Chapter 11
I had lived among powerful people long enough to know when gossip was being disguised as concern.
I let it happen.
For once, I wasn’t going to manage everyone else’s discomfort.
Across the ballroom, Julian had not sat down.
Dalia was saying something to him.
He wasn’t listening.
He was watching me.
Gabriel noticed.
“He’s staring.”
“I know.”
“Would you like me to stare back?”
I turned to him.
“Would you?”
“I’m extremely competitive.”
I laughed.
It escaped too loudly.
Several people nearby looked over.
For the first time that evening, I didn’t care.
Dinner began.
Speeches followed.
The Allesian Hearts Foundation funded medical access programs, scholarships, and women’s leadership initiatives.
I had attended the gala years before while married to Julian, but back then, I usually sat beside him and whispered names of donors into his ear so he could remember who mattered.
That thought hit me unexpectedly.
How much of my marriage had been invisible labor?
Not simply company strategy.
People.
Dates.
Context.
Reputations.
Warnings.
I had carried the map of Julian’s world in my head so he could walk through it looking effortless.
Now he was across the room without me.
And for the first time, I could see the difference.
He was distracted.
Too aware of cameras.
Too aware of Gabriel.
Too aware of my stomach.
Dalia leaned toward him twice.
He barely responded.
When dinner ended, she got up.
I saw her excuse herself from their table.
Then she walked toward ours.
My body tensed instinctively.
Gabriel noticed but remained still.
Dalia stopped beside me.
Up close, she looked younger.
Not childish.
Just younger than the version of her the tabloids had built.
Her makeup was immaculate.
Her posture was perfect.
But her fingers were locked tightly around her clutch.
“Khloe.”
“Dalia.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked at Gabriel.
“I didn’t know.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“About the scholarship?”
“Yes.”
“The foundation funds several educational programs connected with competitions like yours. It isn’t something I personally manage.”
Her cheeks reddened.
“I’m aware it isn’t… personal.”
“I didn’t mean that critically.”
She nodded.
Then looked at me.
“Can I ask you something?”
I nearly laughed at the irony.
Apparently everyone felt entitled to ask me something that night.
“You can ask.”
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That Gabriel’s foundation funded the Crown scholarship.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes flickered.
“And you never thought that was strange?”