—Good. And the car?
—The Rolls-Royce prototype is refueled and waiting in the hangar. The driver is waiting.
-Excellent.
Elara reached her bedroom. She looked at the photograph on the nightstand, a picture of her and Julian from five years ago. Back then, he gazed at her with adoration; now he looked at her without seeing her.
He had fallen in love with money and fame, forgetting who had given him the map to find them.
—Sebastian —he said into the phone.
—Yes, madam.
—Change my designation on the guest list. I’m not going as Julian Thorn’s wife.
—How do I add you to the list?
Elara stepped into her enormous walk-in closet. She moved aside the row of modest floral dresses that Julian liked her to wear. She pressed a hidden panel in the wall. The back of the closet opened, revealing a climate-controlled room filled with haute couture, diamond sets worth millions, and deeds to properties Julian didn’t even know existed.
“Include me as President,” Elara whispered with a dangerous smile. “It’s time Julian met his boss.”
The Vanguard Gala was held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The staircase was covered with a crimson carpet flanked by velvet ropes and hundreds of screaming paparazzi. Flashes exploded like lightning storms as limousines dropped off the world’s wealthiest people.
Julian Thorn stepped out of a black Mercedes Mayback. He looked impeccable in a Tom Ford tuxedo, but the cameras didn’t immediately focus on him. They went to the woman accompanying him.
Isabella Ricci wore a barely-there dress, a shimmering silver gown with a thigh-high slit and a dangerously low neckline. She looked like a movie star. She basked in the attention and blew kisses to the press.
“Julian, Julian!” shouted a Vanity Fair reporter. “Over here! Who’s that beautiful woman?”
Julian smiled. The smile of a man who thought he’d won the lottery. He placed a possessive hand on Isabella’s waist.
—This is Isabella. She’s a consultant for Thorn Enterprises for our new brand.
“Where’s your wife, Elara?” another reporter shouted. “We heard she was coming.”
Julian didn’t blink. He had rehearsed the lie in the car. He adopted a look of solemn concern.
—Elara, unfortunately, isn’t feeling well tonight. She apologizes. Honestly, this fast-paced world isn’t for her. She prefers the peace and quiet of her home.
—Is it true that the merger with Sterling is going to happen tonight?
“You’ll have to wait for the opening speech,” Julian said, winking as he led Isabella up the stairs.
Inside, the grand ballroom had been transformed. Imposing floral arrangements of white orchids, champagne flowing from crystal fountains, and a live orchestra playing smooth jazz. The room was filled with sharks. Julian moved around the room shaking hands.
“Julian, boy!” boomed a thunderous voice.
It was Arthur Sterling, the man Julian needed to impress. Sterling was 60 years old, with curly hair and the build of an American football player. He was the CEO of Sterling Industries.
—Arthur. —Julian shook his hand firmly—. A wonderful evening.
Arthur looked at Isabella and then back at Julian, frowning.
—I thought Elara would come. I was really looking forward to meeting her. My wife is a big fan of hers because of her charity work.
Julian laughed nervously.
—Because of her charity work? Now she’s mainly gardening. No, she’s sick. Migraines. It’s terrible. This is Isabella, my creative director.
Arthur Sterling didn’t smile. He glanced at Isabella, who was touching up her makeup in the reflection of a spoon, and then looked at Julian with a strange mixture of pity and suspicion.
—I see. Well, the Aurora Group’s board of directors will send a representative tonight to oversee the signing. A special guest. Did you know that?
Julian stopped.
—Aurora? They usually only send lawyers. Who is she?
“I don’t know,” Arthur said, lowering his voice. “But there are rumors that the president will come in person. No one has ever seen him. They say he owns half of Manhattan.”
Julian felt a thrilling excitement. If he could impress the president of the Aurora Group, his power would be absolute.
—I’ll make sure to captivate him, whoever he is.
“I’m sure you will,” Arthur said dryly, walking away.
Julian picked up a glass of champagne and turned to Isabella.
“Did you hear that? The president’s coming. That’s it, Bella. After tonight, I won’t just be rich, I’ll be untouchable.”
Isabella laughed and stroked his lapel with a finger.
“You’re a king now, darling. Forget about that boring wife of yours. Tonight is our coronation.”
