Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7: THE RIVALS OF MANHATTAN
The Great Hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was blinding. The annual Autumn Gala had brought out the absolute peak of Manhattan’s high society—billionaires, politicians, and celebrities mingling beneath the soaring stone arches. I wore a crimson silk gown that fit like armor, my family’s ancestral diamonds catching the light of a thousand flashing cameras. If Julian Rivas wanted to stage his war in the open, I would show him that a Salazar does not hide.
"Keep your chin up, Valeria," my father murmured, his arm locked securely with mine as we navigated the sea of photographers. "The international board members are scattered throughout this room. The market reacts to your posture. If they smell blood, the stock plummets."
"I'm not afraid, Dad," I lied, my eyes scanning every tuxedo and evening gown in the crowd. Every shadow looked like a hitman; every smile felt like a blade.
"Ah, the independent woman of the hour. The media’s favorite little survivor," a sharp, mocking voice cut through the jazz music.
I turned slowly. Standing near the Egyptian exhibit was Evelyn Vance—Sofia’s estranged older sister and the notoriously ruthless CEO of Vance Global, our fiercest competitor in the North American market. But it wasn't Evelyn who made my breath catch in my throat. It was the man standing beside her.
He was in his late sixties, with perfectly tailored silver hair, a custom bespoke tuxedo, and eyes that looked like frozen winter frost. Julian Rivas.
"Julian," my father hissed, his hand moving instinctively toward the inside of his jacket, but our security team was instantly blocked by a carefully timed surge of socialites and catering staff moving between us.
"Ricardo. Please. Let’s not make a scene in front of the trustees," Julian smiled, stepping directly into my personal space. He ignored my father entirely, his eyes locking onto mine with predatory intensity. "You look radiant, Valeria. Marriage to my son clearly taught you how to carry wealth. It is a profound tragedy that he failed to teach you how to keep it."
Evelyn Vance took a slow sip of her vintage champagne, a victorious smirk playing on her painted lips. "The Salazar empire is built on old Mexican dirt, Valeria. But this is New York. And in this city, we play by a completely different set of rules. Julian has just transferred fifty-one percent of his offshore holdings directly into Vance Global. We just hostile-takeovered your American distribution rights. As of five minutes ago, we own the very air your trucks breathe."
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"You're partnering with a monster who funded human trafficking and medical fraud?" I spat, stepping so close to Evelyn I could smell her expensive perfume. "If the SEC smells his money, Vance Global will burn to the ground."
"Business is just math, darling," Evelyn whispered in my ear, her smile never fading for the cameras. "And your lovely little son is going to make a magnificent addition to our legacy when he’s old enough to inherit his grandfather's shares. Enjoy the party."
