Chapter 3

The Vanderbilt Foundation Gala was in full swing.

Ethan sat between Olivia and Chloe at the head table, a study in polite attentiveness to his family' s legacy.

Grandma Vanderbilt, the matriarch, a formidable woman with eyes that missed nothing, leaned towards Chloe.

"Chloe, dear, young Mr. Astor was asking after you. A very suitable young man."

Chloe flushed. Ethan stiffened.

"Grandmother," Ethan said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "I will approve Chloe' s husband. If Chloe doesn't wish to marry, I will support her indefinitely."

He then added, his gaze sweeping the table but lingering on Chloe, "I'll never have children if it means Chloe isn't happy."

A shocked silence fell over their section of the table.

Several guests nearby turned to stare.

Olivia watched, a detached observer to this family drama she was, technically, still a part of.

The air crackled with tension.

A waiter, startled by the sudden hush, bumped into a nearby champagne tower.

Glasses teetered, then crashed.

Ethan moved instantly, pulling Chloe into his body, shielding her from the spray of champagne and flying glass.

Olivia, standing beside Chloe, was not so lucky.

She was drenched. A sharp sting on her arm made her gasp.

Worse, a canapé, pressed into her hand moments before by an oblivious distant aunt – "You must try this, dear, it' s divine!" – contained shellfish.

A severe allergy.

Ethan knew. He' d been there when she' d had a reaction years ago, the terrifying swelling, the fight for breath.

He' d even, in a rare moment of concern, made a note of it for their household staff.

The familiar tightness began in her throat.

Her breath hitched.