The news of Justice Duncan's impending marriage hit Wall Street like a seismic shockwave.
Within forty-eight hours, Cordelia's face was plastered across every major financial and social publication in the country. The narrative Justice's PR team spun was flawless: a secret, long-standing romance between the city's most ruthless billionaire and a brilliant, independent architect.
Cordelia stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the master suite, adjusting the diamond clasp of her midnight-blue evening gown. Tonight was the annual Duncan Foundation Charity Gala. It would be their first public appearance together since the Plaza Hotel incident.
"Nervous?"
Cordelia looked through the mirror. Justice was standing in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders.
"A little," Cordelia admitted, turning around to face him. "I'm used to pitching architectural designs to boardrooms, not parading in front of the city's most vicious socialites."
Justice closed the distance between them. He reached out, his warm fingers brushing against her bare collarbone as he adjusted a stray lock of her hair.
"They are vultures," Justice said, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. "But they only prey on the weak. Tonight, you walk in as my wife. You do not bow your head to anyone. You look them in the eye, and you let them know you own the room."
Cordelia took a deep breath, drawing strength from the absolute certainty in his gaze. She nodded.
The ride to the Metropolitan Museum of Art was a blur of flashing cameras and shouting paparazzi. The moment the Maybach's doors opened, Justice placed his hand firmly on the small of her back. The heat of his palm anchored her.
They walked up the grand steps, flanked by a wall of bodyguards. The crowd parted for them like the Red Sea.
Inside the grand hall, the murmurs died down the second Justice and Cordelia entered. Hundreds of eyes locked onto them, calculating, judging, and ultimately, submitting to the sheer power radiating from the couple.
"Mr. Duncan," a silver-haired man approached, a forced smile on his face. It was Richard Sterling, one of the oldest and most stubborn members of the Duncan family board. "A surprise to us all. And this must be the lovely Miss Nguyen."
"It's Mrs. Duncan," Justice corrected smoothly, his tone laced with a subtle, lethal warning. "And Cordelia is not just my wife. She will be overseeing the structural redesign of our new European headquarters."
Sterling's smile faltered slightly. "Ah. An ambitious endeavor."
"Cordelia's firm has my full backing," Justice stated, his dark eyes pinning Sterling down. "I expect the board to offer her the exact same level of cooperation they offer me."
It wasn't a request. It was a royal decree.
Sterling swallowed hard and nodded. "Of course, Justice. Congratulations to you both."
As Sterling scurried away, Cordelia looked up at Justice. He had just handed her the keys to a billion-dollar project in front of his greatest rivals.
"You didn't tell me about the European headquarters," Cordelia whispered.
"Consider it a wedding gift," Justice replied, the corner of his lips twitching upward.
Suddenly, a shrill, desperate voice cut through the elegant music.
"Cordelia! You ungrateful little tramp!"
Cordelia turned. Eleanor, her stepmother, was trying to push past a security guard near the entrance. She looked disheveled, her expensive gown wrinkled, the panic of impending bankruptcy etched into every line of her face.
"Let me go! She's my daughter!" Eleanor shrieked, clawing at the guard's arm.
Before Cordelia could even react, Justice's lead bodyguard materialized out of the shadows. With a single, sharp nod from Justice, two men in black suits flanked Eleanor. They didn't cause a scene. They simply gripped her arms with bone-crushing force, silencing her protests instantly, and dragged her backward out of the venue.
Justice didn't even look at the commotion. He kept his eyes entirely on Cordelia.
"The trash has been taken out," Justice murmured, offering her his arm. "Shall we dance?"
Cordelia looked at the heavy oak doors where her stepmother had just vanished. She felt no pity. She turned back to the man who had pulled her from the wreckage of her past.
She smiled, a genuine, radiant smile, and took his arm.
"We shall."
