Chapter 5 - The Gala
The week leading up to Ethan’s annual charity gala was the longest of my life.
Ryan’s threat hung over us like a dark cloud. Marcus doubled the security detail at the estate—men with guns and earpieces patrolling the grounds twenty-four hours a day, cameras installed in every hallway, every door fitted with new locks that only Ethan and I had keys to. We didn’t go anywhere without at least two guards following us, and Ethan insisted on sleeping on the couch in my suite every night, “just in case.”
The police were useless, of course. Without proof that Ryan had sent the photo—no fingerprints, no witnesses, no way to trace it back to him—they couldn’t do anything. “Just a prank,” the detective who’d taken our report had said, yawning. “Probably some kid with a grudge against rich people. You’ll be fine.”
Ethan had almost punched him.
But life went on. The company couldn’t stop just because one bitter ex-security guard was making threats. Meetings still had to be held, deals still had to be signed, and the gala—Ethan’s biggest event of the year, a fundraiser for children’s hospitals that raised over ten million dollars annually—still had to go on.
I threw myself into planning it. It was the perfect distraction. I spent twelve hours a day going over seating charts, tasting menus, coordinating with the florist and the band and the auctioneer, making sure every single detail was perfect. Ethan had told me the budget was unlimited, but I still found myself bargaining with every vendor, getting better deals, saving him money wherever I could. Old habits die hard.
The night of the gala, the estate was transformed.
Thousands of white roses and twinkling lights draped every wall. A red carpet ran from the front entrance all the way down the driveway, where limousines were already pulling up, disgorging Chicago’s elite—actors, athletes, politicians, CEOs, all dressed in their finest, all carrying checkbooks ready to write big donations for a good cause. The ballroom, which was normally used for staff meetings and holiday parties, had been turned into a fairy tale—crystal chandeliers, white linen tables, a stage at one end where a live band was already playing soft jazz.
I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, making sure everything was in place, when Mrs. Higgins found me in the kitchen, barking orders at the caterers.
“Miss Carter,” she said, grabbing my arm. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? You’re not the help tonight. You’re Mr. Caldwell’s guest. Go upstairs this instant and get dressed. The guests will be here in an hour, and I will not have you greeting them looking like you just scrubbed a floor.”
“But Mrs. Higgins—”
“No buts,” she said, practically shoving me toward the stairs. “Mr. Caldwell’s orders. He said if I didn’t get you upstairs in five minutes, he’d come down here and carry you up himself. And I don’t think either of us wants that, now do we?”
I sighed, but I was smiling as I ran up the stairs to my suite.
The dress was waiting for me on the bed—another gift from Ethan, delivered that morning by a messenger from the same boutique on Michigan Avenue. It was a custom design, he’d told me when he’d handed me the box that morning. “Something worthy of the woman who’s been planning this whole thing.”
It was breathtaking. A strapless ballgown in a soft shade of ivory, covered in thousands of tiny hand-sewn crystals that sparkled like starlight when they caught the light. The skirt was full and layered, made of silk tulle that swished when I walked, and the bodice was fitted, showing off curves I didn’t even know I had. Paired with diamond drop earrings and a simple silver bracelet, and my hair pulled up in an elegant twist with a few loose strands framing my face, I barely recognized myself when I looked in the mirror.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called, adjusting my earring.
It was Ethan.
He was wearing a black tuxedo with a white bow tie, his hair perfectly styled, looking like he’d stepped straight out of a Hollywood movie. When he saw me, he froze in the doorway, his mouth falling open slightly. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared.
“Is it too much?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. I smoothed the skirt of the dress with my hands. “I can change—”
“No,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. His voice was rough, thick with emotion. “Don’t you dare change. You look… Ivy, you look like an angel.”
He walked toward me, his eyes never leaving mine, until he was standing so close I could feel the heat of his body. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair back from my face, his fingers lingering against my skin.
“I’ve been trying to find the right words to say this all week,” he said quietly. “Ever since New York. Ever since that photo. Ever since I kissed you and the world fell apart.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “Ethan…”
“I love you.”
The words hung in the air between us, simple and true and completely unexpected.
“I love you,” he repeated, like he needed to say it again to make sure it was real. “I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you, eighteen months ago, carrying a stack of linens down the hall, singing off-key to that Taylor Swift song you like. I just didn’t know it yet. I was too stupid, too scared, too wrapped up in being the billionaire everyone expects me to be to see what was right in front of me. But that night in the kitchen… when I saw you bleeding, when I realized how close I’d come to losing you before I ever really had you… it woke me up. Life is too short, Ivy. Too short to hide how you feel. Too short to let fear stop you from going after what you want.”
He took my hands in his, lacing our fingers together.
“You asked me once why I picked you,” he said. “Why the maid out of all the hundreds of people who want to work for me. This is why. Because you’re the bravest, kindest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Because you make me want to be a better man. Because when I’m with you, I’m not Ethan Caldwell, the CEO of Caldwell Global. I’m just… Ethan. And I haven’t been just Ethan in a very long time.”
Tears were streaming down my face now, but they were happy tears. The good kind.
“I know this is complicated,” he continued. “I know there’s Ryan. I know there’s the company, and the press, and a million reasons why this shouldn’t work. But I don’t care. I want us. I want you. Whatever it takes. Will you give me a chance? Will you let me love you the way you deserve to be loved?”
I didn’t answer with words.
I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. Hard. Desperate. Pouring every ounce of fear and hope and love I’d been holding back for months into that one kiss. He kissed me back just as hard, his arms wrapping around my waist, lifting me off my feet, holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world.
When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless, both smiling like idiots.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ethan said, grinning.
“Shut up and kiss me again,” I said, laughing.
He did.
We would’ve stayed in that room all night, kissing and holding each other and forgetting the rest of the world existed, if a loud knock on the door hadn’t interrupted us again.
“Mr. Caldwell?” It was Marcus. His voice was tight, urgent. “You need to come out here. Now. We have a situation.”
Ethan sighed, resting his forehead against mine. “Duty calls.”
He set me gently on my feet and smoothed my dress, then straightened his own tuxedo. “Stay here. Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone except me or Marcus. I’ll be right back.”
He kissed me one more time, quick and hard, then pulled out his gun from the holster hidden under his jacket—something I didn’t even know he carried—and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.
I heard the lock click into place.
I stood in the center of the room, my heart racing, listening. I heard voices in the hall—Ethan’s, sharp and angry; Marcus’s, calm and professional; a third voice I didn’t recognize. Then silence.
Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen.
I was just about to call Ethan when the lights went out.
Total, pitch-black darkness.
The house was silent for a second, then I heard the sound of glass breaking somewhere downstairs. Screams. The band stopped playing. Chaos.
Someone banged on my door.
“Ivy!” It was Ethan. His voice was panicked. “Open the door! Now!”
May you like
I ran to the door and fumbled with the lock, my hands shaking so bad I could barely get the key in. When I finally opened it, Ethan was standing there, his face white, holding a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other.
“He’s here,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the hall. “Ryan. He got in. We have to go. Now.”
