The balcony is blissfully empty and freezing.
December air hits Mia's bare shoulders like a slap, but she doesn't care. Anything is better than that ballroom, those stares, Victoria's venom still hanging in the air.
"Holy shit," Mia breathes, gripping the railing. "Did that really just happen?"
"That really just happened." Alexander shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over her shoulders. "And it was magnificent."
"I just publicly destroyed your ex-girlfriend at a charity gala. Your mother is going to kill me."
"My mother is probably applauding." Alexander stands beside her, close enough that she feels his warmth. "Victoria's had that coming for years. No one's ever had the guts to actually say it to her face."
"I might have gone too far."
"You went exactly far enough." He turns her to face him, hands gentle on her shoulders. "Mia, you were perfect. Strong, composed, devastating. You didn't let her make you small."
"I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"That's the adrenaline. And possibly morning sickness." His smile is soft. "But you did it. You survived your first society confrontation."
"Is it always like that?"
"Usually worse, actually. Victoria was relatively restrained."
"That was restrained?"
"She didn't throw her drink. That's restraint by her standards."
Mia laughs, slightly hysterical. The doors behind them open. They both tense.
But it's Eleanor, looking oddly pleased.
"Well," she says, stepping onto the balcony. "That was entertaining."
"Mother—"
"No, I'm serious. Victoria Ashford has terrorized this social circle for a decade. Someone needed to take her down several pegs." Eleanor's smile is sharp. "I'm glad it was my daughter-in-law who did it."
Daughter-in-law. Said without sarcasm or disdain. Almost with... pride?
"I didn't mean to cause a scene," Mia says.
"Darling, at these events, scenes are currency. And you just became very valuable." Eleanor produces her phone. "It's already on social media. #MiaKane is trending. The comments are actually favorable, for once."
She shows them. Videos from multiple angles—Mia standing up to Victoria, voice steady, delivering that final devastating line. The comments are a mix of support and surprise.
*Finally someone put Victoria in her place*
*Did NOT expect the quiet wife to have that much fire*
*"He still chose me" ICONIC*
*Okay but that dress though? Who designed it?*
*Pregnancy glow is REAL. She looks amazing*
"See?" Eleanor tucks away her phone. "You're a hit. Now come back inside before you freeze. There are people who actually want to meet you now."
"People who want to meet me, or people who want to inspect the spectacle?"
"Both. Welcome to high society." Eleanor heads for the door, pauses. "And Mia? That dress really is stunning. Grace Park, you said? I'll have to look her up."
She disappears inside.
Mia and Alexander look at each other.
"Did your mother just... approve of me?" Mia asks.
"I think she did. I'm as shocked as you are." Alexander offers his arm. "Ready to go back in? I promise to stay by your side the entire time."
"What about your business obligations? Networking?"
"They can wait. You're more important."
The words warm her more than his jacket does.
They return to the ballroom together.
---
Everything has changed.
Before, people watched Mia with disdain and curiosity. Now they watch with interest and something approaching respect. The confrontation with Victoria has transformed her from scandal to story—and people love a good story.
A woman in her fifties approaches, genuine warmth in her smile.
"Mrs. Kane? I'm Patricia Moore. I sit on the board of the Metropolitan Museum." She offers her hand. "I had to tell you—what you said to Victoria was long overdue. That woman has been insufferable for years."
"Thank you," Mia says, surprised. "Though I probably shouldn't have been so harsh."
"Nonsense. She called you a gold digger in front of five hundred people. You showed remarkable restraint, actually." Patricia leans in conspiratorially. "Between you and me, half the room wanted to applaud. The other half wished they'd thought of those lines first."
More people join them. Introductions that feel less like interrogations now. A few younger wives who are genuinely friendly, relieved to have someone new in their age bracket. A gallery owner who heard Mia is an artist and wants to see her work.
"Really?" Mia asks, stunned. "You want to see my paintings?"
"Absolutely. Anyone who can hold their own against Victoria Ashford has interesting perspectives." The gallery owner—Marcus Webb, no relation to her security guard—hands her a card. "Send me photos of your portfolio. If I like what I see, we'll talk about a showing."
A showing. A real gallery showing. The thing Mia's been dreaming about for years.
"I'll send them next week," she manages.
"Looking forward to it." Marcus moves on, leaving Mia slightly dazed.
"Did that just happen?" she asks Alexander.
"That just happened. Told you that dress was an investment." He's grinning. "You're officially being taken seriously."
"Because I insulted Victoria?"
"Because you stood up for yourself. These people respect strength. You showed them you have it."
Dinner is announced. They're seated at the head table—Alexander, Mia, Eleanor, James and Sophie, and several board members. Sophie looks gorgeous in navy blue, squeezing Mia's hand the moment they sit.
"Oh my god, you're a legend," Sophie whispers. "That takedown is everywhere. Even my grandmother texted me about it."
"Is that good or bad?"
"My grandmother never texts. It's definitely good."
The meal is seven courses of tiny, beautiful food. Mia tries everything, grateful that her morning sickness seems to be taking the evening off. Conversation flows around her—business talk, society gossip, Eleanor holding court like the queen she is.
Between courses, Alexander leans close. "How are you feeling? Tired?"
"Surprisingly okay. The baby seems to approve of fancy food."
"Wait until you try the chocolate dessert. It's why most people actually come to this gala."
He's right. The dessert is incredible—some chocolate creation that melts on the tongue. Mia eats every bite, aware that she probably looks undignified but beyond caring.
Across the table, Eleanor catches her eye. Smiles. Actually smiles, warm and real.
Maybe they're going to be okay.
After dinner, there's dancing.
A full orchestra, because apparently live bands are for casual parties. Couples take to the floor—elegant waltzes, practiced moves, the kind of dancing that requires lessons Mia never had.
"I can't dance," Mia says when Alexander stands, offering his hand.
"Neither can I. Not really. My mother forced me through cotillion, but I hated every second."
"Then why are we doing this?"
"Because it's expected. And because I want to hold you in public without it being scandalous." His smile is soft. "Dance with me?"
She takes his hand.
The floor is crowded, which helps. Alexander leads her into a simple waltz—nothing fancy, just swaying and turning. Mia concentrates on not stepping on his feet.
"Relax," Alexander murmurs. "You're thinking too hard."
"I'm trying not to embarrass us."
"Impossible. You already made us the most talked-about couple here." His hand splays across her lower back, warm through the silk. "Just follow my lead. I've got you."
She does. Relaxes into his hold, lets him guide her around the floor. They're not the best dancers here—not by a long shot. But they're together, moving in sync, and that matters more.
"Thank you," Alexander says quietly.
"For what?"
"For being here. For standing up to Victoria. For giving this—us—a real chance." His gray eyes are serious. "I know this isn't what you signed up for. The scrutiny, the judgment, the constant performance. But you're handling it better than I ever could have asked."
"I don't feel like I'm handling it well."
"You're standing in a ballroom full of people who want to see you fail, wearing a dress that announces your pregnancy, dancing with your contract husband, and you're still here. Still standing. That's not just handling it well—that's conquering it."
Mia's throat tightens. "You're making this complicated again."
"I excel at complicated."
"I've noticed."
They dance through another song. Mia spots Victoria across the floor, dancing with some silver-haired man who looks bored. Victoria's watching them, expression venomous.
"She's staring," Mia says.
"Let her." Alexander pulls Mia closer, protective. "She lost. You won. End of story."
"It doesn't feel like winning."
"That's because winning in this world always costs something." His hand tightens on hers. "But you're still here. Still you. That's the real victory."
The song ends. Applause ripples through the ballroom. Alexander bows slightly, formal and old-fashioned. Mia curtsies—awkwardly, but she tries.
"Can we sit?" she asks. "My feet are killing me."
"Of course. I'll get you something to drink."
They return to their table. Sophie is there, James having been pulled away by business associates.
"You two are adorable," Sophie says. "Like, genuinely adorable. I took seventeen photos."
"Send them to me," Mia says, collapsing into her chair. "I need proof this night actually happened."
Alexander appears with sparkling water and a plate of petit fours. "Sugar and hydration. Doctor's orders."
"You talked to Dr. Okonkwo about gala survival?"
"I talked to her about everything. I'm thorough." He sits beside her, hand finding hers under the table. "Twenty more minutes. Then we can leave. Eleanor wants us to stay through the charity auction, but after that we're free."
The auction is exactly as absurd as Mia expects.
Art pieces, vacation homes, experiences that cost more than she earned in a year. Alexander bids on a few things—a painting for his office, a wine collection, a charity donation to the children's hospital. Other attendees bid with the casual air of people for whom money is an abstract concept.
"Twenty thousand for the sculpture," someone calls.
"Thirty thousand," another counters.
"Fifty thousand."
The numbers climb into six figures. Mia watches, dizzy from the casual wealth.
"Does this bother you?" Alexander asks quietly.
"The money? Or the casual spending of it?"
"Both."
"Yes. But I'm getting used to it." Mia squeezes his hand. "Your world is very different from mine."
"Our world now. And we can change it. Make it better. More conscious." He gestures to the auction. "That sculpture just sold for two hundred thousand. That money goes to feeding homeless families. So yes, it's absurd. But it's also helping people."
Mia hadn't thought of it that way.
The auction concludes. Eleanor stops by their table, looking satisfied.
"Well done, both of you. Alexander, the board was impressed with Mia. Several members commented on her composure." She turns to Mia. "You've successfully navigated your first major event. I'm... pleased."
From Eleanor, that's practically a standing ovation.
"Thank you for your help tonight," Mia says sincerely.
"We're family. That's what family does." Eleanor adjusts her wrap. "Now go home. You look exhausted. And you—" she looks pointedly at Mia's stomach, "—need rest."
She sweeps away, leaving them dismissed but approved.
"Can we leave now?" Mia asks. "Please?"
"God, yes."
They say their goodbyes. Sophie hugs Mia tight, whispers that she's proud of her. James shakes Alexander's hand, makes some comment about "good show tonight" that makes Alexander roll his eyes.
Marcus has the car ready. They slip out a side entrance, avoiding the main doors where photographers still lurk.
In the car, Mia kicks off her heels and groans with relief.
"Remind me to never wear heels again," she says.
"Noted. Though for the record, you looked incredible in them."
"I looked like a baby giraffe learning to walk."
"An elegant baby giraffe."
"That's not better."
Alexander laughs, pulling her against his side. Mia goes willingly, exhausted but victorious.
They survived. Together.
The city slides past outside—late-night Manhattan, still glittering, still alive. Their city now. Their life.
"I'm proud of you," Alexander says into her hair. "Tonight was brutal and you handled it perfectly."
"I called your ex-girlfriend pathetic in front of five hundred people."
"Like I said. Perfectly."
Mia laughs, burrowing closer. "What happens now?"
"Now we go home. You put on comfortable clothes. We eat actual food instead of tiny fancy portions. And we celebrate surviving your first gala." He kisses her temple. "And tomorrow, we deal with whatever fallout tonight created."
"What kind of fallout?"
"The good kind, I think. You made an impression. People will remember you now."
"Is that what we want?"
"Yes." His arms tighten around her. "Because now they know—you're not going anywhere. You're Mrs. Alexander Kane. And you're exactly as fierce as you need to be."
Mia closes her eyes, letting the exhaustion win.
She conquered the gala. Stood up to Victoria. Earned Eleanor's approval. Proved to five hundred people that she belongs.
Now she just has to prove it to herself.
One day at a time.