came near.
She straightened her shoulders even more. She took another sip of champagne.
They stopped near one of the open balconies. A waiter passed with canapés. Maya declined. She was full of adrenaline and bubbles.
“You're doing well,” Ethan murmured, leaning close to her ear. “Very well.”
“They're afraid of you,” Maya observed, watching a group of bankers scatter when Ethan looked their way.
“They have respect,” Ethan corrected. “Fear is just a byproduct of respect when you have the power to ruin them.”
“And me?” she asked, emboldened by the champagne. “Are they afraid of me?”
Ethan looked at her. His eyes swept over her face, her neck, her décolletage.
“They’re not afraid of you, Maya. They’re afraid of what I’d do if they looked at you too long. You’re the nuclear warhead I brought to the party. Beautiful, brilliant, and capable of starting a war.”
The metaphor made her smile. A real smile—dangerous.
Just then, a man approached. He was different from the others. Older, wearing an old-fashioned white tuxedo. Gray hair, sun-weathered skin, eyes black and hard as flint.
Moretti. The host. The rival.
“Vance,” Moretti said. His voice was hoarse, like gravel grinding in a blender. He didn’t smile.
“Moretti,” Ethan replied. The temperature around them dropped ten degrees. Ethan’s hand on Maya’s back tightened—not in comfort, but in warning.
“You have the nerve to come to my house,” Moretti said. “After what you did with the Syndicate contract.”
“Business is business, Giovanni. Best offer wins. You know that better than anyone.”
Moretti’s eyes shifted to Maya. He didn’t look at her with lust, like the Senator. He looked at her with cold calculation. He saw the collar. He understood the dynamic instantly.
“I see you brought your new... pet,” Moretti said with a sneer.
Maya felt the insult like a slap. She waited for Ethan to react. Waited for the violence.
But Ethan only laughed. A soft, relaxed laugh.
“Careful, Giovanni. She bites. And her teeth are more expensive than this entire casino.”
Moretti frowned, his insult elegantly deflected.
“We need to talk,” Moretti said, abruptly serious. “In private. About the North Zone.”
Ethan hesitated. Maya felt the hesitation in his body. He didn’t want to leave her.
He scanned the ballroom. It was crowded, noisy, safe in its very publicness.
He looked at Maya.
“Stay here,” he said.
The command was low but firm.
“What?” Maya asked, panic piercing the champagne bubble.
“I need to deal with this. Five minutes. Stay right here, near the column. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t accept drinks from anyone. If anyone bothers you, raise your hand and security will come.”
“Ethan, don’t...”
“Five minutes, Maya. You’re the queen, remember? Act like one.”
He released her waist.
The loss of contact hit her physically. Maya suddenly felt cold, exposed. The anchor had been lifted.
Ethan followed Moretti to a side door, disappearing into the crowd.
Maya was alone.
She was leaning against a marble column, holding an empty champagne flute, dressed like a million-dollar fantasy.
And the ballroom noticed.
Like predators smelling blood in the water, eyes turned to her again. But this time, there was no fear of Ethan to block them.
The shield had disappeared.
A group of young men, rich and drunk, who had been watching from afar, began moving toward her. One of them whispered something to another and laughed.
Maya clutched the crystal purse. The power she’d felt seconds ago evaporated, leaving behind the bare truth: she was an intruder in a shark tank, and the only shark protecting her had just swum away.
She raised her chin, trying to maintain the mask, but inside, the girl from Ohio was screaming.