The Broke Husband’s Billion-Dollar Name

The Glided Hall

The banquet hall of THE GRAND REGAL HOTEL stretched before them like a palace from another era. 

Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, each one worth more than most people earned in a lifetime.

James stepped inside beside Elena, immediately sensing the shift in atmosphere. Outside had been polished luxury; inside was something deeper—old money meeting new ambition, carefully curated conversations masking ruthless calculations. The air smelled of expensive perfume and aged wine, underlaid with the faint scent of ambition.

Servers in crisp white uniforms glided between guests, offering champagne flutes and delicate canapés arranged like artwork. A string quartet played softly in one corner, their music barely audible beneath the hum of practiced laughter and strategic networking.

"I need to prepare for the evening," Elena said quietly, her hand briefly touching James's arm. "The speeches, the formalities. You understand."

James nodded. "Of course."

"Make yourself comfortable at the main table," she continued, gesturing toward an elevated platform near the front of the hall. "I won't be long."

She turned and walked toward a private entrance reserved for hosts, her posture regal, commanding attention without demanding it. Several heads turned to watch her go, whispers rippling through the crowd about Marcus Sterling's daughter and her miraculous recovery.

James made his way to the main table, aware of the curious glances tracking his movement. The table sat on a slightly raised dais, draped in white silk with centerpieces of white roses and orchids. Place cards marked each seat in elegant calligraphy, and his—though he noticed it bore no name, was positioned beside where Elena would sit.

He settled into the chair and reached for one of the delicate pastries arranged on a silver platter. The first bite was sweet, buttery, probably cost more than the birthday cake he'd baked for Sophia. He took another, chewing slowly, his eyes scanning the room with detached interest.

The elite gathered here moved with practiced ease. Men in tailored suits worth thousands of dollars discussed mergers and acquisitions over cocktails. Women in designer gowns that cost more than cars laughed at jokes that weren't funny, everything was choreographed, calculated and performed.

A man in his fifties with silver temples leaned close to a younger executive, their handshake lingering just long enough to seal whatever deal they'd struck. Nearby, a woman with diamonds at her throat whispered something to her companion, both of them glancing toward a third guest with expressions that promised future exclusion.

This was a world James had glimpsed from the outside during his years with Sophia, but never truly entered. She'd kept him separate from her industry events, her professional circles, claiming it was to protect him from the "sharks and vultures" of her world. Now he understood it differently, she'd been ashamed of him, the husband who didn't fit the image she wanted to project.

He took another pastry, this one filled with cream and topped with gold leaf. Actual gold. He ate it without ceremony, ignoring the sidelong glances from guests at nearby tables who clearly wondered who he was and why he sat at the place of honor.

A woman in emerald silk approached another group, her voice carrying just enough to be overheard: "Did you hear? Marcus Sterling's daughter is completely recovered. They say it's a miracle, every specialist had given up hope."

"I heard it was some rare treatment," her companion replied. "Very exclusive and expensive."

James's jaw tightened slightly. They had no idea how Elena had been saved, but that wouldn't stop them from speculating, from crafting narratives that fit their understanding of how the world worked. Money and connections, that's all they could comprehend.

He reached for his water glass, taking a long drink, and continued his observations. The networking never stopped: business cards exchanged with practiced subtlety. Alliances formed and dissolved in the space of a conversation. Every smile had a purpose, every compliment an agenda.

This wasn't his world. It never had been.

He'd spent years in different circles: underground fights, mercenary camps, places where strength and skill mattered more than surnames and stock portfolios. Where a man's word was his bond because breaking it meant death, not just social embarrassment.

But he'd left that life behind, seeking peace, seeking normalcy. And somehow he'd ended up here, in this gilded hall, surrounded by people who wielded money like weapons and measured worth in zeros.

The main doors opened again, drawing his attention. A ripple of interest moved through the crowd as Sophia Carver entered on Simon's arm.