Beg On Your Knees: Erasing My CEO Husband Chapter 07

Beg On Your Knees: Erasing My CEO Husband Chapter 07: A Rival’s Arm at the Gala

Flashbulbs exploded in a blinding white wall. I tightened my grip on Elias Sterling’s forearm.

“Smile, Clara,” Elias murmured, his lips barely moving. “You’re making history tonight”.

“I just want to make a point,” I replied.

“Even better. Keep your chin up”.

“Clara! Clara!” a reporter shouted from behind the velvet rope, shoving a microphone forward aggressively. “Is it true you and Julian are separating? Who are you wearing?”

“Don’t answer them,” Elias instructed seamlessly, guiding me up the carpet. “Silence is much louder”.

“Are you enjoying this?” I asked.

“Immensely,” Elias said. “Julian Vance has been a thorn in my side for three years. Seeing his wife on my arm is the best investment I’ve made all quarter”.

“I’m not your investment,” I reminded him pointedly. “I’m just a woman who needed a ticket into this room”.

“You know he’s going to retaliate,” Elias warned. “Julian doesn’t lose gracefully”.

“I’m counting on it,” I replied coldly. “He makes mistakes when he’s angry”.

“And you, Clara, make him very angry. Now, let’s go ruin his night”.

We stepped past the heavy oak doors and into the grand ballroom.
A string quartet played softly in the corner, but the music was
quickly drowned out by a sudden, sweeping, stunned silence.
Heads turned. Whispers ignited like dry brush.

“Look at her,” a woman muttered to my left.

“Is that Elias Sterling?” another voice hissed.

Across the room, Julian stood rigidly near a massive ice
sculpture. He held a crystal champagne flute. His gaze locked
fiercely onto my hand resting on Elias’s tailored sleeve. The
muscles in his jaw jumped. His knuckles turned stark white
around the stem of his glass.

“He sees us,” Elias noted calmly.

“I know.”

“He looks like he wants to murder me”.

“He wants to murder both of us,” I corrected.

A sharp, obnoxious voice cut through the rising chatter. “Clara.
You actually showed up”.

Seraphina Thorne blocked our path intentionally. She wore a
custom crimson gown, expensive diamonds glaring at her
collarbone. She dragged her eyes up and down my unbranded,
vintage black slip dress. Her lip curled into a nasty,
condescending sneer.

“Did you lose your invitation to the designer showrooms?”
Seraphina asked loudly. “Or did the pawn shop not have anything

in your size? I read the Page Six article. Everyone knows you’re broke”.

“I don’t need a label to matter, Seraphina,” I replied flawlessly.
“Some of us don’t require a price tag”.

“You look cheap. And desperate.” Seraphina took a step closer, her perfume suffocatingly sweet. “Julian cut up your credit cards and you immediately ran to his biggest competitor? Pathetic”.

“I walked,” I corrected. “And I didn’t run to anyone. Elias simply offered me a ride”.

“He’s using you to get to Julian,” she sneered. “You’re just a pawn”.

“And Julian used you because he was bored in Paris,” I shot back smoothly. “We all serve a purpose. At least I chose mine”.

Seraphina’s face flushed a deep red. “You have nothing left, Clara. You’re a joke to everyone in this room”.

“Then why are you shaking?” I asked simply.

“I am not shaking!”

“You are,” Elias interrupted, smoothly stepping between us. He towered over her, his immense presence immediately dominating the small space.

“Ms. Thorne,” Elias said, his tone chillingly polite. “A word of advice. When you wear a stolen dress, you shouldn’t draw attention to the seams. It makes the theft look amateur”.

“Excuse me?” Seraphina snapped. “Who do you think you are to

speak to me like that?”

“I am the man currently acquiring your firm’s European assets,”
Elias stated icily. “And if you speak to my date like that again, I will
acquire your job next. Then I will fire you on a Friday afternoon.”

Seraphina’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She took a
quick step back, her fragile confidence completely shattering.

“Run along,” Elias told her dismissively. “Adults are talking”.

She spun on her heel and marched away furiously, her face
burning red.

“That was cruel,” I said.

“It was necessary,” Elias replied calmly. “Champagne?”

A waiter passed with a silver tray. I picked up a flute of sparkling
wine.

Julian had finally closed the distance. He stopped ten feet away.
His expression was a terrifying mask of pure, unadulterated rage,
completely stripping away the polished veneer he usually wore for
the cameras. He expected me broken. He expected me hiding in
my cheap apartment, crying pathetically over my empty bank
accounts.

“He’s going to cause a scene,” Elias warned quietly.

“Let him,” I said, unbothered. “It’s his reputation on the line”.

“Clara,” Julian said, his commanding voice carrying over the quiet
crowd. “Come here”.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” I answered securely. I met his eyes directly. I raised my glass, holding his intense stare.

Julian’s hand clamped down brutally.

*Snap.*

The crystal flute in his grip completely shattered. Champagne and deep red blood splashed onto the polished marble floor.

Gasps erupted loudly from the surrounding guests. The string quartet fumbled their notes and stopped playing entirely.

“Mr. Vance!” a waiter cried out in horror, rushing forward with a white cloth napkin. “You’re bleeding!”

Julian ignored him completely. He didn’t even look at his profusely bleeding palm. He just stared at me, crimson drops falling rhythmically from his fingers to the pristine white marble. The sound of the blood hitting the floor was deafening in the silent room.

“Clean that up,” Julian ordered the waiter, his voice dangerously calm. His eyes never left my face.

“Shall we find our table?” Elias asked smoothly, offering his arm again.

“We absolutely should,” I said. I turned my back decisively on Julian Vance and let Elias lead me gracefully to the VIP section.