Ruby’s POV
The penthouse was dead silent when the Rolls-Royce dropped me off past midnight.
I didn't bother turning on the main chandeliers. I walked through the cavernous, darkened living room, letting the heavy, emerald velvet train of my gown sweep over the cold Calacatta marble floor. I was exhausted, but it was a dizzying, triumphant kind of exhaustion. The gala had been an absolute masterpiece. Even without Alexander by my side, I had commanded that ballroom.
I kicked off my Chanel heels, poured myself a generous glass of red wine from the crystal decanter, and collapsed onto the massive velvet sofa. I pulled down the structural zipper of my dress, letting the rich fabric fall loosely around my waist so I could breathe. I turned on the massive television screen, picking a rand
