Chapter 3

A week later, the Costello family's annual gala was held at a private waterfront estate in New York.

I chose a simple, elegant dark green gown, accessorized with nothing more than a pair of pearl earrings. I swept my long hair into an updo, aiming for a look of understated grace, and made my entrance at the ballroom doors.

When Ethan saw me, a flicker of genuine surprise—and maybe even admiration—crossed his face before it vanished.

Sophia was already there, clinging intimately to his arm.

As if sensing I was about to cause a scene, Ethan hurried over, his voice a low hiss. "Sophia said she wanted to network. It's good for her family's business, so I brought her along."

Sophia chimed in, her voice as soft and fragile as ever. "Olivia, please don't misunderstand. I just want to meet a few people. I won't get in your and Ethan's way."

My eyes drifted down to their intertwined arms, a cold smirk touching my lips. "Ms. Johnson, your dedication is truly admirable. You're not even fully recovered, yet you're already hustling for the family business."

A shadow of stiffness crossed Sophia's face. Ethan quickly stepped in to smooth things over. "Alright, let's just go inside."

Stepping into the grand ballroom, my eyes immediately began scanning the crowd, searching for the man of the hour—Damien.

According to the limited intel I'd managed to dig up, Damien was low-key in his personal life but ruthless in his business dealings, wielding immense influence in both New York's underworld and its legitimate commercial sectors. 

Descriptions of his appearance were scarce, noting only that he had Italian blood from his mother's side.

His father was the previous Don of the Costello family, and his older brother had been the heir apparent. But a year ago, both his father and brother were killed in a violent shootout, leaving Damien to inherit the entire empire.

Rumors swirled through the city's underbelly that he had orchestrated the whole thing, a brutal power grab to eliminate his own family.

It was a story that painted the already mysterious young Don with an even darker, more dangerous aura.

I feigned interest as Ethan introduced me to a couple of people, my mind elsewhere as I continued my search. 

It was painfully obvious that he was far more enthusiastic about parading Sophia around his circle of important business partners. To her credit, Sophia played her part flawlessly, her demure charm quickly captivating a small audience.

Fine by me. I was happy to be left alone. Grabbing a glass of champagne, I retreated to the relative quiet of a veranda, my observation post.

"Hiding out here all by yourself? Ethan not keeping you company?" A familiar voice cooed behind me.

I turned to see Sophia, her face arranged in that signature, delicate smile. But the meekness she wore like a second skin around Ethan was gone, replaced by a glint of pure provocation in her eyes.

"It was getting stuffy inside. I needed some air," I replied coolly, having zero interest in a drawn-out conversation with her.

Sophia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, the smile on her face turning sharp and cruel. "This must be so hard for you. A little housewife who only knows how to cook and arrange flowers, you must feel completely out of place at an event like this."

I swirled the champagne in my glass, my tone flat. "If the other woman can fit in just fine, I'm sure his actual wife can manage."

"You!" The fragile mask shattered, her face contorting with rage. "If you hadn't stolen him from me, Ethan and I would be married by now! You're the other woman!"

She lunged forward, her eyes feral. "I'm telling you, Olivia, I will drag you out of your precious Mrs. Smith title. You killed my baby, and I'm going to make you pay for it!"

So that was it. She'd been blaming me for the miscarriage all this time. The logic was so twisted it was almost laughable.

"I have things to do. I'm done with this conversation," I said, giving her a dismissive glance before turning to leave.

But the second my back was turned, a short, sharp cry pierced the air behind me.

I whipped around to see Sophia crumpled on the ground, clutching her ankle. Her face, which had been twisted in a vicious snarl just moments ago, was now a mask of pure agony, tears instantly welling in her eyes. The transformation was breathtaking.

The sudden commotion immediately drew the attention of nearby guests.

Ethan was there in a flash, rushing to her side. He knelt, gently helping her up, his face a canvas of panic and heartache. "Sophia, what's wrong? What happened?"

Leaning heavily into Ethan's arms, Sophia lifted her tear-streaked face. "I'm okay," she sobbed. "I was just trying to talk to Olivia, to clear the air, but I don't think she wanted to. She pushed me."

Her voice was quiet, but perfectly pitched to carry to the surrounding onlookers.

In an instant, every eye in the vicinity was on me.

Ethan's head snapped up, his gaze locking on mine. Without a shred of doubt, he lashed out. "Olivia! How could you? Apologize to Sophia. Now!"

I stood frozen, the blood roaring in my ears. This was Sophia's plan all along: to humiliate me in front of everyone. And Ethan, her loyal lapdog, was playing right into it.

I forced a calm I didn't feel into my voice. "Did you see me push her? Or are you just taking her word for it?"

Sophia's crying intensified. She looked around at the crowd, her voice weak and wounded. "There are so many people here, you can ask them."

Since Ethan frequently brought Sophia to these kinds of functions, many of the guests already knew her. Some of his business partners had long since accepted her as his default partner.

As if on cue, the whispers started.

"Isn't that the woman Ethan always brings with him? That looked like a nasty fall."

"Who's the one in the green dress? She looks so quiet, I can't believe she'd get physical."

"I heard she's his actual wife. The one he never brings out in public."

"No wonder he keeps her hidden. That level of jealousy is just trashy, starting a fight in public?"

The murmurs grew louder, a wave of judgment crashing over me. Nearly everyone was siding with Sophia. Tucked securely in Ethan's embrace, she shot me a look of pure, triumphant victory.

"Olivia! Apologize!" Ethan's face was dark with fury, his tone hardening into a command.

My hands clenched into fists, my knuckles turning white. I knew that anything I said now would sound like a desperate, pathetic excuse.

Just as I was scrambling for a counterattack, a deep, masculine voice with a distinct Italian accent cut through the chatter. "I can attest that the lady is telling the truth."

The terrace fell silent. Every head turned toward the source of the voice.

A man who looked to be in his early thirties was descending the grand staircase from the main hall. 

He was tall, towering a head above most men, his frame perfectly complemented by a bespoke, dark gray suit that highlighted his broad shoulders and long legs.

He had a high-bridged nose, sharply defined lips, and dark brown hair combed back impeccably, revealing a pair of deep-set blue eyes. Under the glittering chandeliers, those eyes looked impossibly cold, and his entire being radiated an intimidating authority that demanded space.

I watched, stunned, as he approached, my mind racing.

Who was he? And why was he helping me?

As he moved toward me, the crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. I saw faces shift from curiosity to awe, and then to outright fear.

The color drained from Ethan's face. He gave a slight, deferential bow as the man drew near, his voice laced with an almost subservient respect. "Don Damien. Good evening. I didn't realize you were troubled by this minor disruption."

Don Damien?

The name hit me like a physical blow. I was frozen to the spot.

This devastatingly handsome man was the very person I had been desperately searching for.

Damien.

The father of my unborn child.