Chapter 187:
“Je trouve que la qualité ne se mesure pas à l’ancienneté du nom, mais à la noblesse du cœur,” she continued. (On the contrary, cousin. I find that quality is not measured by the age of the name, but by the nobility of the heart.)
Vivian’s jaw dropped.
Aurora turned to the Ambassador. “Monsieur Dubois, c’est un honneur. J’ai lu votre thèse sur l’économie post-coloniale. Fascinant, bien que je sois en désaccord avec votre chapitre sur les tarifs douaniers.” (Mr. Dubois, it’s an honor. I read your thesis on post-colonial economics. Fascinating, though I disagree with your chapter on tariffs.)
The Ambassador’s eyes lit up. He took Aurora’s hand and kissed it. “Mademoiselle! Vous parlez avec l’élégance d’une reine!” (Miss! You speak with the elegance of a queen!)
“Et vous,” Aurora turned back to Vivian, switching to English so everyone could understand the kill shot. “Your grammar is atrocious. It’s ‘parmi les gens’, not ‘entre’. ‘Entre’ implies a physical position between two objects. ‘Parmi’ implies belonging to a group. Prepositions matter, Vivian. Look it up.”
The room exploded with whispers. Vivian turned a shade of red that clashed horribly with her gold dress.
“I… Vivian stammered.
“Class cannot be faked, Vivian,” Aurora said softly, in French again. “La classe ne s’imite pas.”
Vivian let out a choked sob and fled the circle, pushing past guests, tears streaming down her face.
Aurora stood alone in the spotlight. She had won.
From the shadows, Elias stepped forward. He held a glass of whiskey. He looked at her with a mixture of pride and hunger that made her knees weak.
He set the glass down. The orchestra began a waltz.
He walked up to her, bowing slightly.
𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙 𝖌𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔: g⧉𝗮⧉𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝗲⧉𝗅𝘀.⧉ⅽ𝗈⧉𝗆
“May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?” he asked.
Aurora looked at his hand. Then at his eyes.
“I don’t dance,” she said.
“Trust me,” Elias said. “I’ll lead.”
She placed her hand in his. He pulled her onto the floor. His hand found the small of her back, his touch burning through the velvet.
As they began to move, spinning in perfect time to the music, Elias leaned down.
“I saw the needle,” he whispered. “When you were in his room.”
Aurora stiffened.
“Relax,” Elias murmured, pulling her closer. “I hacked the camera feed. I saw you testing his blood. The heavy metal reaction on the silver tip… you were right. It’s poison.”
Aurora looked up at him, her eyes wide.
“We have work to do, partner,” Elias said, spinning her under the chandeliers. “But for tonight… let’s just make them jealous.”
The music swelled, a lush crescendo that wrapped around them like a protective barrier. In the center of the ballroom, Elias Thorne held Aurora Vance, his hand warm and firm against the velvet of her dress.
Around them, the room was still reeling. The silence that had followed Aurora’s linguistic dismantling of Vivian had broken into a frantic, hushed buzz, but Elias ignored it all. His focus was entirely on the woman in his arms.
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