EMPIRE OF HEARTS

Chapter 3: The Golden Gala

The Metropolitan Museum of Art was transformed into a cathedral of excess. Gold leaf covered the tables, and the air was thick with the scent of five-hundred-dollar lilies and the desperate ambition of New York’s elite.

Clara stepped out of the black town car, and the camera flashes hit her like a physical blow. She didn't flinch. She smiled, the practiced curve of her lips appearing effortless. She climbed the stairs, her gold gown shimmering with every step, making her look like a statue come to life.

Inside, the whispers followed her like a wake.

Is that Clara Sterling?

I heard they’re bankrupt.

Look at her. She doesn't look like she’s losing a penny.

She ignored them, her eyes scanning the room for the predator in the charcoal suit. She found him standing near the Egyptian wing, surrounded by a circle of men who looked like they were trying to gain warmth from his icy aura.

Elias Thorne saw her the moment she entered. He didn't wave or beckon. He simply watched her navigate the room, his gaze heavy and possessive. When she finally reached him, the men around him fell silent, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

Miss Sterling, Elias said, stepping forward. He took her hand, and instead of a polite shake, he pressed his lips to her knuckles. His eyes never left hers. You look... expensive.

A compliment, coming from you, Clara replied, her voice steady. I assume you have the paperwork nearby?

Business at a ball, Clara? How gauche, he murmured, though he led her away from the crowd toward a quieter alcove near the Temple of Dendur.

The ancient stone was bathed in amber light, the water in the reflecting pool still and dark.

I’ve considered your offer, Clara said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

And?

One year. No physical contact beyond what is necessary for public appearance. The Sterling Group remains autonomous under my father’s nominal leadership. You provide the liquidity to clear the immediate debt by Monday morning.

Elias turned to face her, his hands in his pockets. I’ll agree to the autonomy, provided I have a seat on the board and veto power over any expenditure over a million. As for the physical contact, He stepped into her space, forcing her to look up at him. We have to be convincing, Clara. People aren't stupid. They know your family is in trouble. If we don't look like we’re obsessed with each other, the SEC will be at my door before the honeymoon is over.

There is no honeymoon, she snapped.

There is a trip to the Maldives, he countered. The press will be there. You will look at me with stars in your eyes, and I will look at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth owning.

The way he said owning sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

Why me, Elias? she asked, her guard slipping for a fraction of a second. You could have any woman. You could have seized the land eventually.

Elias reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her skin, warm and calloused.

Because, Clara, he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate level. The Sterlings have spent a century looking down on people like me. I don't just want your land. I want to see what happens when the most untouchable woman in the city finally belongs to the man who was never supposed to have her.

He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and flicked it open. Inside sat a yellow diamond the size of a postage stamp, surrounded by white baguettes. It was a trophy.

Put it on, he commanded. The photographers are coming this way.

Clara looked at the ring, then at him. This was the moment of no return. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly, and took the ring. She slid it onto her left hand. It felt heavy—a golden shackle.

Elias immediately pulled her against him, his arm sliding around her waist with a firm, unyielding grip. As the first flashbulbs went off, he leaned down and whispered into her ear.

Smile, Clara. You’re about to become the most envied woman in New York.