“You cancel the bet. Publicly. And if anyone treats me like I’m less than human…”
“I handle it,” he finished. “Immediately.”
She nodded once. “Fine.”
Then she turned the faucet back on, as if she hadn’t just agreed to walk into a lion’s den.
The night of the gala arrived at the Harrington Museum, marble floors gleaming under gold chandeliers.
Sebastian arrived alone.
Nathaniel found him instantly.
“So,” Nathaniel smirked, adjusting his cufflinks, “where’s your experiment?”
“She’ll be here,” Sebastian replied.
Nathaniel laughed. “You actually did it. God, you’re going to regret this.”
The doors opened.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the sound shifted.
Not silence. But the pulling back of it.
Heads turned.
Conversations fractured.
Elena stepped inside.
Not flashy. Not desperate. A deep midnight gown cut with quiet precision. No borrowed diamonds. Just a single antique pendant resting at her collarbone.
She paused—just long enough for the room to look at her.
Then she walked.
Not hesitant. Not apologetic.
Certain.
Sebastian felt something tighten in his chest.
Nathaniel’s grin faltered. “Well,” he muttered. “She cleans up.”
Elena reached Sebastian and extended her arm first.
“Good evening,” she said calmly.