Chapter 25: Poaching the Elite
269 words
The magazine hit the bottom of the trash can with a satisfying thud, but the real cleanup was happening in the ballroom. Elena smoothed the sides of her crimson power suit, the fabric feeling like armor against her skin. The scars on her cheek were covered by light makeup now, no longer hidden behind veils. She wanted them seen. They were her brand.
The gala was in full swing. Crystal chandeliers caught the light of a thousand diamonds worn by the city's elite—Thorne's former clientele. They swarmed her not out of pity, but out of admiration for her event planning prowess and the undeniable results of her new clinic.
"His hands shook during my last filler injection," Mrs. Galloway whispered, clutching a flute of champagne. "I thought I was imagining it."
"You weren't," Elena said smoothly, handing her a brochure for Phoenix Aesthetics. "We prioritize stability and safety. It's about client acquisition through trust, not fear."
A commotion at the entrance drew her eye. Marcus Thorne was pushing past security, his tuxedo slightly ill-fitting, his face flushed with desperate rage. He spotted Elena and marched forward, ready to scream, to make a scene, to reclaim his territory. The room went silent.
Before he could open his mouth, a prominent socialite turned, holding out her empty glass.
"Oh, good, the help is here," she said, dismissing Thorne with a wave. "Dry martini, extra olives. And be quick about it."
Thorne froze, his mouth hanging open as the laughter rippled through the crowd. He wasn't the God of Aesthetics here. He was just a man in a cheap suit.
End of Chapter 25
