The Devil’s Bride

Chapter 10: The Elite Gala

Moore’s POV

At exactly 6:30 PM, Suzie appeared in the doorway of the master bedroom.

“Mr. Vance wants you in his office at 7:00 PM. He explicitly ordered that you wear a black silk dress. And no underwear.”

My stomach dropped into a hollow pit, but I had no choice. I changed quickly into a silk black cocktail dress that barely reached mid-thigh, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable. The drive to the Vance Tower in the back of the town car was completely silent and heavy with tension.

When I stepped into his top-floor office, Ethan was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking like a king surveying his kingdom. The endless city lights glittered coldly behind his tailored silhouette.

He didn’t waste a single second on pleasantries.

He roughly bent me over his massive mahogany desk, shoved the short black dress up to my waist, and took me hard and fast from behind. There was no foreplay. There was absolutely no mercy. My cheek was pressed flat against the cool, polished wood as he pounded into me, one hand fisted tightly in my ponytail, the other gripping my hip hard enough to leave deep bruises.

“You’re still so f*****g tight,” he growled against my neck, his breath ragged. “Even after I've taken you this many times.”

I bit my lip until I tasted copper to keep from crying out. My body betrayed me yet again, slicking around his rough invasion despite the throbbing ache. He finished deep inside me quickly, then coldly ordered me to clean myself up in his private bathroom while he calmly adjusted his suit.

“Fix your appearance,” he commanded, not even looking at me as I walked out of the bathroom trembling. “We are attending an elite party with international dignitaries. They need to see a flawless asset on my arm, so try your absolute best not to embarrass me.”

By the time we arrived at the grand ballroom, the venue sparkled like a cage made entirely of diamonds.

Massive crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceilings, and women in haute couture gowns floated through the wealthy crowd. Everything was perfect, obscenely expensive, and entirely suffocating.

Ethan’s hand stayed firmly and possessively on my lower back as we moved through the sea of high-society guests. The dress he had chosen was so short it made me feel completely naked, and I could still feel the warmth of his recent claim slowly leaking down the inside of my thigh.

I can survive this night.

We hadn’t been standing near the lounge area long before the crowd parted. Liliana Williams approached us like a predator dressed in diamonds, her wealthy parents flanking her on either side. Her eyes dragged down my frame with pure contempt.

“Ethan, darling,” Liliana purred, completely ignoring my presence at first. “I desperately missed you after the party the other night.” Her gaze finally snapped to mine, her lips curling. “And this must be your… little charity case.”

Liliana's mother let out a soft, cruel laugh. “A ballet dancer, we heard? Really, Ethan? How quaint. Did your father buy her straight off the street to clean up your public image?”

Humiliation burned through my chest as several nearby elites turned their heads to watch the drama unfold. Liliana stepped closer, her voice dripping with pure venom.

“Sweetheart, you do realize you’re completely temporary, right? Ethan always returns to women who actually belong in this tier. Not street-level nobodies who smell like cheap supermarket lavender soap.”

A ripple of amused laughter echoed around us. My throat closed up tightly. I wanted the marble floor to open up and swallow me whole.

Ethan’s POV

My vision went completely dark with irritation.

These people weren't just mocking Moore; they were openly insulting my acquisition. They were laughing at a choice associated with the Vance name. They were questioning my very authority, implying that I had been forced to settle for a second-rate asset.

Liliana Williams honestly thought she could publicly embarrass me at an event like this.

I pulled Moore flush against my side, my fingers digging hard into her hip to anchor her against me.

“Careful, Liliana,” I said, my voice dropping into a dangerously low, calm tone. The entire circle of guests instantly went dead silent. “You are speaking directly to Mrs. Ethan Vance. Mind your tongue.”

Liliana faltered for a fraction of a second, her smile tightening. “Your wife? Please, Ethan. We all know this is just a pity arrangement to soften your reputation.”

I stepped forward, completely breaking her personal space and towering over her. My voice dropped to a lethal, quiet whisper that carried perfectly through the sudden silence of the ballroom.

“Liliana, you see, Moore might not be from our class of wealth, but I love her so much and she loves me too. That is all that matters, do you understand? And I don’t tolerate anyone talking down on my wife.”

The color completely drained from Liliana’s face. Her parents looked thoroughly surprised. Without uttering another syllable, they backed away into the crowd, completely humiliated.

To the outside world, I was a powerful billionaire defending his marriage. A fiercely protective, dominant husband. The kind of man every elite woman in this room should crave, the perfect man.

Moore’s POV

For one terrifying second, my heart skipped a beat.

The way Ethan had defended me—savage, powerful, and absolute—sent a sudden, dangerous wave of warmth flooding through my chest. He had chosen to completely humiliate the Williams family in front of high society just to protect me. He had used the word love.

Then, he silently pulled me onto the center of the dance floor. His powerful body pressed firmly against mine as the orchestra began to play a slow, sweeping waltz. One of his hands gripped my waist in a bruising hold, while his other hand trapped mine.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

“Don’t get a single romantic idea in your head, ballerina,” he whispered darkly, his tone dripping with pure ice. “I didn’t defend you because I care about your pathetic feelings. I defended my own image. The public needs to see a perfect, fiercely devoted husband, and no one gets to mock a choice associated with my name. You are still just my ten-million-dollar whore.”

The dangerous warmth in my chest died instantly, replaced by a crushing wave of disappointment.

He spun me effortlessly across the glittering floor, his hardened length pressing firmly against my stomach through the thin fabric of my dress. To the rest of the world, we looked like the ultimate power couple—flawless, deeply in love, and completely untouchable.

Only I knew the dark, empty truth.

I forced a perfect, beautiful smile through the agonizing emotional pain as his fingers dug deeper into my skin, repeating my broken mantra over and over in my head. But with every single step on that glittering dance floor, I could feel myself slipping further into his inescapable darkness.