Chapter 10 - The Queen of Miami
Two months later.
The ballroom of the Faena Hotel on Miami Beach glittered with an opulence that made Penelope’s ruined wedding look like a child’s birthday party. The occasion was the annual Gala for South Florida Heritage and Preservation, the most exclusive philanthropic event of the winter season.
The city’s true elite—governors, senators, foreign ambassadors, and heads of global industry—filled the room. But tonight, they were not looking at the politicians.
They were looking at the grand entrance.
The double doors opened, and the master of ceremonies stepped to the microphone.
“Presenting Mr. Blake Campbell, Chief Executive Officer of Campbell Meridian, and Mrs. Clara Vance-Campbell, Chairwoman of the South Florida Historical Trust.”
A collective hush fell over the room, followed by an eruption of genuine, thunderous applause as Blake and I walked down the marble staircase together.
I wore an off-the-shoulder gown of midnight-blue velvet, custom-made by Dior, that hugged every curve of my body and trailed behind me in a wave of dark elegance. Around my neck sat an antique diamond and emerald necklace that had once belonged to European royalty, glowing with fire beneath the chandeliers. My chin was high, my eyes bright, and my posture that of a woman who had walked through fire and emerged forged in steel.
Blake walked beside me, his hand firmly holding mine, looking at me with a fierce, unwavering pride that made every woman in the room envious and every man in the room respectful.
As we reached the ballroom floor, Mayor Levine and his wife rushed forward, bowing slightly.
“Mrs. Campbell,” the Mayor said, offering a warm, reverent smile. “The restoration project you’ve launched at the historic downtown library is breathtaking. The entire city owes you a debt of gratitude.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor,” I said with a gracious, easy smile. “Preserving what is real has always been my passion.”
Across the room, standing in the shadows near the service entrance, a lone server holding a tray of empty glasses paused, watching me.
It was Julian Montgomery.
After his family’s terminal leases were revoked, the Montgomery shipping empire had fragmented under crushing penalties. His father had stripped Julian of his trust fund, forcing him to take low-level hospitality shifts to pay his rent. He stared at me with wide, hollow eyes, recognizing the woman he had once laughed at while she sat soaked in a fountain.
I met his gaze for a single, fleeting second.
I did not scowl. I did not mock him.
I simply turned away, looking back toward my husband, completely erasing Julian from my universe as if he had never existed at all.
As the orchestra began to play a slow, sweeping waltz, Blake took my hand and led me to the center of the dance floor. The crowd parted respectfully, giving us the floor as if we were royalty.
Blake wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close, his eyes glowing with that same deep, bottomless love that had found me in the dusty museum basement two years ago.
“Are you happy, my love?” he whispered, turning me gently under the glittering light of the chandeliers.
I rested my head against his shoulder, listening to the steady, unbreakable beat of his heart.
May you like
“I am home,” I told him.
And as we danced in the center of the city that once tried to drown me, I knew that the fountain was far behind me. I had not drowned. I had risen—and by the side of the man who loved me, I reigned.
