The Charity Gala.

~ Amara ~

“Don’t touch the hem, Amara, you’ll wrinkle the silk,” Selene said, her voice a sharp contrast to the soft classical music playing in the Moore Crest foyer.

I pulled my hand back as if the fabric had burned me. I stood before the tall mirror, feeling less like a guest and more like a mannequin Gideon’s cousin had dressed for a display. The dress was a deep emerald, sleek and expensive, yet it felt heavy on my shoulders. I adjusted the neckline, trying to find a way to make it feel like it belonged on my body.

“It’s a bit tight around the hips, isn’t it?” Selene continued, her eyes scanning me with a practiced, critical coldness. She leaned in, her perfume thick and cloying. “But I suppose we have to work with what’s available. Not everyone has the bone structure for high fashion. It’s a pity, really.”

I forced a small, tight smile and said nothing. I was used to her barbs by now. They were part of the furniture at Moore Crest, much like the heavy drapes and the silence that filled every room.

Gideon stepped into the foyer, checking his watch. He didn’t look at me. He never did unless it was required by the contract or the presence of a camera. He looked perfect in his tuxedo, a man who believed control was the only true form of stability.

“The car is waiting,” he said, his tone as flat as the marble floors beneath us.

“Doesn’t she look... adequate, Gideon?” Selene asked, her smile wide and false.

Gideon finally glanced my way, his eyes skimming over the dress and my face for a fraction of a second. “She’ll manage. Let’s go.”

The drive to the Ravenport City ballroom was quiet. Gideon spent the entire time on his phone, the blue light of the screen illuminating his hard, distant features. I stared out the window at the passing city lights, feeling the familiar weight of the Kline family debt pressing against my chest. I was here because I had no other choice. I was the price paid to keep my father out of a dark office and my brother out of a life of debt.

The gala was a blur of flashing lights and polite, empty conversations. I stayed close to Gideon’s side, a silent shadow in a room full of people who looked through me.

“Mrs. Moore, what a lovely color,” a woman I didn’t know said, her eyes already moving past me to find Gideon.

“Thank you,” I whispered, but she had already turned away.

We moved toward a cluster of Gideon’s business associates. Adrian Locke, was there, holding a drink and laughing at a joke I hadn’t heard. When he saw us, his grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes when they landed on me.

“Gideon, you finally brought the mystery wife out of the shadows,” Adrian said, clapping Gideon on the shoulder.

“She’s a bit quiet tonight, isn’t she?” another man added, his voice laced with a patronizing tilt.

Gideon took a sip of his scotch. “She prefers it that way.” He didn't defend me, nor did he introduce me properly. He just let the comment hang in the air like smoke.

Selene appeared at my elbow, a glass of red wine in her hand. “I was just telling Adrian how much effort went into finding a dress that didn’t overwhelm her background.”

The small group laughed—a jagged, sharp sound that made my fingers tighten around my own glass. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. I wanted to walk away, to find a corner of the ballroom where no one could see me, but the contract required me to stay.

“I think the dress is lovely, Selene,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.

“Oh, darling, of course you do,” Selene replied, her eyes glittering. She leaned closer, as if to whisper a secret, but her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “But we all know that you can’t buy class, can you? It’s something you’re born with, not something you marry into.”

She made a sudden, sharp movement with her arm, and her wine glass tilted. A wave of dark red liquid splashed across the front of my emerald dress.

The coldness of the wine soaked through the silk immediately, clinging to my skin. I gasped, looking down at the massive stain spreading across my waist.

“Oh my god, Amara! I’m so sorry,” Selene cried, her voice dripping with fake horror. “I’m such a klutz. I didn’t see you standing so close.”

The group went silent, all eyes on the ruined dress and the girl who didn’t belong. I looked at Gideon, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed him to say something. Anything.

Gideon looked at the stain, then at Selene, then finally at me. His expression didn't change. There was no anger, no concern, just a profound, chilling indifference.

“You should go clean that up,” he said, his voice quiet and dismissive.

“Gideon, I—” I started, my voice failing me.

He didn’t wait for me to finish. He turned back to Adrian and the others, resuming the conversation as if I had already disappeared. He walked away toward the bar, leaving me standing in the center of the circle, dripping wine onto the polished floor.

Selene leaned in, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. “It really is a shame about the dress, Amara. But then again, it never quite fit you, did it?”

I turned and walked away, my heels clicking too loudly in the sudden quiet of the immediate area. I found the ladies’ room and locked myself in a stall. I gripped the edges of the sink, staring at the red stain that looked like a wound on the green silk.

I didn't cry. I couldn't afford to. I just took deep, shallow breaths, trying to make myself as small as possible. I thought about the car waiting outside, the black sedan that had brought me to this life. I thought about my father’s face and the way he had said I was saving them.

I stayed in the stall for a long time, listening to the muffled sounds of the party outside. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it all felt like it was happening to someone else. Here, in the quiet, I was safe.

When I finally emerged, the gala was still in full swing. I didn't go back to the ballroom. I found a side exit and walked out into the cool Ravenport night, the ruined silk rustling around my legs.

Gideon was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't come looking for me. He had simply moved on with his evening, his wife a minor inconvenience he had already forgotten.

I stood on the sidewalk, the city lights blurring before my eyes. I wasn't a wife, and I wasn't a partner. I was a liability in an emerald dress, a ghost haunting a marriage that only existed on paper.

I walked toward the curb, waiting for a car that would take me back to the cold luxury of Moore Crest, where the silence was the only thing I truly owned.