. CHAPTER 4 — Nathaniel Vale
Nathaniel Vale had not attended a gala in six years.
The official reason was age. The real reason was grief. After his daughter Evelyn died, he stopped trusting rooms full of people who said her name only when asking for money. He funded the foundation from behind closed doors and let younger executives, including Adrian Wexler, smile for the cameras.
But earlier that evening, Nathaniel received a message from a blocked number.
They’re hurting the wrong woman.
Attached was a photo of Celia Vance in a burgundy dress, being dragged through the service corridor by two guards.
Nathaniel knew that dress.
His daughter Evelyn had worn it twenty-two years ago when she begged him to expand their scholarship program to include children who were “too poor to be impressive.” He had teased her for crying over every application. She had told him, “If money cannot kneel beside suffering, then money is useless.”
When Nathaniel stepped from the car, the cold air hit his lungs, but anger carried him forward. His cane clicked against the marble. Security guards straightened. Donors lowered their glasses. Vivienne’s smile flickered for the first time.
“Nathaniel,” Adrian called, forcing charm into his voice. “We didn’t expect you.”
“No,” Nathaniel said. “Clearly.”
His eyes moved past Adrian to Celia, soaked and shaking near the pool ladder. She tried to stand with dignity, but pain pulled at her face.
Nathaniel walked to her first.
“Miss Vance,” he said, voice softening. “Are you hurt?”
Celia looked startled that he knew her name. “I’m fine.”
“No, you are not.” He removed his tuxedo jacket and placed it around her shoulders. The gesture was quiet, but it struck the crowd harder than a shout.
Vivienne hurried forward. “Mr. Vale, there’s been a misunderstanding. This woman forced her way in with forged documents. I was only protecting your foundation.”
Nathaniel looked down at the torn papers scattered under her shoes.
“Protecting it,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He bent with difficulty, picked up one torn page, and read the corner where the foundation seal remained. Then he looked toward the livestream camera, still glowing red.
“Good,” he said. “Everyone watching should hear this.”
Adrian stepped in. “Nathaniel, maybe we should discuss this privately.”
Nathaniel’s stare turned icy. “You lost the right to privacy when you humiliated a wounded woman for sport.”
May you like
Celia’s fingers tightened on the jacket.
For the first time that night, she was not alone.
