The rain continued drenching Manhattan in silver as black luxury cars lined up outside the Plaza Hotel.
Camera flashes exploded nonstop.
Politicians.
Billionaires.
Old-money dynasties.
Influencers hanging onto men three times their age.
The entrance looked less like a gala and more like a gathering of beautifully dressed predators.
Inside the ballroom, crystal chandeliers drowned the crowd in gold light.
Champagne flowed endlessly while a string quartet played music nobody truly listened to.
Victor Hale stood near the center of the ballroom, surrounded by executives and reporters, enjoying the attention like a king celebrating his own victory.
Meanwhile, Erick entered through the restricted service corridor.
Several women glanced twice.
A few executives frowned, trying to remember where they had seen him before.
Dominique spotted him first.
Her champagne glass froze halfway to her lips.
For a brief second, genuine shock crossed her face.
Erick almost enjoyed it.
He stood near the ballroom entrance in a perfectly tailored black suit, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.
No nervousness.
No trace of the obedient Laurent, son-in-law, whom they were used to bullying.
Tonight, he looked like he belonged there more than half the men in the room.
Unfortunately for Dominique, her grandmother noticed too.
Claire Laurent slowly turned from her conversation with several wealthy socialites.
The old woman’s sharp eyes landed on Erick immediately.
Then she frowned.
“Why are you standing there like a stray dog?” Claire snapped loudly enough for nearby guests to hear.
“Come here.”
Several heads turned.
Dominique stiffened beside her grandmother.
Erick walked toward them calmly while whispers spread through the surrounding tables.
“That’s Dominique’s husband?”
“I thought she married some useless nobody.”
“He cleans up surprisingly well.”
Dominique’s jaw tightened.
Standing beside Claire were several elite women from old-money families.
Diamonds glittered across their wrists and throats like battle medals.
Claire looked Erick up and down critically.
“At least tonight you remembered how to dress,” she said coldly.
One of the older women laughed softly.
“So this is the mysterious husband?”
Another added, “We almost thought Dominique invented him.”
The women chuckled politely.
Dominique forced a smile, though her eyes warned Erick not to start anything.
Claire tapped her cane once against the marble floor.
“You embarrassed this family enough already,” she said quietly.
“Smile.
Speak less.
And for once in your life, try not to create another scandal.”
Erick met her gaze evenly.
“Will your family stop trying to drug me for one evening?”
Dominique nearly dropped her glass.
One of the socialites blinked awkwardly.
Claire’s eyes narrowed instantly.
“You’re speaking nonsense.”
“Am I?”
Dominique stepped closer fast.
“Erick.”
He ignored her.
“The Pierre was an interesting invitation,” Erick continued casually.
“Martin certainly put effort into it.”
Claire slowly turned toward Dominique.
That tiny movement alone carried terrifying pressure.
“You sent him there?”
Dominique hesitated for half a second.
Big mistake.
Claire’s expression hardened immediately.
“I only wanted to scare him a little,” Dominique said defensively under her breath.
“Martin handled it.”
“And Martin handled it badly,” Erick added.
Claire’s grip tightened around her cane.
The old woman might hate Erick, but she hated incompetence even more.
Around them, the wealthy guests pretended not to listen while listening to absolutely everything.
One of the women cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Well… despite everything, the two of you do make a striking couple.”
That line almost made Erick laugh because nobody in this room knew the truth.
Claire suddenly spoke again.
“You’ve been married five years,” she said sharply.
“Yet somehow you still behave like enemies.”
Dominique looked away first.
Claire noticed it too.
The old woman’s eyes moved slowly between them.
“You will stand beside Dominique tonight,” Claire ordered Erick.
“The media already suspects problems in this family.
I will not allow divorce rumors during this gala.”
Dominique’s expression darkened instantly.
Erick almost smiled.
So even now, the Laurents still needed him; appearances mattered more than truth.
Always.
Michel suddenly walked onto the main stage across the hall, champagne glass in one hand and microphone in the other.
The giant LED screen behind him flickered to life.
Dominique’s expression changed instantly.
“Oh no,” she muttered.
Michel gave the crowd a drunken smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen… before tonight’s main event, I think we should address a small family matter first.”
Polite laughter rippled through the guests.
Erick already knew where this was going.
The screen behind Michel suddenly showed security footage from the Pierre Hotel.
A woman in a silver dress ran, terrified from Room 401.
Then another clip: Erick entering the same suite hours earlier.
The hall buzzed with whispers:
“Wasn’t that Dominique’s husband?”
“Did he assault someone?”
Michel raised the mic dramatically.
“It seems our dear Erick Laurent has been busy tonight.”
Dominique closed her eyes briefly, as if wishing the marble would swallow her whole.
Nearby, Martin pretended to look concerned while barely hiding his satisfaction.
Michel continued loudly, relishing the attention.
“A woman was found hysterical after Erick forced his way into a hotel room.
Hotel security has reviewed the situation.”
Shocked murmurs spread through the crowd.
Several reporters immediately raised their phones.
Just as Martin wanted: public humiliation and character assassination before tonight’s business announcement.
Michel smirked at the crowd.
“We’ve all defended Erick for years.
Tonight, unfortunately, the evidence speaks for itself.”
The ballroom fell silent.
Every eye turned to Erick.
Dominique looked tense now, no longer smug.
She looked like Michel’s game had slapped her.
Erick slowly took a champagne glass from a passing tray and walked toward the stage.
The crowd instinctively parted.
Even the reporters quieted down.
Michel grinned confidently as Erick climbed the stage steps.
“There he is!” he announced mockingly.
“Let’s hear this year’s excuse.”
Erick stood beside him, sipping champagne calmly.
His gaze swept across the ballroom—filled with billionaires, politicians, executives, and parasites pretending to be civilized.
Finally, he gave a small, cold smile.
“You’re right,” Erick said quietly into the mic.
Michel’s grin widened.
“Someone should be arrested tonight,” Erick continued.
The ballroom froze.
Michel blinked.
Erick turned slightly toward him.
“For attempted drugging, illegal surveillance, conspiracy, blackmail, and evidence tampering.”
Michel’s smirk vanished.
Martin went pale near the front row.
Dominique stared at Erick in disbelief.
Erick’s gaze moved slowly across the room until it landed on Victor Hale.
Victor’s champagne glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
His face drained of all color as he stared at Erick like he’d seen a ghost.
For several long seconds, the only sound was the string quartet still playing in the background.
Then Victor’s legs gave out.
Victor’s champagne glass slipped from his fingers and shattered against the marble floor.
He staggered backward slightly, staring at Erick with exposed disbelief.
“No…” he whispered.
Around him, executives looked confused.
Victor pointed at the stage with a trembling hand.
“Quade…”