Chapter 8: A Public Claim

Three days later, Alexander Moretti hosted a charity gala at the Moretti Grand Hotel. The invitation list included senators, billionaires, fashion editors, old-money families, and every person who had ignored Scarlett since her accident.

Scarlett did not want to attend.

'They will stare,' she said as her stylist adjusted the sleeves of her emerald gown.

Alexander stood near the mirror, dressed in black. 'Let them.'

'They will whisper.'

'Then give them something worth whispering about.'

She looked at herself in the mirror. The gown was elegant without hiding her chair. Diamonds rested at her throat. Her hair fell in soft waves over one shoulder. She did not look pitiful. She looked expensive, dangerous, and alive.

When they entered the gala, conversation collapsed.

Alexander did not push her chair from behind like an attendant. He walked beside her with one hand resting lightly near her shoulder, making it clear to everyone that she was not being brought in. She was being accompanied.

Reporters shouted questions.

'Mr. Moretti, is Miss Whitmore under your protection?'

'Is this a business alliance?'

'Are you investigating the Whitmore family?'

Alexander stopped before the cameras. Scarlett felt panic rise, but his voice reached her quietly.

'Breathe.'

She did.

Then Alexander faced the reporters. 'Scarlett Whitmore is not under my protection as charity. She stands beside me because she has my respect.'

A reporter called out, 'What is your relationship?'

The room waited.

Alexander looked at Scarlett, not the cameras. 'That depends on whether she accepts what I offer.'

Scarlett's pulse thundered.

He lowered his voice. 'May I?'

She understood what he was asking. Not ownership. Permission.

Scarlett lifted her chin. 'Yes.'

Alexander turned back to the world. 'Then hear this clearly. Anyone who humiliates Scarlett Whitmore will answer to me.'

By midnight, every headline in New York called her the Godfather's beloved.