Chapter 5: The Gala
1096 Words
The Thorne Foundation Gala was the kind of event where fortunes changed with a handshake, and reputations shattered with a whisper.
Held in the glass-domed Solaris Hotel, the venue shimmered with chandeliers and a sea of high society.
Reporters lingered outside, cameras flashing as black cars rolled up the velvet-lined entrance.
Inside one of them sat Jasmine, her nerves knotted like rope.
"Relax," Marcus murmured, fastening the diamond bracelet around her wrist like it meant nothing.
"You look like money and mystery. That's exactly the point."
The red gown she wore shimmered beneath the lights, its plunging back and low neckline clashing with her inner conflict- half-exposed, half-armored.
Her hair had been swept into a sleek up do, her eyes lined in smoky defiance.
She didn't belong in this world of careful smiles and whispered power.
As they exited the car, flashes exploded.
Marcus was standing tall beside her, looking strong in his black tuxedo, offering his hand with effortless poise.
She took it.
"Mr Thorne! Over here!"
"Is this your wife?"
Marcus slipped an arm around her waist. "Smile,"
he whispered.
She did.
Inside the ballroom, the buzz softened into murmurs as they entered. Jasmine felt it instantly, the weight of a hundred eyes clocking her every move.
Marcus leaned in close. "Breathe. Walk like you own the room. Because tonight, you do."
He didn't smile. But he didn't have to. That quiet, searing confidence of his was contagious, and she clung to it as they moved up the steps of the grand hall.
Inside, the gala glittered. Crystals hung from vaulted ceilings.
Waiters floated between billionaires and political royalty. A jazz quartet played beneath golden arches.
Jasmine felt like an impostor in a fantasy-beautiful, polished, and entirely fake.
"Marcus," a man with a senator's smile and a Wall Street glare approached. "And this must be the new Mrs. Thorne."
"Jasmine," Marcus said with quiet authority.
Meet Richard Callahan. Head of the Board."
Callahan eyed her with polite skepticism, the way one might evaluate a painting they weren't sure was authentic.
"Pleasure," Jasmine said, forcing a calm smile.
"Beautiful," he said, with an undercurrent she didn't like.
"Very charming. "Marcus always did have a knack for finding rare pieces."
Margs didn't respond. He just moved Jasmine away with a slight squeeze of her hand.
"I'm not a painting," she muttered under her breath once they were out of earshot.
"No," Marcus said. "You're fire. Don't forget that."
But as they mingled, she could feel it.
The whispered speculations. The Judgement.
"Is she the new Mrs Thorne."
No one knew who she really was, and that made her dangerous in this world of curated images.
Marcus stepped onto the stage. "Tonight," he said, "is not just a celebration of success, it's about reinvention." About who we become when we're forced to rebuild. Some of us rise stronger."
His eyes found Jasmine in the crowd. She froze.
Then someone shouted from the back.
"She's a fraud!"
Gasps rippled through the room. Jasmine's blood turned to ice.
The music faltered. People turned.
Jasmine's stomach dropped.
Nina.
Looking lethal in a blood-red dress which revealed a baby bump, Nina glided across the ballroom floor like she owned it. Her eyes sparkled with venom, lips curved in a knowing smirk.
"Well, well. If it isn't Jasmine Mendoza. You've certainly moved up," Nina said, loud enough for the crowd to hear.
"From co-owning a failed wellness brand to sleeping your way into Thorne Global. Bravo."
Gasps followed. Murmurs surged through the room like a current.
Marcus's entire body stilled.
"I'm sorry," Jasmine said tightly. "Do you usually crash parties you weren't invited to?"
Nina laughed, cruel and cold. "I figured the new Mrs. Thorne wouldn't mind. After all, she's no stranger to deception."
She reached into her clutch and pulled out something Jasmine instantly recognized, an old legal document.
The one Jasmine thought she had burned months ago.
The one that could be twisted to make her look complicit in Peter and Leo's shell companies.
"Signed by you, isn't it?" Nina waved it like a flag.
"You knew what was going on. Or did you think no one would ever find out?"
"Jasmine," Marcus said, voice low, steady.
"Do you want me to handle this?"
She turned to him, eyes wide.
"Yes,"
Marcus stepped forward, the crowd parting as if sensing what was coming. The room fell into a tense hush.
He looked at Nina the way one might examine dirt on their shoes.
"Miss Ray," he said coolly. "If I recall correctly, you're currently under investigation for insider trading and are out on bail."
"That's unrelated," she snapped.
"No," he said, his voice slicing through the silence, "It's entirely related. Because anyone who accepts documentation from you is likely receiving stolen or fabricated material. But let's entertain your claim."
He turned to the nearest security team with a subtle nod.
Two men in black suits moved closer.
"This document," Marcus continued, taking it from Nina's hand and inspecting it, "is from over a year ago. The date on the digital file was altered. You used metadata to shift it back."
Nina's expression faltered.
Marcus turned to the crowd. "This is a forgery, and a desperate attempt to discredit my wife…which will now result in formal charges, including defamation."
Nina stepped back. "You can't prove it......”
"I don't need to," Marcus cuts in. "My legal team already did."
The two security officers stepped forward.
"Miss Ray, we're going to need you to come with us."
As they led her away, Nina hissed under her breath to Jasmine, "You think he's saving you?
Wait until you find out what he is hiding."
But Jasmine didn't flinch.
Not until the music resumed.
Not until the crowd, now applauding Marcus for his poised takedown, melted back into shallow conversations.
Not until she was in his arms for the opening dance.
He looked down at her.
"You okay?"
She nodded, though her chest was tight. "Thanks for doing that."
"You're mine now. And no one touches what is mine."
The way he said it sent a chill down her spine, not possessive, but protective.
Still, her mind was reeling from Nina's final words.
"What is it she thinks you're hiding?" Jasmine asked carefully.
Marcus's jaw ticked, but his expression remained unreadable.
"She lies to destroy things. Don't let her get in your head."
But she already had.
Why was everyone referring to her as "the new Mrs Thorne."
As they danced, Jasmine forced a smile for the cameras.
And behind it a thousand questions.
- Writer
