Chapter 5 - The Rehearsal Dinner Trap
By seven o’the clock the following evening, the Grand Ballroom on Deck Six of The Pacific Empress had been transformed into a glittering palace of white orchids, crystal chandeliers, and black-tie elegance.
Two hundred of the world’s most powerful politicians, tech billionaires, and shipping magnates sat at long mahogany tables, sipping Dom Pérignon and waiting for the future Duke and Duchess of the Pacific to make their grand entrance.
Vivien Russo stood near the head table, wearing a breathtaking gown of beaded silver tulle that cost more than most houses in Queens. Her smile was radiant, practiced, and utterly venomous as she accepted congratulations from a group of European investors.
“Where is Matteo?” one of the bridesmaids whispered nervously, checking her makeup in a mirrored compact. “He hasn't answered his phone all afternoon, and rumors are flying that he spent the whole day locked in his private quarters with... with that cleaning girl.”
Vivien’s smile didn’t flicker, though her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute so hard the crystal nearly fractured. “My fiancé is busy managing last-minute security arrangements,” she replied smoothly, her voice carrying across the table. “A wedding of this scale attracts... pests. But rest assured, by tomorrow night, the trash will have been taken out.”
At that exact moment, the crystal chandelier above the ballroom dimmed by fifty percent.
The low murmur of conversation died instantly. All eyes turned toward the grand double doors at the head of the sweeping staircase.
The doors swung open with a slow, dramatic hiss.
Matteo Romano stepped into the spotlight, wearing a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. But it wasn't the billionaire groom that made the entire room gasp in collective shock—it was the woman walking gracefully at his side.
Lena Carter wore an emerald-green silk-velvet gown that fell in clean, minimalist lines to the floor. Her dark hair was swept up in a sophisticated chignon, framing her sharp cheekbones and the stunning, understated emerald drop pendant resting against her collarbone. She didn't look like a maid who had been scrubbing floors forty-eight hours ago; she looked like European royalty.
A collective murmur rippled through the room.
Arthur Russo dropped his fork against his plate with a sharp, metallic clang. His face drained of color as he stared at Lena, recognizing the exact bone structure and piercing gray eyes of Robert Carter staring back at him across the ballroom.
Vivien’s jaw tightened so hard her teeth clicked. She took three swift, furious steps toward the stairs as Matteo and Lena descended arm in arm.
“Matteo!” Vivien called out, her voice dripping with poison disguised as sweet concern. “What is the meaning of this? Why is this... this employee wearing evening wear in my ballroom?”
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Matteo stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his hand resting securely at the small of Lena’s back. His expression was as cold and unyielding as a glacier.
“Allow me to introduce my new chief of staff and special corporate consultant, Miss Lena Carter,” Matteo announced, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent hall. “She’ll be joining us at the head table tonight. After all, nobody knows more about cleaning up the dirt in this family than she does.”
