Chapter 7

The gold-embossed invitation lay discarded in a trash can back on the Long Island estate, but Carli smirked as she looked out the window. She didn't need their permission. The Gutierrez family would welcome Edna Huffman's heir with open arms. The black Maybach pulled up to the glowing entrance of the Plaza Hotel.

The valet rushed forward and opened the door. A silver Jimmy Choo stiletto stepped onto the pavement.

Carli stepped out of the car. She was wearing Edna's vintage emerald velvet gown. The fabric hugged her waist and hips perfectly. The deep V-cut in the back exposed her bare skin to the cool night air.

Camera flashes exploded around her. The paparazzi shouted her name, desperate for a shot of the woman whose engagement had just publicly imploded.

Carli kept her chin high. She walked up the steps to the entrance.

Two massive security guards blocked the door. "Invitation, please."

Carli didn't have one. She reached into her clutch and pulled out the legal document her lawyer had just finalized. She handed it to the head of security.

"I am the sole executor of the Edna Huffman Trust," Carli said. "A primary donor to the Gutierrez Foundation."

The guard read the paper. His posture immediately changed. He handed it back and stepped aside. "Welcome, Ms. Bass."

Carli pushed open the heavy doors. The sound of a live symphony orchestra washed over her. The ballroom was blindingly bright, filled with massive crystal chandeliers and thousands of white roses.

She walked into the room. Heads turned immediately.

Skylar and Meredith, two socialites who had always hated her, leaned their heads together.

"Did you hear Vaughn dumped her?" Skylar whispered loudly. "She looks desperate."

Carli didn't even look at them. She walked straight past them, her posture perfect. She took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She walked to the edge of the room and stood by the massive windows, watching the crowd.

Suddenly, the orchestra stopped playing.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea. A heavy silence fell over the room.

Fletcher Gutierrez walked through the main entrance.

He was surrounded by bodyguards. He wore a custom-tailored black suit. He didn't wear a tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing his collarbone. He radiated absolute, terrifying power.

Carli watched him from across the room. Her breath hitched.

As Fletcher walked down the center aisle, he passed within ten feet of her. A wave of cold cedar mixed with tobacco hit Carli's nose.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute. Her heart skipped a beat. The mask. The smell was exactly the same.

She shook her head slightly. No. It was impossible. The king of Wall Street didn't hang out in underground sex clubs.

Fletcher's dark eyes scanned the room. For half a second, his gaze locked onto Carli.

A shiver ran down her spine. It felt like a predator had just marked her.

Fletcher looked away and kept walking toward the head table.

Carli took a deep breath to steady her racing heart. She turned away and started talking to a group of older investors, focusing on networking.

A loud, obnoxious laugh echoed from the entrance.

Carli turned her head. Her eyes turned to ice.

Vaughn walked into the ballroom wearing a white tuxedo. Clinging to his arm was Isla. Isla was wearing a massive, gaudy diamond necklace that looked ridiculous against her cheap dress.

Vaughn scanned the room. He saw Carli. He smirked, grabbed Isla's hand, and walked straight toward her.