The Stranger I Married-Chapter 52: The King and Queen

The flash of cameras flared like lightning as the black limousine rolled to a slow stop at the foot of the grand staircase leading up to the Langford Estate. The venue gleamed under golden chandeliers and twinkling fairy lights, with journalists, paparazzi, and elites all waiting for tonight’s grand arrivals.

The gala of the season.

The senator choose one family to host it each year approving each invite. This year was the Marquez family hosting it.

The charity event was always extravagant, but this year, anticipation buzzed stronger in the air. Rumors had been circulating all week. There was talk of a return. A name whispered in tight circles and behind manicured hands. A name no one dared say too loudly.

But they didn’t expect this.

When the driver opened the door, Nicholas stepped out first—sharp in a black tuxedo tailored so precisely it looked sculpted onto him. His presence was commanding, his every movement measured. But it wasn’t him alone that held the crowd captive.

It was the hand he offered.

Ella Marquez emerged like a secret finally unveiled. freewebnσvel.cѳm

The soft emerald fabric of her gown shimmered under the flashing lights, the gentle flare trailing like liquid silk around her legs. Her dark hair framed her face in soft waves, and her eyes—sharp, steady—swept across the gathering like a queen surveying her court.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then the whispers began.

"Is that—?"

"She hasn’t shown her face since—"

"My God, that’s Ella Marquez."

"No one’s seen her since her mother fell into that coma—"

"She looks..."

"Like she never left."

Clara, standing just inside the ballroom’s grand archway, froze.

Her flute of champagne trembled slightly in her hand as she followed the direction of the murmurs. When she caught sight of the woman stepping up the marble steps, her stomach twisted into a knot.

Ella.

Clara’s lips curled slightly. Of course she’d come crawling back. But not like this. Not looking like that. Not with every pair of eyes following her like she owned the place.

She shouldn’t be the one stealing the spotlight.

Clara gritted her teeth.

"Who’s the man with her?" someone asked aloud.

Another responded with a scoff. "Her latest mistake, probably."

But then something shifted.

At the top of the stairs, just beyond the crowd, a man stepped forward. He was tall, silver-haired, draped in quiet authority. Instantly recognizable to anyone with power, money, or ambition.

Senator Langford. One of the most powerful men in the country.

He didn’t wait for them to approach. Instead, he descended the stairs himself—an action that sent a visible ripple through the waiting crowd. People straightened. Others whispered more fervently.

He extended a hand toward Nicholas and greeted him—not just with civility, but warmth. Respect.

"Nicholas. It’s been a long time."

The crowd collectively inhaled.

Nicholas smiled coolly and shook his hand. "Senator. Thank you for the invitation."

"Of course," the senator said, his eyes flicking briefly to Ella. "And Miss Marquez. You’re a vision."

Ella inclined her head with practiced grace. "Thank you, Senator."

But no one was listening to them anymore. The murmurs behind them were escalating.

"Nicholas?" someone whispered. "Nicholas who?"

Then a gasp.

"Wait—that’s Nicholas Carter."

The name struck like a thunderclap.

Eyes widened. Phones were subtly lifted, texts sent in rapid succession.

"The Carter heir?"

"No—it can’t be."

"I thought he was in Europe—wasn’t he raised there?"

"Didn’t they say he never planned to return?"

"Oh my god."

The whispers swirled into a storm of recognition.

Nicholas Carter—the elusive heir to the Carter Empire. A name that had vanished from domestic headlines for years, and yet, in the undercurrents of global finance and politics, the Carter legacy had only grown more fearsome.

The Carters didn’t just run companies. They ran empires. Energy, tech, private security, defense contracts, discreet media control. Generational wealth, built on brilliance and quiet ruthlessness.

And their only heir, groomed in silence, had finally stepped onto American soil.

With Ella Marquez on his arm.

The fall of Ella Marquez had been slow and painful. After her mother’s sudden accident and long-term coma, Ella had been quietly removed from the spotlight. Her father had remarried within months. Her trust fund had been rerouted. The whispers of betrayal and abandonment had followed her until she disappeared entirely.

But tonight?

Ella was radiant. Powerful by association. Unbothered by the storm she’d walked back into.

"Nicholas Carter," someone whispered again in awe. "And he brought her."

Clara’s nails dug into her glass.

How?

How had Ella Marquez—the girl they pitied, dismissed, laughed at—gone from being cast out to walking beside Nicholas Carter? The man every family had once tried to court for their daughters, the one who had vanished into silence and reemerged like royalty?

And now he was here, with his hand resting confidently at Ella’s waist like she belonged to him.

Like she’d never been discarded at all.

Clara shoved her champagne flute into a passing waiter’s tray and strode toward the center of the ballroom, past frozen smiles and forced greetings. Her jaw clenched tighter with every step.

Ella caught her approach. Their eyes locked across the floor.

Clara offered her a cold, saccharine smile. "What a surprise."

Ella tilted her head slightly. "Isn’t it?"

Nicholas’s hand tightened ever so slightly at Ella’s waist.

Clara’s eyes flicked to him. "And who’s your... guest?"

Nicholas didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t offer a smile. His stare was cool, amused, and utterly unreadable.

Ella answered for him. "Nicholas Carter."

Clara’s lips twitched, but she recovered. "Of course."

"You’ve heard of me," Nicholas said smoothly, his tone almost playful.

Clara laughed tightly. "Who hasn’t?"

Ella leaned closer to Nicholas. "Shall we find our table?"

He nodded, not sparing Clara another glance.

The moment they turned, whispers roared again.

Some gaped at Ella’s transformation. Others whispered about how Clara’s face had twisted.

Some speculated this was Ella’s revenge.

Others saw it clearly for what it was: a reclamation.

Ella Marquez, fallen heiress, had returned to high society—not as the girl who had lost everything.

But as the woman who had everything now.

Nicholas leaned in close to her ear as they entered the ballroom together.

"Are you enjoying this?"

Ella, lips curled into a dangerous smile, whispered back, "Immensely."

They stepped onto the dance floor just as the music began to swell, and every eye followed them.

The King had returned.

And he brought his Queen.