Chapter 2 - The House of Glass
The fallout was instantaneous. Within minutes of Damon’s declaration, the elegant facade of the charity gala began to crack. Flashbulbs from hidden paparazzi—tipped off by rival tabloids—began to flicker from beyond the wrought-iron gates. The wealthy donors, suddenly terrified of being associated with a public scandal involving Damon Cross, started making hurried excuses to their chauffeurs.
Elisa Rochefort, realizing her social standing and her husband's shipping empire hung by a thread, tried a desperate pivot. She forced a tearful, trembling smile, walking toward Damon with her hands outstretched.
"Damon, please... you misunderstood," she stammered, dabbing a dry eye with an expensive lace handkerchief. "I was only worried about security. These streets are dangerous for children. I care deeply about orphans! Look at my donations!"
Damon didn't even look at her. He had removed his bespoke silk suit jacket and draped it gently around Minnie’s shivering shoulders. The jacket swallowed the little girl entirely, the expensive Italian fabric dragging on the grass.
"Security," Damon repeated flatly. "Funny you should mention security, Elisa. My private investigators have been looking into the 'Children First' foundation for three weeks. They tell me that out of the twelve million dollars raised at last year’s gala, less than four percent actually reached the orphanages."
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the garden. The board members who had been nodding along earlier now turned pale, staring at the foundation’s director, Arthur Pendelton, who was slowly backing toward the exit hedges.
"That's a lie!" Arthur shouted, his voice cracking with panic. "Cross, you can't just throw baseless accusations—"
"Baseless?" Damon raised an eyebrow, gesturing to his head of security, a towering man in a dark suit who stepped out of the shadows carrying a heavy leather briefcase. "Marcus, open the files."
Arthur bolted. He didn't even try to defend himself; he turned and sprinted toward the parking lot, only to be intercepted smoothly by two of Damon’s private bodyguards, who pinned him gently to the hood of a Mercedes-Benz.
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Minnie, clutching her porcelain plate, looked up at Damon with wide, innocent eyes. "Is the bad man going away?"
Damon softened instantly, kneeling back down to her eye level. He wiped a smudge of chocolate frosting from her cheek with his thumb. "Yes, Minnie. The bad people are going away. And you never have to be hungry again."