2. THE ANNIVERSARY BALL

CHAPTER TWO: THE ANNIVERSARY BALL

The anniversary ball is going great so far, or at least as great as it can be. The grand hall is alive with the soft drone of conversation, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter.  It’s the kind of event that screams opulence, the kind that makes you straighten your posture and double-check your reflection in every surface you pass. Well, the Washington family has always had standard. They are the kind to make sure you remember them.

And sure, I can’t deny the thrill of the compliments that come our way every five seconds. “You two are such a stunning couple,” one guest gushes, while another chimes in with, “Mark is so lucky to have you. You complement him perfectly.” It’s flattering, but after the fifth or sixth time, the words start to feel like a script, rehearsed and carefully calculated. 

Because I know the truth. They’re not really praising me. Oh, no. They’re buttering up my husband. Every smile, every fucking recycled compliment, every enthusiastic handshake—it’s all part of the game. They’re hoping to charm him just enough to keep their name at the top of his Rolodex, to secure a slice of whatever lucrative deal he might be handing out next. 

And Mark? Well, he’s handling it all with his usual effortless charm, shaking hands, laughing at the right moments, and giving those polite but reserved smiles that keep everyone on their toes. He’s a master at this, balancing approachability with an untouchable aura of power. I watch him from across the room, his perfectly tailored suit hugging his frame as he exchanges words with a group of executives. His confidence radiates like a force field, drawing people in but never letting them get too close. 

I sip my champagne, smiling politely at the couple in front of me, nodding along as they gush about how “Mark’s vision is simply unparalleled” and “the two of you are the epitome of modern success.” It’s exhausting, really, but I play my part like a pro. 

Still, underneath the glittering facade, there’s a part of me that craves something more genuine—a conversation without hidden agendas or ulterior motives. But for now, I tuck those thoughts away and focus on the moment. After all, this is our anniversary ball, and no amount of superficial flattery can take that away. 

“I want to get out of here,” Mark whispers as soon as he finds me, his voice low enough that only I can hear over the noise of the party. His hand brushes against mine, electric tingles rushing up my arm. “This was supposed to be an intimate day for just you and me.” 

I tilt my head, giving him a teasing smile. “Hey, you know your mom loves it when we celebrate our anniversary this way.” 

He grins, the kind of smile that makes his eyes crinkle just slightly. “You are such a kiss-ass when it comes to her.” 

“Maybe,” I admit, nudging his side lightly. “She loves me like a daughter.” I don’t say the rest of it—that despite coming from a lesser-known family, she’s embraced me with open arms. Sometimes it feels like I’ve had to work twice as hard to earn that love, but it’s worth it. 

“Yeah, she does,” he says, his tone softening. He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You want to ditch the party?” 

My lips curve into a sly smile. “What do you have in mind?” 

“Oh, you’ll see.” 

Before I can respond, he snatches two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress, handing one to me while wrapping an arm snugly around my waist. His touchfeels warm against my bare back as he leads me toward the back door, weaving through the crowd with ease, nodding politely at few of his employees. 

We’re almost there, the cool promise of the evening air just steps away, when someone steps into our path. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Washington!” 

I glance up to see Evelyn, the publicist for the Washington Hotel franchise and all its subsidiaries. She’s polished as ever, her sleek black dress a sharp contrast to her bright, professional smile. 

“First of all, happy anniversary to both of you,” she says warmly. Her eyes flicker toward me, taking in my dress. “You are clearly the only one who can pull that off, Mrs. Washington.” 

“Thanks,” I reply, offering a polite smile. “You can just call me Gina, you know.” Evelyn is great at her job—sharp, efficient, and always on top of things. I understand why Mark hired her.

Her smile widens. “We should get drinks one of these days. Just you and me.” 

Before I can respond, her expression shifts slightly, businesslike and apologetic. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to steal your husband for a moment. I know it’s your night, but this can’t wait.” 

Mark tenses beside me, his grip on my waist tightening slightly. His tone is firm when he responds, a clear edge of irritation in his voice. “I’m certain it can wait, Evelyn.” 

She shakes her head, her urgency cutting through the conversation. “No, it can’t. I just received a report that someone’s filed a formal allegation of insider trading. If we don’t get ahead of this, it’ll be all over the news by tomorrow morning.” 

Mark’s jaw tightens, his easygoing demeanor evaporating in an instant. The shift in his expression is subtle but unmistakable—the calm, collected businessman taking over. 

“Who filed the allegation?” he asks, his voice steady and controlled, but there’s no mistaking the sharpness beneath it. 

Evelyn hesitates, glancing around before leaning in slightly. “I’m still digging into it, but it’s anonymous. The details seem credible enough that we need to act fast.” 

Mark sighs, running a hand through his hair, his frustration barely contained. “Give me five minutes, Evelyn. I’ll meet you in the private conference room.” 

Evelyn nods, her relief evident, and steps back. “Thank you, Mr. Washington. I’ll be waiting.” 

As she walks away, Mark turns back to me, his expression softening as he cups my cheek gently. “I’m sorry, Gina. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.” 

I place my hand over his, giving him a small smile. “It’s okay. Go handle it. I’ll be here when you’re done.” 

His lips press against my forehead in a lingering kiss before he pulls away. “I’ll make this up to you, I promise.” 

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with my champagne glass and a whole bunch of people I have know idea on how to have a conversation with.