For months, the local gossip columns had buzzed with speculation about the mysterious new partnership between real estate titan Dante Moretti and South Boston florist June Bellamy. Tonight was our official debut.

I stood near the grand staircase wearing a breathtaking floor-length emerald-green silk velvet gown that hugged my curves, paired with a diamond tennis bracelet that Dante had quietly slipped onto my wrist before we left his penthouse.

Across the rotunda, standing near the shadow of a massive marble pillar, was Evelyn Vale.

She looked older, thinner, her once-impeccable designer gown hanging loosely on her frame, her eyes burning with bitter, unforgiving hatred every single time she looked in our direction.

Dante walked up behind me, sliding a warm hand down the bare skin of my arm before resting it securely on the small of my back. He looked immaculate in a classic tuxedo, his silver-silk tie catching the museum lights.

“You look tense,” Dante murmured near my ear, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

“I’m not tense,” I whispered back, taking a sip of sparkling water. “I’m just calculating how many people in this room are currently wondering if I’m going to trip over my own hemline.”

Dante chuckled softly, pulling me slightly closer against his side. “Let them wonder. Tonight, they’re going to learn exactly whose name carries weight in this city.”

Before the string quartet could strike up another waltz, the museum director—a nervous-looking man in thick-rimmed glasses—stepped up to the central microphone on the elevated mezzanine, tapping it lightly to command the attention of the ballroom.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, esteemed patrons, and honored guests,” the director began, his voice echoing smoothly through the hall. “Before we proceed with tonight’s historical preservation awards, I want to take a brief moment to announce our primary corporate benefactor for the upcoming South Boston Waterfront Cultural Pavilion.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“Thanks to a landmark partnership between Moretti Holdings and Bellamy Blooms,” the director announced proudly, “the new waterfront district will feature a state-of-the-art public botanical conservatory, entirely funded and curated by Miss June Bellamy.”

Applause rippled through the sea of wealthy elites. Heads turned, whispers spread, and dozens of judging eyes locked onto me with newfound respect.

Across the rotunda, Evelyn Vale’s face twisted into an ugly snarl. Unable to contain her fury any longer, she pushed past several guests, marching straight across the marble floor toward us like an avenging angel of high society.

“Dante!” Evelyn’s voice rang out shrilly, cutting through the polite applause.

The crowd parted instantly, watching the confrontation unfold with breathless anticipation.

Evelyn stopped feet from us, her eyes blazing with malice as she glared directly at me. “Have you completely lost your mind, Dante? You’re tying your entire commercial reputation to a common florist—a woman whose own fiancé dumped her in front of half of Boston because even he knew she didn't belong in our world!”

The grand rotunda went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop on the marble floor.

My stomach clenched, and for one terrifying second, the humiliating memory of Ballroom C threatened to suffocate me.

Before I could open my mouth to speak, Dante Moretti stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Evelyn and me.

His face was an absolute mask of glacial, terrifying fury.

“Mrs. Vale,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a low, lethal register that echoed off the stone pillars with bone-chilling clarity. “Let me make something crystal clear to you and everyone in this room.”

Evelyn faltered, stepping back a half-step under the crushing weight of his gaze.

“Your son is currently awaiting trial for fraud, embezzlement, and forgery,” Dante continued coldly. “Your family empire is bankrupt, your social standing is finished, and your name is a toxic waste product in every boardroom in this city. The only reason you are still breathing free air in Boston is because I haven't bothered to crush you beneath my heel.”

Evelyn turned the color of ash, her lips trembling as she searched for words that wouldn't come.

“And Miss Bellamy,” Dante said, turning his head slightly to look down at me with absolute, unshakeable devotion before looking back at Evelyn, “is not a footnote in anyone’s scandal. She is the architect of the future of this city’s waterfront. If I ever hear your voice raised in her direction again, Mrs. Vale, I will personally ensure that you spend your remaining years living in a municipal housing shelter.”

The silence in the rotunda was absolute.

Evelyn turned on her heel and fled, practically running out through the heavy glass doors into the night, utterly destroyed in sixty seconds.

Dante turned back to me, the lethal frost melting from his eyes, replaced by a deep, blazing warmth. He took my hand, lifting my knuckles to his lips in front of two hundred of the most elite citizens of Boston.

“Shall we dance, June?” he whispered softly.