"My father's company?"

Christian's expression hardened.

"Your father's company was never supposed to become Julian's."

Clara stared at him.

"What does that mean?"

Christian opened a drawer.

From it, he removed a black folder.

He placed it on the desk.

"Your father and mine were partners."

Clara's heart began to pound.

"My father never mentioned your family."

"He couldn't."

"Why?"

Christian's gaze remained fixed on hers.

"Because the night your father died, he was supposed to meet my father."

The room seemed to tilt.

Clara gripped the edge of the desk.

"What?"

Christian opened the folder.

Inside were photographs.

A hospital corridor.

A black sedan.

A man standing beside a body covered in a white sheet.

And a photograph of her father.

Clara's breath caught.

"No."

Christian watched her carefully.

"Your father was not killed in an accident."

The words struck her like a physical blow.

For six months, she had told herself that her father's death was a tragic consequence of his failing business.

A heart attack.

A sudden collapse.

A man who had worked too hard and lost too much.

But Christian was telling her something else.

Something that threatened to shatter everything she believed.

"Who killed him?" she whispered.

Christian closed the folder.

"That's what we're going to find out."

Clara looked at him.

And for the first time since she had entered the Vance estate, she understood why Christian had agreed to become her boyfriend.

This was not a favor.

It was a war.

And she had just become the most important piece on his board.

Chapter 4: The Woman in the Black Dress

The morning of the gala arrived beneath a sky the color of gunmetal.

Clara stood before the mirror in the east wing, watching Isabelle Laurent transform her reflection into something unrecognizable.

The dress was black.

Not the soft, forgiving black of her maid's uniform, but a deep, midnight shade that seemed to absorb the light around it.

The bodice was sculpted to her figure, with delicate silver embroidery tracing the neckline like frost across a window. The fabric fell in a smooth, elegant line toward the floor, revealing a subtle slit along one leg.

Her hair was swept into a loose, sophisticated arrangement.

A pair of diamond earrings rested against her throat.

And around her wrist was a delicate silver bracelet.

Clara touched it.

"Where did this come from?"

Isabelle adjusted the clasp.

"Christian."

Clara's fingers froze.

"I can't accept this."

"Why?"

"It's too expensive."

Isabelle sighed.

"Darling, if you intend to stand beside Christian Vance, you must stop treating every expensive object as though it might bite you."

Clara looked at the bracelet.

It was beautiful.

But she had never been comfortable accepting gifts.

Especially from men who could buy entire cities.

"Does he give jewelry to all his girlfriends?"

Isabelle's expression became strangely thoughtful.

"No."

Clara looked up.

"Then why me?"

Isabelle smiled.

"That is a question you should ask him."

Before Clara could respond, the dressing room doors opened.

Christian stood in the doorway.

He was dressed in a black tuxedo, his dark hair brushed back, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, he said nothing.

His gaze moved over Clara.

From her face to the dress.

From the silver bracelet to the diamond earrings.

Then back to her eyes.

Isabelle stepped aside.

"Well?"

Christian's voice was low.

"Perfect."

Clara felt her cheeks warm.

"That's all?"

His gaze lingered.

"No."

He walked toward her.

"You're beautiful."

The words were simple.

But the way he said them made Clara's heart stumble.

She looked away.

"Thank you."

Christian stopped beside her.

"Are you ready?"

Clara took one last look at herself in the mirror.

The woman staring back at her was no longer the frightened maid who had whispered into an empty kitchen.

She was Clara Bennett.

Daughter of the man who had built a pharmaceutical empire.

The woman Julian Thorne had tried to destroy.

And tonight, she would make him remember her name.

"Yes," she said.

"I'm ready."

The Vance estate's front steps were illuminated by hundreds of candles.

A black Rolls-Royce waited at the foot of the staircase.

As Christian offered his hand, Clara hesitated.

"One thing."

He looked at her.

"What?"

"If Julian tries to humiliate me, I want to handle it myself."

Christian's expression darkened.

"Clara—"

"I mean it."

He studied her.

Then he nodded.

"All right."

She placed her hand in his.

"But if he threatens you," Christian added, "I reserve the right to become unpleasant."

Clara smiled.

"How unpleasant?"

Christian opened the car door.

"Ask Julian."

The annual Thorne Foundation Gala was held at the Grand Meridian Hotel, a towering monument of glass and gold overlooking the harbor.

The ballroom was filled with the city's most powerful people.

Politicians.

Investors.

Celebrities.

Men who had built fortunes by destroying others.

And women who had learned to smile while watching their husbands do it.

The moment Christian Vance stepped through the entrance, the room changed.

Conversations faltered.

Heads turned.

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd.

"Christian Vance."

"He's actually here."

"Who is that woman?"

Clara felt the attention like a thousand tiny needles.

Christian's hand settled against the small of her back.

"Look at me," he murmured.

She turned toward him.

"Not them."

His eyes were dark and steady.

"Let them wonder."

Clara drew a breath.

And walked forward.

Julian Thorne stood near the center of the ballroom.

He was tall, handsome, and dressed in an immaculate white tuxedo.

His smile was the kind that made people feel important while he quietly calculated how much they were worth.

When he saw Christian, his smile widened.

Then he saw Clara.

The smile vanished.

For one brief, glorious moment, Julian looked genuinely afraid.

Clara almost smiled.

Almost.

Julian approached them.

"Christian."

"Julian."

The two men shook hands.

The gesture looked polite.

But Clara felt the tension between them like a wire pulled to the breaking point.

Julian's gaze shifted toward her.

"Clara."

His voice was smooth.

"How unexpected."

Clara lifted her chin.

"Is it?"

"I thought you were working tonight."

"I was."

Julian's eyes narrowed.

"And now?"

She smiled.

"Now I'm attending."

Julian looked at Christian.

"May I ask what this is about?"

Christian's hand tightened slightly against Clara's back.

"Clara is with me."

The words were quiet.

But the entire ballroom seemed to hear them.

Julian's expression changed.

"With you?"

Christian looked at him.

"Is there a problem?"

Julian laughed softly.

"Of course not."

He turned toward Clara.

"Though I must say, darling, I never imagined you would find someone willing to take you in."

Clara's smile disappeared.

Christian's eyes darkened.

But Clara stepped forward before he could speak.

"How kind of you to worry about me, Julian."

She tilted her head.

"Though I must admit, I'm surprised you remember what kindness looks like."

A few nearby guests turned.

Julian's smile tightened.

"Careful."

Clara leaned slightly closer.

"No."

She looked directly into his eyes.

"You should be careful."

For the first time in six months, Julian Thorne had nothing to say.

And Clara realized something.

She had not needed Christian to save her.

She had only needed someone to remind her that she could save herself.

The orchestra began to play.

Christian extended his hand.

"May I have this dance?"

Clara looked at him.

"Are you asking?"

"Yes."

"Or ordering?"

His mouth curved.

"Would you prefer an order?"

She smiled.

"Try asking again."

Christian leaned closer.

"Clara Bennett, would you honor me with a dance?"

She placed her hand in his.

"Yes."

They stepped onto the dance floor.

The ballroom blurred around them.

Christian's hand rested against her waist.

Clara's fingers settled against his shoulder.

For a moment, she was acutely aware of the warmth of his body, the faint scent of cedarwood, and the way his eyes never seemed to leave hers.

"You're doing well," he murmured.

"Was that a compliment?"

"An observation."

"You're terrible at compliments."

"I'll practice."

She laughed softly.

Christian's expression changed.

It was subtle.

But Clara saw it.

The way his gaze lingered on her smile.