Two days later, the annual Pacific Northwest Maritime Gala was held at the Seattle Waterfront Hotel. It was the premier event for the city’s elite, a place where politicians, billionaires, and criminals rubbed shoulders under crystal chandeliers.
Oscar Becerra sat at a VIP table, his portly frame squeezed into a tuxedo, a cigar hovering near his thick lips. Next to him sat Patricia Salgado, looking anxious, her eyes constantly scanning the crowd. She had spent the last forty-eight hours frantically searching for Elena, knowing that every hour that passed brought them closer to financial ruin.
“Relax, Patricia,” Becerra grunted, taking a sip of scotch. “The girl has no money, no shoes, and no friends. My men will find her by morning.”
“You don’t understand, Oscar,” Patricia hissed, nervously tapping her manicured nails against the table. “She was terrified. She could have gone to the authorities. If she talks about the shipments—”
“The authorities work for me,” Becerra interrupted, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Now shut up and smile. The Carranza family is supposed to make an appearance tonight. If we can get Matthew Carranza to back our new port expansion, we’re set for life.”
Suddenly, the ambient chatter of the ballroom died down. A hush fell over the crowd, starting from the grand entrance and cascading through the room like a wave.
Becerra and Patricia turned their heads toward the double doors.
Walking down the grand staircase was Matthew Carranza, looking every bit the ruthless monarch he was. But it wasn’t his presence that caused the room to lose its breath. It was the woman on his arm.
Elena stood tall, her shoulders back, her posture radiant with an effortless elegance she hadn’t known she possessed. She wore a breathtaking, backless black silk gown that clung to her curves, her dark hair styled in old-Hollywood waves. On her finger, the Carranza emerald caught the light, flashing dangerously. The bruise on her cheek was artfully concealed by makeup, leaving her face looking flawless, aristocratic, and utterly striking.
Patricia’s glass of champagne slipped from her fingers, shattering on the marble floor. “No… it’s not possible,” she whispered, her face draining of all color.
Becerra stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor. “What the hell is this?”
Matthew guided Elena through the crowd, which parted for them like the Red Sea. They walked directly toward Becerra’s table, the tension in the room growing so thick it was palpable.
When they stopped, Matthew looked at Becerra with a look of supreme amusement.
“Oscar,” Matthew said smoothly. “Patricia. I believe you both know my wife.”
“W-wife?” Patricia choked out, her eyes darting from Elena’s cold, triumphant expression to the massive emerald ring on her finger. “Matthew… there must be a mistake. This girl… she’s a runaway. She’s mentally unstable, she stole from my company—”
“Careful, Patricia,” Elena interrupted. Her voice was no longer the trembling whisper of a frightened girl in the rain. It was clear, sharp, and dripping with venom. “You are speaking to the majority shareholder of Vargas Shipping. And more importantly, you are speaking to a Carranza.”
Becerra’s eyes narrowed, his face contorting with rage. He took a step toward Elena, his fists clenching. “You little bitch, you think you can play games with me? You owe me—”
