Anya's breath hitched. The journalist's words, 'Are you just a pawn?', echoed, sharp and accusatory. Her carefully constructed composure threatened to shatter under the bright lights. She felt exposed, vulnerable, every eye in the room suddenly a judgment. Before she could formulate a response, Roman's hand settled firmly on the small of her back. His presence was a solid anchor. His voice, smooth and unwavering, cut through the sudden tension. "Mr. Davies, Anya is here tonight as my guest, supporting a cause she deeply believes in," Roman stated, his gaze meeting the journalist's without a flicker of hesitation. "Her integrity is beyond question. Perhaps you should focus on the purpose of this gala, rather than baseless speculation." Mr. Davies, sensing the impenetrable wall Roman had erected, mumbled an apology and retreated, his camera crew following. Roman's grip tightened almost imperceptibly on Anya's back, a silent reassurance. He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. "Don't let them rattle you," he murmured. "You're stronger than they know." Anya swallowed, trying to regain her equilibrium. The public scrutiny was a suffocating cloak. She nodded, grateful for his intervention, even as a tiny part of her resented needing it. Scanning the room, her eyes caught on a new arrival. A ripple of whispers followed in her wake. Every head turned as a woman of striking beauty, clad in a shimmering emerald gown that hugged her curves, made her entrance. Diamonds glittered at her throat and wrists, catching the light like captured stars. Her dark hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, emphasizing the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the imperious tilt of her chin. She exuded an air of effortless power, a queen surveying her domain. Her gaze, cold and calculating, swept past the lesser luminaries before locking onto Roman. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. Then, her eyes drifted to Anya, and the smile thinned into something less friendly, more predatory. "Roman, darling!" Her voice, a rich alto, carried across the murmuring crowd. She moved with purpose, a predator closing in on its prey. "It's been far too long." Roman's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but his public smile remained fixed. "Isabella," he acknowledged, his tone polite, but distinctly lacking warmth. "You're looking… radiant." Isabella reached them, her hand immediately finding Roman's arm, her fingers tracing a possessive path up his sleeve. Her eyes, the color of jade, pierced Anya. "And who is this charming creature?" she purred, her voice dripping with feigned curiosity. Anya felt a prickle of unease. This woman was a force, an undeniable presence. She extended a hand. "Anya Sharma. It's a pleasure to meet you." Isabella’s gaze flickered to Anya's extended hand, then back to her face, a dismissive glint in her eyes. She ignored Anya's gesture entirely. "Sharma, you say? I don't believe I've seen you at any of the usual galas. A new face, then?" The implication was clear: Anya was an outsider, not part of their exclusive world. Roman's hand tightened on Anya's back, a warning. "Anya and I have been spending a great deal of time together," Roman interjected smoothly, his voice firm. "She's an incredibly talented architect." Isabella's perfectly sculpted brows rose slightly. "An architect? How… quaint. Roman always did have a penchant for collecting interesting projects. Though, usually, they're not quite so… fragile looking." Her words were a venom-laced compliment, designed to belittle. Anya felt a flush creep up her neck. She met Isabella's stare, refusing to back down. "I assure you, I'm quite capable of standing on my own two feet, Ms. Rossi." Isabella's lips curled into a faint, amused smile. "Oh, I'm sure you are, darling. For now, at least. But Roman's interests tend to be… fleeting. A few months, perhaps a year, and then he's off to the next shiny thing." Her eyes lingered on Anya's dress, a silent critique. "Some women learn to navigate these waters with grace. Others find themselves quite out of their depth, clinging to the wreckage when the tide inevitably turns." Roman stepped forward slightly, shielding Anya more overtly. "Isabella, I believe the auction for the orphanage fund is about to begin. Perhaps you'd like to place a bid?" Isabella merely laughed, a husky, knowing sound. "Always the gentleman, Roman. Always trying to protect the innocent. It's a charming quality, truly. But some lessons are best learned firsthand." She finally turned her full attention back to Anya, her jade eyes glinting with a cold, predatory light. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper, meant only for Anya's ears. "Don't get too comfortable, darling. Roman always discards his toys eventually."

Chapter 23: A Rival's Jealousy Flares