"They Humiliated Her in Front of Everyone—Then the Mafia Boss Called Her His Wife
Part 2
Ayla realized too late that Mabel had not finished with her.
The women drifted closer, smiling as if they were welcoming her instead of surrounding her.
Mabel lifted her champagne glass.
“Everyone, you must see Ayla’s dress.
She is proving that courage matters more than couture.”
Laughter rippled through the group.
Ayla’s face warmed, but she kept her chin steady.
“Excuse me.”
She tried to step away, but Jean appeared behind them, his expression sharp with warning.
“Do not be dramatic,” he murmured.
“People are watching.”
That was exactly what Mabel wanted.
A platinum-haired woman reached toward Ayla’s sleeve.
“What fabric is this?
It feels almost synthetic.”
Ayla pulled back.
“Please don’t touch me.”
The woman gasped theatrically.
Mabel’s smile widened.
“Oh, Ayla.
No one is attacking you.
We are only trying to help.”
Then she tilted her glass just enough.
Champagne spilled across the front of Ayla’s black dress in a cold, glittering stream.
The ballroom went quiet in spreading circles.
Mabel pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Oh no.
How clumsy of me.”
Ayla stood frozen, humiliated, wet fabric clinging to her skin while people stared.
Jean exhaled in disgust.
“Go clean yourself up before you embarrass the company further.”
Something inside Ayla cracked.
Before she could speak, a man’s voice cut through the silence.
“She embarrasses no one.”
The crowd parted.
Matteo Cipriani walked toward her with controlled, lethal calm.
Every conversation in the ballroom died.
Even Jean stepped back.
Matteo stopped beside Ayla, removed his black suit jacket, and placed it gently over her shoulders.
His hand remained there.
Protective.
Deliberate.
Mabel’s face lost color.
“Mr. Cipriani, this is only a misunderstanding.”
“No,” Matteo said.
“This is a mistake.”
He turned to Jean.
“You employ her?”
Jean swallowed.
“Yes, but—”
“Not anymore.”
Ayla looked up sharply.
Matteo’s gaze softened only for her.
Then, before anyone could react, he took her hand and raised it with quiet certainty.
“This woman,” he said, his voice carrying across the ballroom, “is under my protection.”
Mabel laughed nervously.
“Protection?”
Matteo looked at her.
“My wife does not require your approval.”
May you like
Ayla stopped breathing.
Because on her finger, beneath his thumb, he had slipped a diamond ring.
