Chapter 8 - Dinner with the Board
The ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel on Nob Hill was drowning in crystal chandeliers, white calla lilies, and the muted murmur of California’s most ruthless old-money families.
Tonight was the Whitaker Foundation Gala, an event my mother had spent eight months organizing. Every chair was filled with venture capitalists, shipping magnates, and state senators.
When the double doors opened and Julian Mercer walked in with me on his arm, the string quartet faltered for half a beat.
I was wearing an emerald-green silk column dress that exposed my bare back, dipping low to reveal the smooth curve of my spine. The bruising on my arm was completely hidden beneath diamond tennis bracelets, and around my neck hung a necklace of untreated emeralds and diamonds that Julian had pulled from his family vault two hours prior.
Every eye in the room locked onto us.
"Breathe, June," Julian murmured into my ear, his hand firm and warm on my hip. "You look magnificent. You look like you own the room."
"I intend to," I replied under my breath.
At the head table sat Eleanor, Leo, and Chloe. They were surrounded by empty seats—the Mercer family members who were supposed to join them had quietly relocated to Julian’s private table on the elevated terrace.
Leo looked like a ghost in his tuxedo. His eyes tracked my every movement, dark with regret, humiliation, and an unmistakable, sickening hunger. For years, he had seen me as the sensible, plain, reliable older sister who would manage his life while he ran around. Seeing me now—draped in his uncle’s millions, radiant, unbothered, and unattainable—was driving him mad.
Chloe, seated beside him, gripped his arm so tightly her knuckles were white, glaring at me with raw, undisguised hatred.
As Julian guided me toward the stage to greet the Foundation's board members, Leo suddenly pushed back his chair and intercepted us near the ice sculpture.
"June," Leo said, his breath smelling heavily of gin. "Just give me two minutes. Please."
Julian stepped forward, his expression darkening, but I placed a gentle, manicured hand on Julian's chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath his tuxedo shirt.
"It’s all right, darling," I said smoothly, letting the endearment roll off my tongue with effortless poison. "Let the boy speak."
May you like
Leo flinched at the word *boy*. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a frantic whisper. "You don't know who Julian really is, June! You think you're using him to punish me? He planned this! He knew about Chloe and me weeks ago! He let it happen so he could take your grandmother's parcel!"
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