The Billionaire's Undercover Heiress

Chapter 10: The Gala

The day of the gala was a coiled spring. I spent it in my apartment, reviewing my father’s old files. The foreclosure notices. The articles celebrate Sterling’s "brilliant" acquisition. The sterile letter of condolence he’d sent after my father's death. The anger, cold and pure, solidified my resolve. Tonight wasn't just a game. It was about drawing blood.

At seven, the black town car arrived. I took one last look in the mirror. The woman who stared back was not Blair Davis, nor the girl in the red dress. She was someone new, forged in the fire of our last confrontation.

My dress was armor. A floor-length, backless gown of deep emerald green silk that clung to my body like a second skin. The color of money, of envy, of poison. My hair was styled in old Hollywood waves. My only jewelry, a pair of diamond and emerald earrings—my mother's. They felt heavy with the weight of my purpose. Tonight, I was Blair Davenport. Unmasked and unapologetic.

Sterling was already waiting on the sidewalk, breathtakingly handsome in a black tuxedo. A dark prince. He didn't offer his arm. He simply looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the earrings, his expression a mask of cool indifference. But I saw the tell-tale muscle jump in his jaw.

"The Davenport emeralds," he said, his voice a low murmur as we walked toward the grand entrance. "A bold choice."

"I felt it was appropriate," I replied coolly.

The grand hall of the museum was an assault on perfume and power. The murmur of a hundred conversations, the clinking of champagne glasses, the soft strains of a string quartet. New York's elite were all here, peacocks in tuxedos and designer gowns. And every one of them, it seemed, wanted a piece of Sterling Prescott.

For the next hour, I was a silent shadow at his side as he navigated the room with the grace of a shark. He introduced me to CEOs, senators, to board members. To each, he said the same thing, his voice smooth and proprietary. "This is Blair Davis. She works for me."

He always used Davis. A subtle, constant reminder of our game. He was telling the world, and me, that I was still his possession. I played my part, smiling politely and shaking hands, but my mind was a supercomputer. This wasn't a party; it was a reconnaissance mission. I noted who was friendly and who was wary. I identified the weak links, the rivals sharpening knives behind their smiles.

While Sterling was deep in conversation with a German industrialist, I slipped away to the open-air terrace, needing a moment to process.

"Hiding?"

I turned. A man leaned against the balustrade, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was handsome in a rugged, less polished way than Sterling, with sandy-blond hair and a wry, knowing smile.

"Just getting some air," I said.

"It can be a bit much," he agreed. "Especially on the arm of the man everyone wants to either kiss or kill." He stepped closer. "Julian Croft."

The name rang a bell. CEO of a tech firm that was a thorn in Sterling's side. One of the few he couldn't crush.

"Blair Davis," I said, offering my hand.

"Ah, yes. "The woman who works for him," he said, his smile widening. "He's been showing you off like a new trophy." But you don't look like a trophy." His eyes were sharp and intelligent. "You look like a weapon."

I froze. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" his voice was low. I've competed with Sterling for a decade. I know how he operates. He doesn't bring assistants to these events. "And he doesn't look at his employees the way he looks at you." He takes a sip of whiskey. "He looks at you like you're the most dangerous thing he's ever seen. Which makes me very interested in who you are."

"A cold, familiar voice cut through the air. "Croft. Straying a little far from your usual hunting grounds, aren't you?"

Sterling stood a few feet away, his face a thunderous mask. His eyes, chips of ice, were fixed on Julian. The primal tension of two apex predators squaring off.

"Prescott," Julian said, his tone breezy but his eyes hard. "Just welcoming the lovely Miss Davis to the snake pit."

"She is exactly where she is supposed to be," Sterling said, his voice dangerously soft. He stepped to my side, his hand landing on the small of my back. A brand. A possessive claim that sent a jolt of heat through the silk. It was a warning to Julian and me.

"I'm sure she is," Julian said with a final, knowing smile at me. "A pleasure, Blair. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other. He nodded to Sterling and melted back into the party.

Sterling's hand didn't leave my back. If anything, his grip tightened. "What did he say to you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl for my ears alone.

"He introduced himself," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor his touch ignited. "He seems to think I'm more than your assistant."

"And what do you think?" Sterling countered, his eyes boring into mine.

I held his gaze. "I think," I said slowly, "your rival has excellent instincts."

His jaw tightened. He opened his mouth but was interrupted by the host taking the stage. A wave of applause drew the room's attention. But Sterling didn't look at the stage. He kept his eyes locked on me.

"This isn't over," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

And as the speeches began, his hand still burning a hole in my back, I knew he was right. Standing here in the heart of his territory, with his rivals circling and his possessive gaze on me, the game had just entered a new, far more dangerous phase.