Chapter 2: Stares

My gown shimmered like moonlight trapped in glass.

Royal blue, silk threaded with stones that caught the light and scattered it across the ballroom like stars.

I haven't even stepped fully into the room before I felt it—the shift.

A slow hush, as if someone had drawn a curtain over sound itself.

Heads turned. Eyes locked. The air thickened.

The soft murmur of the elite crowd, all silk gloves and practiced smiles, broke like waves against me.

First one glance, then another—until the silence became weight, pressing into my chest.

Alia exhaled beside me. “Selena… they’re all looking at you.”

She leaned in, gripping my arm gently, but I barely felt it.

My fingers clenched the fabric of my dress. “We stay close, okay?”

She nodded, but even her voice had dropped to a whisper. Like we were suddenly on stage and didn’t know our lines.

And then… the whispers began.

"Who is she?"

"Isn’t she Cassandra’s little sister?"

"An intern... wearing that?"

The voices weren’t loud, but they pierced just the same. Their curiosity wasn’t innocent it was edged with something else. Something darker.

Envy.

Across the room, I caught sight of Emma. Her expression unreadable. But her grip on her champagne glass was too tight.

She turned to Cassandra, who stood beside her rigid.

“That’s the dress, isn’t it?” Emma murmured. “The one you were saving for the next gala?”

Cassandra didn’t blink. “No. It’s not mine.”

Emma's tone shifted quieter, but sharper. “Then where the hell did she get it?”

Cassandra hesitated. And that was all Emma needed.

“She’s stealing this from you, Cass. Don’t you see it?”

Cassandra's jaw tightened. “I can’t… she’s my sister.”

Emma’s smile was thin, brittle. “Then I’ll handle it.”

She walked with purpose. Heels clicking like a countdown.

“Selena.”

I turned. My heartbeat thudded in my throat.

Emma stopped just in front of me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe like I was wearing a crime scene. “Where did you get that dress?”

Her voice wasn't loud. But it was sharp enough to slice through conversation around us.

“It was my grandmother’s,” I said quietly.

“Which grandmother?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “Because no one’s ever seen you in anything but office basics.”

Cassandra appeared beside her. Her voice was brittle. “You never mentioned that dress before.”

The room leaned in. Eyes watching. Ears listening.

“Are we really supposed to believe an intern just… shows up looking like a duchess?” Emma’s voice rose. “Unless she stole it.”

A low murmur pulsed through the crowd like a second heartbeat.

"This is a gala, not a fairy tale."

"She’s embarrassing herself."

"And her family."

The words struck deep too familiar. I had heard them before, not in ballrooms, but whispered behind doors I wasn’t meant to enter.

My fingers trembled at my side. For a second, I almost folded.

But something inside me… didn’t.

“Enough,” I said. My voice didn’t crack it rang.

They went quiet.

I turned, eyes scanning the crowd. Not for sympathy. Not for acceptance. Just for truth.

“This dress wasn’t bought. It wasn’t borrowed. It was gifted. By my grandmother, Lady Charlotte Ashworth. The same one she wore when she became Duchess.” I paused. 

“You think it’s stolen? That says more about you than it does about me.”

The silence returned but this time it felt different. Denser.

A presence stepped forward. “I would not stand for this.” His voice silenced even the chandeliers.

I knew that voice. Everyone did.

Damien Roth.

He walked toward us like he belonged to the room and somehow still commanded it.

“I will not tolerate my employees interrogating guests at my gala,” he said calmly, but there was something beneath it. Anger, barely restrained.

Emma opened her mouth. He lifted a hand. 

“Don’t. You’ve said enough.”

His gaze turned to me, something unreadable in it.

“How someone dresses,” he said slowly, “is no one’s business but their own. Do not confuse your entitlement for authority.”

He turned, addressing the entire room now.

“On behalf of Roth Enterprises, I apologize for this disruption.”

And just like that, the storm passed.

The crowd began to murmur again, shifting. Recalculating.

He stepped closer. “Are you alright?”

I tried to smile. It trembled. “Just… overwhelmed.”

His voice lowered. “Then take a breath. You don’t have to fight the whole room.”

And then he was gone.

Alia appeared at my side again, eyes wide. “Selena… that was Damien Roth.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“You spoke to Damien Roth.”

“I know.”

But inside, I didn’t feel victorious.

I felt exposed.

Damien Roth wasn’t supposed to look at me. I was supposed to blend in. Be invisible. Be safe.

And yet… he had.

And far across the ballroom, Cassandra stood perfectly still. Her champagne glass untouched. Her gaze no longer angry.

It was cold. Focused. Not on Damien. On me.

And just behind her almost hidden in the shadows a man in black stood watching. Still.

Silent. Unmoving.

I didn’t know him.

But somehow….I knew the night wasn’t over.

Something big was coming. Something i can't yet wrap my head around. And it was coming for me.