Chapter 335
Cailin was wearing a piece of fashion history — an archival haute couture gown, a vintage masterpiece that could not be bought, only borrowed by the absolute elite. The dress was made of deep emerald-green velvet that clung to her curves like a second skin. The neckline plunged dangerously, and the hem was heavily encrusted with raw black diamonds that caught the flashbulbs and threw off cold, lethal sparks of light.
She didn’t look like a grieving widow. She looked like a dark queen arriving to conquer.
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The socialites standing near the entrance gasped. Whispers of vicious jealousy rippled through the crowd.
Hilliard’s hand moved instantly from Cailin’s palm to her waist. His fingers splayed wide against the velvet, gripping her with a possessive, territorial heat that burned right through the fabric. He pulled her flush against his side, so tight their hips bumped.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“You look so beautiful it makes me want to kill everyone looking at you,” Hilliard murmured, his voice a dark, vibrating threat. “I should have locked you in the manor.”
Cailin kept her face perfectly composed for the cameras. She tilted her head, maintaining a flawless, icy smile.
“Keep your hands steady, Hilliard,” Cailin whispered back, her tone laced with venom. “Don’t ruin my armor. Your hand is shaking. Are you afraid of what I’m going to do tonight?”
The tension between them was palpable. To the cameras, they looked like a couple burning with passion. In reality, they were two soldiers locked in a trench.
A bold reporter shoved his microphone over the barricade. “Mr. Holloway! You were seen publicly dismissing Ms. Morton just two days ago! Are you two back together? Is this a reconciliation?”
Cailin stopped walking. She slowly turned her head.
She looked at the reporter. She didn’t say a single word — just stared at him, her chin tilted up, her eyes sweeping over him with such absolute, crushing disdain that the man physically shrank back and lowered his microphone.
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Hilliard smirked. He guided her up the marble steps and into the grand ballroom.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the loud chatter died. The symphony orchestra playing on the balcony seemed to fade into the background.
Hundreds of eyes locked onto Cailin.
In the corner, Nadine stood next to Zach. Her bright red dress suddenly looked cheap and desperate. She gripped her champagne flute so hard her knuckles turned white while Zach stared openly at Cailin, his mouth slightly open, earning a vicious elbow to the ribs from Nadine.
Near the center of the room, Charla stood in a pure white, angelic gown. When she saw Cailin’s emerald dress, her smile froze. Her perfectly manicured fingernails dug so deeply into her own palms they left crescent-shaped indentations. She had been outclassed before the night even began.
Preston, holding a glass of scotch, plastered a fake, welcoming smile on his face and walked over.
“Cailin, my dear!” Preston boomed, his eyes darting to the black diamonds on her dress. “What a stunning gown. A bold choice for a night of mourning. I must admit, I was worried about you. Five years in Europe on a tight budget — I’m glad Hilliard gave you an allowance for tonight.”
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