Chapter 89
**Hadassah POV**
Torin’s eyes are trained on me so my gaze glides away from Calum to keep attention away from him. I knew that he would find me, but not this fast. And I especially don’t know how he wrangled the connections to get access to this ultra elite gala—even if it’s impersonating waitstaff. Torin tilts his head into my field of vision quizzically.
“You alright?” he asks with an unidentifiable emotion weaving into the seams of his creased lines. “Don’t tell me you’re having performance anxiety?”
I cast a confident smile. “Have you met me?”
“Which is why I know you will be flawless.”
My eyes bound to his as I find myself unable to look away, drawn into the depths of his gaze where I feel both cherished and safe. With a charm as deceiving as the devil to be able to make me feel like the epicenter of his universe. A silver fox gentleman strides onto the stage and stands behind the polished wooden podium as the auctioneer commands attention as a hush falls over the entire expanse. He does a welcome speech in tribute to the host and owner. A man, Salvatore Moretti, who made his billions sex trafficking women and children, which makes what we’re about to do. So much sweeter.
The first auction begins with a portrait that looks like a finger painting done by a toddler. The starting bid is ten million. And the final price is thirty-three million that goes to the youngster with neon frames—clearly banking daddy’s money. Torin flags over a random server with a tray of cocktails. At a swift and sophisticated pace, he offers the tray to him with practiced decorum. Torin sends me a telling wink before he plucks the cocktail from the board. And to be polite, he pivots so he can offer me from the selection. I kindly reject with a smile as he straightens and twists to walk away, Torin deliberately swipes his ankle—the server fumbles the tray and one of the cocktail glasses sways haphazardly. And he catches it on the last second, but not without spilling its pink liquid on the skirt of my dress. Aghast, the server darts back to gape at me, then apologizes profusely, the tips of his ears flare hot with a burning red.
“It’s okay, really, it’s fine,” I say, rising to my feet, every eye in the ballroom drawn to the debacle as even the auctioneers wavers, distracted by the commotion.
“The fuck it is,” Torin roars, launching to his feet with feigned fury. “If he wasn’t too busy staring down the neckline of your dress—”
Torin flinches at the server and I grab his arm as the server stumbles back, terrified. I even feel a pinch of guilt. Promptly, an event coordinator rushes in with a mask of professionalism as she tries to deescalate the situation with the lofty eyed scrutiny of an entire crowd.
Torin gestures at the pink splotch on the white fabric of my dress. “This is the quality of your service? This dress is a custom made original by Vittorio DeLuca. He only designs a unique original every five years and now it’s ruined.”
She raises a placating hand, nodding understandingly. “I apologize and Mr Moretti will reimburse you for the inconvenience. In the meantime, she’s welcome to choose from Mr Moretti’s exclusive collection.”
“I will not see her diminished by wearing some second-hand, tacky Prada or Versace dress worn by one of his whores.”
Her face caught in a glimpse of a wince and disgust, she says, “His new and unworn collection by none other than, Aurélien Beaumont.”
Visibly impressed, Torin concedes a careful nod. “Very well, make it quick.”
Torin occupies his vacated seat, and I follow after the harried coordinator. As we walk down the one aisle, opposite from me, I spot Calum moving parallel from I with only two flutes left on his tray. He follows from a cautious distance before he slips out a phone with one hand and starts typing rapidly. We enter a network of hallways with walls that are adorned with modern art pieces, illuminated by discreet, recessed lighting. We pass several patrolling guards and their acute attention scans us briefly before their eyes scour on for any more anomalies.
The lady opens a random door, leaning inside a massive room with built-in shelves and racks made of high-quality wood, showcasing clothing, accessories, and shoes. Sleek and modern display tables with glass tops for a clear view of featured items. With even stylish mannequins dressed in the latest outfits. The main showroom even has dressing rooms with soft carpeting, high-quality fabric curtains, and a small vanity table with a mirror.
She makes a recommendation and slots the hanger out, holding up an elegant white lace dress with high slits—perfect for ease of movement.
“So you and your husband can still match.”
My head whips at the term, then I smile comically at her. I go into the changing room and practically rip off the dress, my lungs flooding with air as I let out a relieved exhale. The new dress smells like it just left the shop with the material plush against my skin, fitted at the torso with my legs slipping out with every minor step. Matching with my white heels with red bottoms that I keep on, striking with the red earrings. I muse my hair, covering the earrings as I bring my raven waves to cascade down my shoulders. I shove away the curtain, spotting Calum spilling into the room as he deposits the tray on a random surface, beholding me with an uncontainable smile.
“What do you think?”
The woman nods obliviously. “It suits you better than the first.”
I smirk at her deviously. “I wasn’t asking you.”
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