Arrival at the D'Angelo Family Gala
The car rolled to a stop in front of the estate's entrance, floodlights and camera flashes already bleeding through the tinted windows. I didn't realize how tightly I'd been holding my breath until the door opened and a wall of noise punched in.
One of Kieran's guards stepped forward, bowing slightly as he pulled the door open. Kieran got out first — calm, unreadable, like none of the chaos outside concerned him. Then he turned back and extended his hand toward me.
I hesitated for half a second.
Okay… is he actually doing this?
Or is it some weird trap?
Whatever. Just take his hand.
I placed my hand in his, and he helped me out — steady, firm.
The moment the paparazzi realized who had stepped out beside him, the screaming started.
"Mr. D'Angelo! Mr. D'Angelo!"
"Who is she? Is that your girlfriend?"
"Are you done with blondes? Who's the brunette?"
"Is she one of your… mistresses?"
Flashlights burst in our faces. I blinked rapidly. Yep. Officially a deer in headlights.
Without a word, Kieran reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses. Sleek, black, mirrored lenses. He put on his pair, then handed me the second one. I didn't ask where they came from — Kieran was the type of man who had everything prepared, even the things I didn't think about.
"Weird… trust me, you'll be blinded by the lights," he murmured.
I slipped them on. Okay… not as bad as I thought. Probably.
His guards pushed back the crowd, forming a barrier as we moved. Microphones shoved forward. Cameras clicked nonstop. Someone got bold and stepped too close, lifting a mic to Kieran's mouth.
"Mr. D'Angelo, the public wants to know — who is she?"
Kieran stopped walking.
My heartbeat tripped. Is he really going to answer?
He looked directly at the man and spoke, voice steady, clipped, leaving no room for interpretation.
"She's my wife. Aurielle Kieran D'Angelo."
Wait… he said that? He actually said it. My name. His name.
And… weirdly… it kind of feels good.
The crowd broke.
Screaming. Flashes. Questions firing from every direction, overlapping in a storm of noise.
Every camera turned on me. Breath caught somewhere in my throat — but Kieran's hand slid to the small of my back, guiding me through the entrance as guards blocked the chaos behind us. His hand. Solid. Quietly claiming me.
The doors closed, cutting off the noise like a switch.
Silence.
I inhaled hard, shoulders loosening.
Inside, the venue was nothing like outside — warm gold lights, marble floors polished into mirrors, soft music humming in the background. Chandeliers hung like melting diamonds. Socialites drifted past in expensive fabrics, perfume clouding the air.
Everything looked elegant… untouchable.
The last time I'd walked into a D'Angelo event, I hadn't been announced as anyone's wife. I'd been the poor girl in a borrowed dress, shaking while security dug through my bag and pulled out Kendella's missing necklace — the same one Kendella had slipped in minutes before.
And now? I'm standing here. Announced. Official. His wife.
Huh. Kind of crazy, but… yeah. I feel it. A little proud. And okay, maybe… kind of important.
Don't faint, Aurielle.
The dining hall was already full when we walked in — long table stretched like a runway of judgment. Gold plates. Crystal glasses. Elites sitting in perfect posture, eyes snapping to me like I'd interrupted a royal ceremony.
Yeah. Everyone was watching.
Kendella sat near the center, blonde hair curled like a Disney villain who paid extra for blowouts. That smile — sweet, soft, evil as hell. Barbie who eats souls.
I took my seat beside Kieran, trying not to visibly sweat. Socialites leaned in, whispering behind their sparkling wine, loud enough for me to hear.
"Is that really her?"
"She looks so… normal."
"Why would he bring that?"
Cute. Love being everyone's topic of the night.
Servers brought food, but no one cared. Eyes stayed glued to me like I was tonight's entertainment.
Kieran reached for the whiskey bottle.
Slow. Intentional.
No one dared breathe.
He poured himself a glass — the amber catching the chandelier light like molten gold. Then, without asking, without looking at me, without blinking…
He poured another.
And slid it toward me.
That tiny move alone made half the table choke.
His voice dipped low, meant only for me.
That tone again — the one that pinned me in place.
"It's called whiskey," he murmured.
I picked up the glass. Sniffed it. Tasted it.
Bittersweet. Sharp. Strong.
Burned all the way down — but in a weirdly addictive way.
I poured myself another half glass. Carefully.
Trying to look like I'd done it a thousand times.
Kieran's head tilted slightly.
"Careful," he warned, voice barely above breath. "This isn't ordinary whiskey. It gets you high."
I shrugged lightly. "I've handled worse."
His eyes sharpened — curious. Dangerous.
"Oh?" His brow lifted a fraction. "You sure about that?"
I blinked. Realized what I'd just hinted at.
My past.
My stripping nights.
The drinks men bought me.
The ones I sometimes had to take to survive the tips…
I bit my tongue before I said something dumb.
Still, I took another tiny pour.
Kieran didn't stop me.
But when I reached — very subtly, thank you — for a third glass, his hand landed on my wrist.
"Enough."
I froze.
His voice wasn't loud — but somehow the whole table heard it.
Dominance in a single word. The air shifted.
Under the table, his fingers slid off my wrist slowly.
Above the table, his face stayed cold, bored, unfazed.
But his father?
Oh. He was watching that tiny exchange like it was a crime scene.
And then… the first snake struck.
A woman across the table — diamonds, red dress, face like she practiced smirking in the mirror — set her wine down with a soft clink.
She tilted her head at me, fake curiosity dripping off her voice.
"We're all just… surprised. A wedding so secret?"
She smiled.
"Almost like you're hiding something, Aurielle."
My stomach dropped.
Oh. So this is how they want to play it.
Before I could breathe, Kieran spoke.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just sharp enough to slice someone in half.
"We will get married the proper way. You'll get front-row seats, Vivian."
Then he paused — calm, dangerous.
"But I doubt you'll live to see that day. Unless you keep running your mouth."
Her smile froze.
The table went tight.
Small win for me.
But the whispers kept spilling.
"She looks so different from his usual women…"
A whisper.
Loud enough for everyone.
Then Contessa — Kieran's aunt — lifted her glass like giving a toast to my humiliation.
"Of course she's overwhelmed," she said.
"These events are… for people of higher class."
I almost choked.
And then came the nuke.
The one nobody expected — except me.
Because Kendella is built from pure wickedness.
She smiled. Soft. Innocent. A killer in slow motion.
"Well, of course she's different from Kieran's usual women."
She folded her napkin neatly.
"Kieran married a dancer."
The room froze.
No one breathed.
Kendella wasn't done.
"The first in our elite circle to marry a sex worker."
Her eyes glittered.
"The first in the D'Angelo bloodline to bring in… that."
Actual silence.
Feather-drop silence.
My ears rang.
She lifted her hand, pretending shock.
"Oopsie."
And she smiled behind her hand.
My cheeks burned. Tears hit instantly — hot, humiliating. My throat clogged. I blinked fast, but they kept falling.
Kieran's chair scraped loudly as he stood.
"KENDELLA."
His voice could've killed someone on the spot.
She flinched. Tried to smile. Failed.
My tears kept dripping. I hated that I couldn't stop.
Elias slammed his hand on the table so hard the glasses shook.
"ENOUGH!"
His voice boomed.
"This marriage will not stand."
Gasps everywhere.
I bowed my head, tears hitting the tablecloth.
This wasn't embarrassment.
This was public execution.
Kieran didn't look away from his father.
"We're already married, Father," he said quietly.
"There's nothing you can do."
Contessa gasped dramatically, hand on her chest.
"Oh dear… I didn't know she had a performing background."
Tilted her head.
"That's… unfortunate."
Small chuckles rolled around the table.
More tears spilled.
Under the table, Kieran's hand found mine — gentle.
Elias pulled a thick stack of folded papers from his jacket — pictures, club records, police files, everything.
He threw them on the table.
"You married a dancer."
My stomach flipped. I recognized the top paper. The club's logo. Oh God… he researched me.
Another paper.
"A single mother."
Another.
"A gold digger."
Another.
"A whore."
His voice sharpened.
"A stain on our name."
A gasp ripped out of me. I covered my mouth, shaking. Tears blurred everything.
Kendella watched my breakdown like it was entertainment.
Elias leaned back.
"You will step down as Don — as CEO — if you stay with her."
Scandal buzzed through the table.
Kieran didn't react emotionally.
He reacted like a man used to taking lives.
"No," he said. Calm. Dark.
"You stepped down years ago."
"You hold no authority."
"You cannot make decisions."
"I am the one in charge."
"Kieran, how dare you speak to your father like—"
He cut his aunt off like slicing a throat.
"Enough."
Eyes cold.
"I've had ENOUGH of your mouth lately."
"Being my aunt doesn't protect you."
Contessa jolted.
"You WON'T dare—"
"Try me," he said.
Then calmly:
"From today onward, you have NO business in our company."
"Your houses, your cars — everything is taken."
Oh. This isn't anger. This is something else. I've never seen him like this.
Contessa's son shot up.
"You can't do this! All because of the whore you married—"
Kieran turned — slow, deadly.
"You don't EVER speak about my wife like that."
Voice dropping deeper.
"The next time you do… I'll kill you with my bare hands."
The room gasped.
Someone actually choked.
Kendella went pale — like she saw death itself.
Kieran leaned forward, voice low, lethal.
"You invited us here to embarrass my wife."
Then he looked around the table — one by one — like choosing victims.
"Try it again," he said, "and I won't mind killing you."
Silence. Terrified, bone-deep silence.
He delivered the final line like a verdict:
"She is my wife."
"She will be honored."
"Anyone who steps in our way…"
His gaze swept the room.
"…won't survive it."