A few minutes ago, before we arrived at the ball, I had steeled my mind for this big night. But now that we were here, all I wanted was to hide under the nearest cupboard.
The gown Anthony had given me was sleeveless and hugged my curves tightly. A daring slit revealed too much of my thigh, making me even more self-conscious.
I clutched the gold clutch bag so tightly my knuckles whitened. My hair was styled in soft ponytail curls, with a few loose strands framing my forehead.
Next to me, Anthony gripped my hand firmly—but it did nothing to calm the fluttering anxiety in my chest.
Then his deep voice whispered into the space between us, "Relax. The night won't bite."
I blinked and forced a nod. I had to do this—for freedom. I needed to play the fiancé he wanted me to be.
We walked down the walkway, and it took everything not to be overwhelmed. Ladies draped in expensive fabrics and the scent of rich cologne filled the air, matched by men in elegant suits.
The moment we stepped inside, every eye turned to me. My gaze darted around the ballroom—a grand hall in a five-star hotel. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and music swelled from every corner.
Anthony's hand slid to my waist. I glanced at him, and he winked.
My heart skipped a beat. He never winked—so why now?
Then I saw them.
Photographers, flashing their cameras, capturing every angle of me, while the entire room stared.
Anthony casually walked me in as if the murmurs around us didn't matter.
Whispers began to spread, and many ladies kept stealing glances at me.
Jeez, I really don't belong here.
Suddenly, Anthony bent down and kissed my knuckles. I froze, eyes wide in surprise.
He was a damn good actor.
"Stay here, I'll be back," he said, then walked away. As he moved, I couldn't help but admire how the black suit clung perfectly to his muscles—broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist.
The way his hair swung and with each step he moved was mesmerizing.
A waiter passed by, carrying two glasses of wine, and Anthony took the drinks and began heading toward me.
The small gesture made my heart skip a beat.
All through the ride here, I hadn't dared to look at him properly. But now, I took in his face—the piercing grey eyes, the way they narrowed thoughtfully.
His full, succulent lips and thick, short lashes.
My God.
Why are you staring, Alicia?
Suddenly, Anthony was beside me again. "Your drink, madam."
"Y-yes… thank you," I stammered, hands trembling as I took the glass.
I gulped it down in one swallow, avoiding his gaze.
Anthony's eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear. The subtle act caused a stir among the onlookers.
"You're doing well, dear," he whispered.
He straightened, but his minty cologne lingered in the air.
I gripped the glass tighter. God, what now?
As Anthony silently sipped his drink, a man approached—older, perhaps in his forties.
His hair was neatly trimmed, eyes dark and intense.
Recognition hit me like a wave.
I've seen that face before.
Oh yes—he was a renowned billionaire, splashed across magazines and TV screens.
Anthony must have sensed my nervousness because his hand slid protectively around my waist just as the man reached us.
"Ahh… Uncle, you're here," Anthony said casually.
Huh?
Uncle?
"You're late," the man said flatly, no hint of a smile.
Anthony shrugged, "Since when did you care?"
There was tension thick in the air, one I could sense all too clearly.
His gaze suddenly narrowed, locking onto mine. Anthony might come off as cold, but this man gave off something far worse—colder, darker, like the devil himself.
"And you are?" the man asked, voice low and sharp.
"Well… I…"
"My fiancée," Anthony interrupted abruptly, his grip on my waist tightening. "Now, if you don't mind, we'd rather be somewhere else."
His uncle's eyes darkened even more. "I need to talk to you."
Anthony took a slow sip of his drink, utterly unfazed by the deadly stare. Then he turned to me with a smil...a smile...something Anthony never did.
"Darling, don't we have somewhere to be?"
Huh?
Why was he putting me in such a tight spot?
I glanced up at him, startled by that rare smile.
"Well… ye… yes, we do," I managed to say.
"Too busy to even introduce her?" his uncle said, voice sharp.
"Later," Anthony replied curtly.
A waiter passed by and cleared our empty glasses. Anthony took my hand and said, "Shall we?"
I nodded, but my hands trembled slightly under his firm grip, especially under his uncle's penetrating gaze.
Once we were further away, I turned to Anthony. "Why did you treat him like that?"
His tone was casual, almost dismissive. "He's not important."
I meant to ask more, but Anthony pulled me deeper into the room, where more groups of people gathered.
Soon, more people approached us. Like his uncle, Anthony introduced me, but unlike the cold, clipped interaction with his uncle, his tone was warmer, friendlier.
While he greeted acquaintances with ease, I lingered in a corner, my eyes absorbing the grandeur of the room and the glittering crowd.
The rich really do live in a whole different world.
My eyes suddenly caught Anthony's. When his cold gaze met mine, a chill ran down my spine, and I remembered his words before he stepped away to greet his acquaintances:
"Stay close and smile."
So that's exactly what I did—smiling awkwardly, nodding at strangers I barely knew.
He seemed satisfied and looked away. I let out a quiet sigh.
All I wanted was to go home.
Even my stomach twisted into tight knots.
"Darling."
I froze. The voice was crisp, feminine, and far too close.
I turned, and there she was—tall, almost as tall as Anthony. Her hair was midnight black, sleek and flowing down to her waist. Cat-like hazel eyes, and her lips—painted a perfect smudge of red—curved with confidence.
She wore a red gown that clung to her like a second skin, accentuating her full curves. While my dress flaunted too much thigh, hers boldly displayed cleavage.
"Mia," Anthony said.
He turned to her, took her hand—and kissed it.
What?
I wasn't supposed to feel anything. This was all fake, just an arrangement. But...what?
Who was she?
And even though I had every reason to stay away, to remind myself none of this was real, my feet betrayed me—stepping closer.
Why did I feel the burning urge to rip that red dress apart just for calling him darling?