Chapter 4 - The Tables Turn in Real Time
“Mr. Lancaster! Miss Bennett! Good evening!”
The event coordinator, a frantically sweating man in a custom tuxedo named Harrison, practically sprinted across the marble floor, intercepting them before they could take three steps into the ballroom.
“We weren't sure you’d make it, Gabriel—sir! And Ms. Marin... an absolute honor. Your firm’s anonymous endowment to the pediatric wing saved our entire fiscal quarter.”
“Thank you, Harrison,” Gabriel said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hushed room. “We wanted to ensure we arrived in time to support the foundation. Especially since the causes we back are built on integrity rather than hollow spectacle.”
The dig was subtle, but to anyone familiar with Manhattan high society, it landed like a hammer blow.
Dozens of heads turned toward Julian, who was still standing paralyzed beside Dalia.
Julian’s PR instincts finally kicked in, dragging him out of his shock. He forced his legs to move, marching across the ballroom floor with a desperate, rigid stride, cutting straight through the crowd that had instinctively parted around Khloe and Gabriel.
“Khloe,” Julian said, his voice tight, strained, vibrating with a toxic mix of disbelief, humiliation, and possessive fury. “What is the meaning of this?”
Khloe didn't blink. She stopped walking, turning her head slowly to look at him as if he were a minor, mildly irritating insect buzzing near her ear.
“Good evening, Julian,” she said, her tone dripping with polite indifference. “You look well. Expensive suits really do wonders for hiding panic.”
Dalia hurried up behind Julian, her silver gown rustling aggressively. She glared at Khloe with all the venom of a twenty-six-year-old whose insecurity was suddenly laid bare under stadium lights.
“Are you lost?” Dalia snapped, her voice carrying across the quiet room. “This is a private gala for high-society donors, not a maternity ward tour. And who do you think you are, showing up here trying to steal the spotlight from—”
“Dalia,” Gabriel interrupted, his voice dropping into that chilling, authoritative register that made Wall Street CEOs fold during hostile takeovers.
Gabriel stepped half an inch closer, towering over Julian and looking down at Dalia with undisguised contempt.
“You might want to check the sponsorship plaque by the main entrance before you speak to my strategic partner that way,” Gabriel said calmly. “Ascend Capital doesn't just fund this foundation. We fund the pageant that gave you your little crown. And if I feel like pulling our capital tomorrow morning, you won't even be able to get a booking at a regional car dealership.”
Dalia’s face drained of every drop of color. She looked from Gabriel to Julian, her chest heaving. “Julian... make him stop talking to me like that. Tell him who you are!”
Julian couldn't.
Because Julian was staring at Khloe’s hand resting on her stomach, the mathematical reality finally crashing through his arrogant delusions.
“You’re pregnant,” Julian whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
“Observation skills, Julian,” Khloe replied coolly. “Impressive. Though biology was never your strongest subject, was it?”
“Whose is it?” Julian hissed, forgetting for a split second that three hundred people were watching every twitch of his facial muscles. “Who did this?”
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Before Khloe could speak, Gabriel stepped forward, placing his arm securely around her waist, pulling her close in a gesture that declared ownership far more effectively than any marriage certificate ever could.
“Mine, Julian,” Gabriel said clearly, letting his gray eyes lock onto Julian’s dilated pupils. “Every single bit of it. Now, if you and your little accessory will excuse us, Ms. Marin and I have a foundation board meeting to attend. And you’re standing in our light.”
