The grand hall began to settle. The golden lights dimmed slightly as the opening symphony floated through the air, calming the excited murmurs. All around the crystal-clad ballroom, the most powerful figures in the country had taken their seats—each one sitting like a piece on a royal chessboard.
The room was filled with elites—politicians, celebrities, media moguls, designers, and CEOs—but there were a few faces everyone recognized instantly.
Charles Wallace, Allan's father, sat at the center of a prime table. Dressed in a sharply tailored black suit with a deep crimson tie that almost looked like blood silk, his presence alone commanded the room. His eyes were sharp, scanning the guests like he owned them, and in a way—he did. Whispers rippled through the room at the sight of him, the infamous businessman who rarely made public appearances unless it was something worth his attention.
At a nearby table, Lord Cavendish, Eleanor's father, raised a crystal flute of champagne as people greeted him like royalty. Known for his control over the luxury arms of European trade, his gaze flicked to his daughter with pride, clearly basking in the spotlight she generated.
Other important families, ambassadors, heirs and heiresses, models, designers—even a few lowkey royals—were spotted at different tables, surrounded by press and photographers carefully chosen for the night. Conversations flowed like wine, filled with alliances, gossip, and golden lies.
At the very back of the hall, some eyes still followed Ariel, not sure who she was but instinctively knowing—she was someone to watch.
---
Ariel stayed close to Allan's side, her hand lightly brushing against his as they moved through the grand hall. Wherever Allan went, she was right beside him—like a shadow that glowed. The venue was magnificently arranged, every table gleaming under crystal chandeliers, with gold-embroidered name cards marking seats for elite families.
Allan navigated through the crowd with ease, his aura commanding attention, until they reached the Wallace family's reserved table—positioned near the front, just beside the stage. Ariel could feel the weight of eyes on her, especially from the powerful figures already seated.
Charles, Allan's father, sat upright with a quiet intensity. His piercing gaze settled on Allan, sharp and unreadable, though he said nothing. Ariel instinctively straightened up, her posture mirroring the grace of someone born for this life—even though she wasn't.
Across the room, Cara spotted them. Her eyes lit up, and she gave an enthusiastic wave, clearly delighted to see both her cousin and Ariel. She sat with her friends at the Campbell table, her energy a striking contrast to the otherwise composed crowd.
As everyone settled, the lights dimmed slightly, and the announcer's voice echoed through the hall, welcoming the guests. The gala's fashion showcase was about to begin
******
The show began with a stunning display of lights and orchestral music. Models strutted down the marble runway in high-end designer pieces—from flowing, beaded gowns to sharply tailored suits stitched in metallic thread. Every garment shimmered under the soft glows of the chandeliers above, making the entire room feel like a scene straight out of a fashion fairytale.
Ariel was mesmerized. She sat gracefully beside Allan, who occasionally leaned in to whisper playful remarks about the outfits or subtly point out known designers and celebrities seated nearby. She laughed quietly, trying not to look too amazed—though deep down, she'd never imagined herself here.
As the final model exited the runway and the crowd applauded, soft music resumed and the hall transitioned into its after-party atmosphere. Waiters carried trays of sparkling drinks and desserts, and the elite began to mingle freely.
"Allan," a voice called out.
It was Charles. Standing tall and commanding in his sleek black suit, he gestured subtly for his son to join him.
"I'll be back," Allan murmured to Ariel, brushing her hand with his thumb before letting go. "Stay here. I won't take long."
Ariel nodded, a bit nervous to be left alone but trusting him. She watched as he crossed the room to meet his father, who seemed eager to introduce him to a few other wealthy elites—men and women in polished suits and expensive smiles.
That's when Eleanor made her move.
Draped in a silver, skin-hugging gown from a Paris-exclusive designer, she glided over with her friends in tow—Daisy and Selen. Her hair was pinned up in delicate waves, and her entire presence oozed elegance... and quiet danger.
"Well, well," she said, pausing just in front of Ariel. "If it isn't Allan Wallace's mystery date."
Ariel stood slowly, not wanting to seem intimidated.
"I must say," Eleanor continued with a glossy smile, "you're… brave. Coming here dressed in that. Is it thrifted? Or did Allan pick it out from one of his charity drives?"
Selen laughed behind her champagne glass while Daisy gave a fake, sympathetic nod.
Ariel clenched her jaw but said nothing.
"I mean, it's sweet, really," Eleanor went on. "You—trying to fit in. It's just a little sad when someone doesn't know their place. But maybe Allan has a thing for strays."
That stung. Ariel looked away for a moment, breathing deeply. She wasn't going to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
Before she could respond, Eleanor stepped even closer, her voice a whisper only Ariel could hear:
"You don't belong here. And deep down… you know that."
Ariel stood frozen for a moment, trying to keep her cool under Eleanor's venomous words. But Eleanor wasn't done. With a flick of her wrist, she reached for a glass of sparkling rosé from a nearby tray.
Before Ariel could even react, Eleanor tilted it forward and poured it over her.
The cold liquid soaked Ariel's perfectly styled hair and the bodice of her dress. A hush fell over the room.
Gasps echoed around them.
Cameras turned.
Flashbulbs exploded.
It was all happening too fast—Ariel's breath hitched, her eyes wide in disbelief.
"Oops," Eleanor said with faux innocence, her voice dripping with mockery. "My hand slipped."
Just as Ariel was about to step back, Cara burst through the gathering crowd. "Are you out of your mind?" she hissed at Eleanor, pulling out a clean napkin and rushing to Ariel's side. Ian followed behind, his usually calm demeanor replaced with visible annoyance. He stood like a wall between Ariel and the growing swarm of paparazzi, his eyes locked on Eleanor with a glare that could slice steel.
"Back up. Now," he ordered one of the nearby press with a sharp edge in his voice.
That's when Allan appeared.
His presence was immediate and cold—his expression unreadable as he strode through the crowd. The moment his eyes met Ariel's—drenched and humiliated—his jaw tensed.
Without saying a word to Eleanor or anyone else, he reached for Ariel's hand gently, protectively. The crowd parted for him instinctively.
"Allan—" Eleanor started, trying to step forward.
But Allan didn't even glance at her.
He wrapped his coat over Ariel's shoulders and turned away, walking with her out of the crowd, past the flashing cameras and prying eyes. As they left, reporters whispered and snapped pictures—an ocean of speculation now swirling around the scene.
"Did you see what Eleanor did?"
"Is that Allan Wallace's girl?"
"Why did he leave with her like that?"
Eleanor stood stiffly in the middle of it all, forced to smile bitterly for the flashing lights, her moment of triumph having quickly turned into something else entirely.
:
Allan didn't say a word until they were far enough from the crowd—away from the music, the glimmer, the whispers, and the flashing lights. He led Ariel through a private hallway, down a set of marble steps, and out to a serene balcony that overlooked the city. The night air was crisp and quiet, a sharp contrast to the chaos they just left behind.
He finally stopped, turning to face her. His eyes softened as he reached out to gently brush a damp strand of hair from her cheek. "Are you okay?"
Ariel nodded slowly, but the tears she had been holding back brimmed in her eyes. "I tried to stay calm… I didn't want to cause a scene."
"You didn't," he said firmly, "She did."
She looked up at him, his coat still wrapped around her shoulders, warm and smelling faintly of his cologne—mint and cedar. "But everyone saw… and the press…"
"I don't care," he said, stepping closer. "Let them see. Let them say whatever they want. I saw you—how you held yourself together. That's what matters."
Ariel blinked, her voice breaking. "Why is she like that? Why does she hate me?"
Allan sighed, eyes scanning the city lights below before landing back on her. "Because you're not like them. You shine without trying. And that terrifies people like Eleanor."
He cupped her face carefully, as if afraid she might break. "I shouldn't have left you, I knew better. I'll never do that again."
Ariel's breath caught. The sincerity in his voice, the gentle way he looked at her—it all felt so overwhelming, yet safe.
"Why do you care so much?" she whispered.
He leaned in, resting his forehead gently against hers. "Because I want to. And I think I have for a while now."
The city lights flickered behind them, but for that moment, the world felt still. Quiet.
Just the two of them—no gala, no titles, no chaos.
Just Ariel and Allan.