Chapter 7 Champagne and Betrayal
The Glory Fair ballroom smelled like money trying too hard—orchids, cologne, and the faint copper of old grudges.
Maritza moved through it like she belonged, red silk catching the light every time someone whispered her name.
Reed found her first. He looked dapper in his cerulean suit and matching bow tie.
“Thought you’d be hiding,” he said. “Miss me?”
Across the room, Cole watched. No expression. Just eyes.
She rolled hers. “You had no time for my birthday party, but you show up for this… circus?”
Reed’s hand settled on her waist—light, familiar, possessive. She let it stay exactly two seconds before stepping away.
“Come on, that party was for non-friends. You, Freya, and I already celebrated in Prague.”
She smirked. “Right. Prague. My real birthday—the one you almost ruined with too much champagne and that ridiculous karaoke.”
He grinned. “You loved it.”
“I tolerated it,” she shot back, eyes sparkling. “Barely.”
“I have good gene.” He joked with a wink.
Then, Ricardo stumbled in, shirt half-buttoned, and eyes red. The crowd parted like they’d rehearsed it.
“Maritza!” He raised his glass like a toast. “My favorite headline.”
She didn’t flinch. “Go home, Ricky.”
He laughed, wet and ugly. “They think you’re powerful. They think—”
Her palm cracked across his face before he finished. The sound cut the music dead.
“Powerful?” she said, soft enough only he heard. “Try done.”
Security was already moving. She didn’t wait. Turned to the room, voice bright, lethal.
“Ricardo Montoya, ladies and gentlemen—proof that money can’t buy timing or dignity. Take notes.”
Phones rose. Someone actually clapped.
Cole didn’t. He just watched, one hand in his pocket, like he was taking mental notes for later.
She grabbed champagne off a passing tray. “Caviar. Now. Before I start forgiving people.”
The crowd laughed—nervous, delighted. Society loved a show.
Reed muttered, “You didn’t have to—”
“I did,” she said. “Because you never would.”
Cole stepped closer. She lifted a hand. I’ve got it.
Later, near the marble pillar:
“You own the room,” he said.
“Trying to rent it back by morning.” She sipped his whiskey. “Flirt with me.”
He blinked. “Here?”
“They’ve seen me break a man. Now let them see one brave enough to stand next to me.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering just long enough. “Competency check?”
“Passing,” she whispered. “Barely.”
Reed appeared, face carved from fury. “Are you done?”
Cole walked away without a word.
Reed’s voice dropped. “That’s Harrison. The bartender from the Hamptons. I sent him to watch you—Montoya was getting ugly. He needed cash. I didn’t ask why.”
Reed’s voice slid in beside her, oily with satisfaction.
“Georgina Vance. His regular. Oil widow. Pays the bills.”
Maritza didn’t answer. Just watched.
Georgina stepped into Cole’s space like she’d drawn the map to it—black dress, sharp hair, hand on his forearm. She whispered. He laughed. Not the low, private sound Maritza had started to think belonged to her. This one was easy, familiar. It landed wrong.
Her mother’s manicured grip yanked her into an alcove. “¡Rosa María! You slap one man, then drool over the next like a street dog—”
“¡Basta!” Maritza jerked free. “You don’t get to police me tonight.”
Isabella’s whisper shook. “We are De Leóns—”
“You raised two daughters,” Maritza cut in, voice low. “One married the money. The other learned what the husband does when the lights go out. Guess which one you believed.”
Isabella’s hand lifted, froze mid-air. Maritza didn’t flinch.
“You picked,” she said. “Live with it.”
She walked. Heels sharp on marble, silk snapping like a flag.
The grand doors burst open, and the night met her with cruel clarity. Moonlight drenched the valet line. The music inside blurred into nothing. And then she saw them.
Under the sterile glow of a streetlamp, Cole stood with h
Georgina Vance smiled up at him, hand light on his arm Cole leaned in, and laughed softly.
Her pulse fractured.
Georgina rose on her toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. Cole didn’t flinch. His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her sleek hair, and he murmured something against her ear.
Maritza’s world stilled. The hum of the night, the laughter from inside—it all went silent, replaced by the furious beat of her own heart.
Georgina smiled and her lips moved just clearly enough for Maritza to catch the words under the streetlamp’s cruel light:
“Make sure no one knows.”
Knows what?
Cole opened the car door for Georgina. She slipped inside. He followed. The car door closed with a soft, final click.
Maritza stood frozen, the night swallowing her disbelief. “Fine,” she whispered to herself. “If you want to play in the shadows, let’s play.”
She opened her clutch. Her phone screen glowed, cold and merciless.
To: GEORGE
You have his address. The warehouse. Text it to me. NOW.
She didn’t wait for the response.
The valets stared as she strode past, the chill wind biting her bare shoulders. She slid behind the wheel, red mouth a hard slash in the reflection of the glass, and turned the key.
The engine roared to life. “I will find your secrets, Harrison,” she murmured. “And too late for mercy.”
Then she hit the gas.
Warehouse – 1:13 a.m.
George’s text pulsed on her screen:
Unit 7B. Back entrance usually unalarmed. Be careful, M. This feels… different.
The warehouse crouched by the docks, half-lit, half-dead. The latch gave beneath her hand, and a draft heavy with oil and old agave ghosts slid past her skin. Inside, whiteboards glimmered in the laptop’s lonely glow—names, dates, arrows all circling one phrase: NEVADA OPERATION.
At the center was her father’s face.
What the hell IS THIS?
She pressed a fist to her mouth, forcing silence. What am I even doing here? she thought. For a man I barely know. A man I slept with once.
“I know you’ve known her for a long time,” said a woman’s voice—undoubtedly Georgina’s. “Don’t take this too seriously, Cole. She’s still a subject.”
“I know who she is,” he replied harshly. “Don’t remind me of my duties. I’m in the middle of—”
What did she mean? Duties? Maritza was going crazy with all this whispering until—
Something fell.
A bottle? A clipboard? Whatever it was, the sound split the silence like a gunshot. Maritza froze.
Damn. This is what happens when you play hide-and-seek with a lawyer and a billionaire widow. Shit.
“There’s someone here.”
