I was homeless, starving, and holding the only meal I had when I noticed a frightened little boy sitting alone outside a grocery store.

Three days later, the Moretti estate hosted its annual winter charity gala—a high-society event designed to raise millions for children's hospitals, but secretly a political gathering where the city's most powerful families met to maintain peace.

The grand ballroom of the estate was transformed into a winter wonderland, lit by towering crystal chandeliers, filled with classical orchestra music, and populated by hundreds of wealthy guests in tuxedos and evening gowns.

I stood at the top of the grand staircase, taking a deep breath.

I wore a breathtaking midnight-blue silk gown that Vincent had ordered specifically for me from Paris. It fit my curves perfectly, cascading down to the floor in soft folds. My dark hair was styled in an elegant updo, and a simple diamond pendant—a gift from Vincent—rested against my collarbone.

As I began to descend the stairs, the room fell quiet.

Dozens of elite guests turned their heads, whispering among themselves. They knew who I was—the unknown girl off the streets who had miraculously cured the young Moretti heir.

Standing at the foot of the stairs in a sharp black tuxedo was Vincent.

When he looked up and saw me, his storm-grey eyes widened. A look of pure, unadulterated awe swept across his sculpted face. He stepped forward, extending his arm to guide me down the final steps.

"You are the most breathtaking woman in this room," Vincent whispered into my ear, his hand sliding smoothly to the small of my back, sending shivers through my body.

"I feel like I'm living in a dream," I smiled, holding onto his arm.

"It's not a dream, Maya," he murmured softly. "You belong here."

As we walked through the crowd, people nodded in polite respect to Vincent, though many cast cold, elitist glares at me. Among them was Marcus Moretti—Vincent’s arrogant younger cousin and the vice president of Moretti Logistics.

Marcus stepped into our path, holding a glass of champagne, a fake, malicious smile plastered on his face.

"Cousin," Marcus drawled loudly enough for nearby guests to hear. "Fascinating party. But I must say, I never expected to see a street beggar wearing Moretti family diamonds."

The surrounding conversation paused. Several high-society women gasped behind their silk fans.

I stiffened, feeling a flash of humiliation wash over my cheeks.

Before I could speak, Vincent took a sharp step forward, placing his heavy hand squarely on Marcus’s chest, leaning in until their noses almost touched.

"Listen to me carefully, Marcus," Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm, carrying a quiet threat that reverberated across the ballroom. "Maya saved my son’s life. She has more honor, dignity, and courage in her little finger than you have in your entire pathetic body. If you disrespect my future wife again, I will strip your stock options, throw you out of this company, and ensure you never work in this country again."

Future wife.

The words echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

Marcus went pale as a sheet. He swallowed hard, nodding nervously, and stumbled backward into the crowd without another word.

I looked up at Vincent, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Vincent... did you just say..."

Vincent turned to face me. He took both of my hands in his, completely unbothered by the hundreds of staring eyes around us.

"I meant every word, Maya," Vincent said softly, his eyes filled with profound sincerity. "You gave me back my life. You gave Noah his voice. I don't care about society, or titles, or where you came from. I love you."

Tears of joy brimmed in my eyes. "I love you too, Vincent."

Suddenly, Gabriel pushed through the crowd, his face grave. He leaned in and whispered frantically into Vincent’s ear.

"Boss... the security perimeter on the north wing just went dark. Someone cut the power grids to the nursery."