Vincent walked Raphael to the door, their conversation concluding in low tones that Gianna couldn't quite catch from her position at the bottom of the stairs."Keep me informed about the charity event," Vincent said quietly. "Any confirmation of her attendance, I want to know immediately.""Understood, Commander," Raphael replied with a slight nod. "We'll monitor the situation closely."The door closed behind Raphael, and Vincent turned to find Gianna standing in the foyer, her arms crossed and her expression curious."Who was that?" Gianna asked directly."Raphael," Vincent replied, moving past her toward the kitchen. "A business associate.""Business associate," Gianna repeated skeptically. "He called you 'Commander.'""A nickname," Vincent said smoothly. "From our military contracting days. Old habits."Gianna wanted to press further, but something about Vincent's tone suggested the topic was closed. Instead, she focused on what she'd overheard about the charity event."The charity

Gianna felt her entire body tense as Vincent's hand remained possessively on her waist.Part of her wanted to step away, to reassert the boundaries they'd established in their contract.But they were in public, surrounded by the city's elite, all watching for any sign of discord or weakness.Creating a scene by pushing Vincent away would only fuel gossip about their marriage being troubled.So she stayed still, allowing the contact, even as her jaw tightened with suppressed frustration.Vincent, reading her body language perfectly, chose that exact moment to press his advantage.He leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek—brief, affectionate, the kind of casual intimacy married couples displayed without thinking."You see, Kevin," Vincent said pleasantly, his lips still close to Gianna's cheek, "we really don't need you as a third wheel. My wife and I are quite content with just each other's company."Kevin's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. His hands clenched into

The cooking stations were arranged in a neat line, each equipped with professional-grade equipment and a fully stocked pantry. The challenge was announced: prepare a classic Osso Buco Milanese—a notoriously difficult dish requiring precise technique, timing, and presentation.The judges—three renowned food critics from Milan—explained the criteria: flavor, presentation, and speed. The chef who produced the best dish in the shortest time with the cleanest workspace would be declared the winner."Competitors, you have thirty minutes," the head judge announced. "Begin!"The Michelin-starred chefs exploded into action with practiced efficiency, their movements precise and confident. Chef Antonio from the Romano family moved with the fluid grace of someone who'd prepared this dish hundreds of times. Chef Marco from the Benedetti family barked orders at his assistant, his station already organized like a military operation.Vincent stood perfectly still for three seconds, his eyes taking in

Stephani Palazzo walked through the entrance with practiced grace, her crimson dress catching the evening light perfectly, her smile radiant and welcoming. But beneath that flawless exterior, she was seething with irritation.She hadn't wanted to come. This entire event—this provincial charity gala in a city she considered barely worth her attention—was beneath her. The families gathered here were city-level millionaires at best, maybe a few national-level multi-millionaires if she was being generous.But Stephani? She operated on an entirely different plane. Global billionaire. International influence. The kind of wealth and power that made these local elites look like children playing at business."Miss Palazzo," her personal assistant had argued earlier that day, "this appearance will boost the foundation's global profile significantly. The press coverage alone will be invaluable.""It's provincial," Stephani had countered. "Nobody who matters will even notice.""Everyone who matte

The courtyard had fallen into complete silence. The kind of silence that comes when hundreds of people hold their breath simultaneously, waiting for disaster to unfold.Everyone had heard the judges declare Vincent's dish extraordinary—masterful, even. But now Stephani Palazzo, the billionaire guest of honor, was condemning it as the worst thing she'd ever tasted. Her refined palate must be on an entirely different level than even Michelin-starred judges.Nobody dared contradict her. Nobody dared even whisper disagreement.Stephani's wealth and influence made her untouchable. Questioning her judgment would be social suicide, potentially career-ending for anyone foolish enough to try."I want the person who prepared this... this disaster," Stephani said, her voice carrying across the courtyard with imperious authority, "to step forward immediately. Right now."Vincent remained motionless in the crowd, his mind racing through scenarios and contingencies. This was the worst-case scenario