The Gala

The email had arrived three days ago, concise and unambiguous. “Attendance required at the annual Blackwood Gala. Responsibilities include managing client interactions, coordinating schedules, and ensuring flawless execution. Business attire mandatory.”

Ava had stared at the screen, her pulse quickening. Gala. Hundreds of influential people, clients, and associates—all watching, assessing, judging. And her. Not for social grace, not for charm, but for competence. She wasn’t here to mingle, to laugh, to be seen. She was here to work. To ensure the event reflected Blackwood Enterprises at its absolute best.

She had accepted immediately. No hesitation. No questions. Work first, always. The stakes were too high for anything else. She had her checklist ready in her mind: anticipate every question, plan every move, control every outcome. Nothing could be left to chance.

Now, as she adjusted the strap of her clutch and smoothed the front of her gown, she reminded herself of the same mantra. Work. Observation. Precision. Lock in. Nothing else. The glittering city lights outside reflected off the glass walls of the hotel ballroom, a swirl of gold, silver, and crystal that dazzled the eyes and threatened to distract the mind. She ignored it.

Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she entered the ballroom, the sound crisp in the quiet morning air. Even before she could locate him in the crowd, Lucian Blackwood appeared.

He moved like he owned the space, as if gravity itself bent to his will. Dark suit perfectly tailored, posture sharp, expression calm but watchful, eyes scanning the crowd and then briefly settling on her. Even here, in a room full of socialites and industry leaders, he was the epicenter, and she was keenly aware of it.

Ava’s pulse ticked faster, but she forced herself to take slow, steady breaths. This was not a party. This was work. She had rehearsed scenarios in her head for days—the client interactions, potential missteps, the subtle ways she might be required to step in or redirect conversations. Every smile, every nod, every polite exchange had to be calculated.

The client arrived, flanked by associates, confident and poised in their gowns and suits. Ava noted everything—the subtle positioning, the half-smiles exchanged, the hierarchy of attention. Every detail mattered. Every gesture carried weight. She moved to guide the client seamlessly, presenting herself as invisible yet indispensable, a quiet force keeping the evening from slipping into chaos.

A champagne glass was pressed into her hand. She accepted it with a polite nod, fingers curling around the stem, and let her eyes scan the room, cataloging alliances, observing alliances forming, noting potential conflicts. Every person here was a variable, a risk or an asset, and she intended to navigate it flawlessly.

Lucian moved beside her, effortlessly, commanding without effort, his gray eyes alert, assessing. He spoke only when necessary, his presence more impactful than any words. Ava reminded herself: focus. Observe. Anticipate. Work. This was not a gala for socialization. Not for distraction. Not for temptation.

And yet, the hum of his attention was palpable, a subtle pull she couldn’t fully ignore. But she shut it down immediately. Work first. Always work. That was why she had been asked to attend, and that was all she needed to remember.

Friday evening arrived with a quiet, shimmering tension. Ava spent her time on a look that felt balanced. She swept her hair into a soft, low chignon and chose a neutral, polished makeup look that felt like her, only elevated.

​When she finally checked the full-length mirror, the change was undeniable. The emerald velvet dress moved with a liquid grace. She looked exactly like the woman Lucian had told her she was: someone who belonged in this world, not just as a spectator, but as a peer.

​At exactly seven o'clock, her phone buzzed with a short text.

" ​I’m outside." — L.B.

​Ava grabbed her small black clutch and headed down. The evening air was crisp, and the streetlights were just beginning to flicker on. Waiting at the curb was a sleek, black town car. The rear door opened, and Lucian stepped out.

​He was dressed in a classic black tuxedo that looked impeccable. He stood by the open door, his silhouette sharp against the city lights. When he saw her, he paused. His gaze traveled over the emerald gown with a slow, focused attention before meeting her eyes.

​"Ava," he said. His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it that hadn't been there at the office.

​"Does the dress work?" she asked, smoothing the velvet at her hip.

​Lucian stepped toward her, stopping just a few feet away. The familiar scent of his cologne—sandalwood and a hint of something cool—drifted toward her. He didn't offer a grand compliment, but the way he looked at her was more than enough.

​"It works perfectly," he murmured. "The color is exactly what I imagined. You look very poised."

​He held out a hand to assist her into the car. His touch was brief and professional, but there was a steady strength to it that made her feel anchored. As she slid into the leather interior, he climbed in beside her. The car was spacious, yet his presence seemed to fill the air around them.

​The car pulled away, weaving through the New York traffic toward the Metropolitan Museum of Art. For a few minutes, they sat in a comfortable, focused silence.

​"The board will be there in full force tonight," Lucian said, his tone shifting back to the steady, strategic voice she knew. "They’ll be looking to see who I’ve brought. But you don't need to worry about the politics. Just observe. You’ve earned the right to be there."

​Ava looked at him, appreciating the way he kept her grounded. "I'm ready. I spent the afternoon reviewing the foundation’s recent research papers, just in case anyone asks."

​Lucian let out a short, quiet laugh of approval. "Always the strategist. I appreciate the initiative, but remember to enjoy the evening too. It’s a celebration, not a deposition."

​He looked out the window as they approached the grand, lit-up entrance where photographers and guests were already gathering. "You’ve worked hard these past few months, Ava. Tonight is a recognition of that."

​As the car slowed to a halt, Lucian turned back to her. He didn't reach for her hand this time, but his gaze was steady and supportive.

​"Are you ready?" he asked.

​"Yes," she said, straightening her shoulders.

​The door opened to the flash of cameras and the hum of a waiting crowd. Ava stepped out, and with Lucian beside her, she walked toward the grand staircase, ready for the night to begin.

The entrance to the gala was a blur of flashing lights and the soft rustle of silk. Ava kept her pace steady, her hand resting lightly on Lucian’s arm as they navigated the red carpet. Lucian moved through the crowd with a practiced, cool indifference, acknowledging the cameras with nothing more than a slight incline of his head. He was in his element, but he never let his pace outstrip hers.

As they reached the top of the grand staircase, the room opened up into a breathtaking display of floral arrangements and crystal chandeliers. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of high-society chatter.

"Stay close," Lucian murmured, his voice barely audible over the music. "The first hour is always a gauntlet."

They hadn't made it ten feet into the ballroom before a man stepped into their path, effectively blocking their progress. He was older, with silver hair swept back from a face that looked as though it had been carved from granite. His tuxedo was as impeccable as Lucian’s, but his expression was anything but welcoming.

Lucian’s posture shifted instantly. The subtle warmth he had shown in the car vanished, replaced by a rigid, professional frost.

"Arthur," Lucian said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Lucian," the man replied, his voice thin and sharp. He didn't look at Lucian first. Instead, his cold blue eyes raked over Ava, lingering on the emerald velvet with a look of pointed curiosity. "I see you’ve brought someone new. Quite a departure from the usual circle."

Lucian didn't flinch. "Ava Reed, this is Arthur Sterling. Arthur is the CEO of Sterling Global." He turned to Ava, his gaze steady. "And the father of an old acquaintance."

Ava felt a prickle of intuition. The way Lucian said old acquaintance carried a hidden weight. This wasn't just a business rival. This was Arthur Sterling, the man who had nearly merged his empire with Blackwood years ago through the engagement of his daughter, Julianna. The breakup had been messy, public, and had turned a partnership into a cold war.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling," Ava said, extending a hand. She kept her voice even, refusing to be intimidated by the man’s scowl.

Arthur barely grazed her fingers with his. "Reed? I don't recall that name in the registry of the founding families. Are you a recent arrival to the city?"

"I’m a recent arrival to the firm," Ava corrected politely. "I work closely with Mr. Blackwood on strategic operations."

Arthur gave a short, dry laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Strategic operations. Is that what we’re calling it these days? My daughter used to say the same thing before she realized that Lucian’s only true strategy is his own shadow."

The air between the two men became impossibly tense. Ava could feel the muscles in Lucian’s arm tighten beneath her hand.

"Julianna’s opinions are her own, Arthur," Lucian said, his voice dangerously calm. "And they are as outdated as your firm’s last quarterly report. If you’ll excuse us, we have guests to greet."

As they moved past him, Arthur called out one last time, his voice low enough to be private but loud enough to sting. "Be careful, Miss Reed. Lucian has a habit of picking things up only to see how quickly they break under pressure."

The dinner service began shortly after, and for a while, the conversation remained centered on market shifts and foundation goals. But the peace was shattered toward the end of the main course. The heavy doors of the ballroom opened, and Julianna Sterling entered, draped in shimmering silver. She didn't head for her father; she walked straight toward the head table.

​Julianna remained leaned over the table, her presence a calculated intrusion into the small space between Ava and Lucian. She smelled of white lilies and something metallic, a sharp contrast to the warm sandalwood scent Ava had grown used to.

​“You’ve changed the seating chart, Lucian,” Julianna noted, her eyes flickering over the crystal and silver. “I used to sit exactly where Miss Reed is sitting. It’s a precarious spot. The view is excellent, but the altitude is dizzying, isn’t it?”

​Ava didn't lower her gaze. “The view is quite clear from here, actually. I find that when you aren't distracted by the past, it’s much easier to focus on the present.”

​Julianna’s smile sharpened. She finally pulled her hand away from Lucian’s chair, standing tall and smoothing the front of her shimmering silver gown. “The present is a fleeting thing in this city. One day you’re the brilliant new strategist, and the next, you’re a footnote in a quarterly review. Lucian has a way of making people feel essential until they’re… well, redundant.”

​“Redundancy usually happens when one stops providing value,” Ava replied calmly. “I don’t plan on making that mistake.”

​Julianna let out a soft, melodic laugh that sounded entirely hollow. “Value. Is that what we’re calling it? Lucian, she talks just like you. It’s almost uncanny. Tell me, does she also have your habit of working through the night and forgetting that the people around her have feelings?”

​Lucian finally spoke, his voice like the strike of a flint. “She has a habit of excellence, Julianna. Something that requires focus, not theatrics. If you’re looking for a scene, I’m sure your father has a table waiting for you at the other end of the room.”

​“Always so deflective,” Julianna sighed. She turned her attention back to Ava, her eyes tracing the line of the emerald velvet. “It’s a lovely dress. Velvet is very forgiving. It hides the tremors when your hands start to shake under the pressure. I wore silk when I stood where you are. Every heartbeat showed through the fabric.”

​“I’m not wearing it to hide anything,” Ava said, her voice dropping into a lower, steadier register. “I’m wearing it because I like the weight of it. It’s grounded. It reminds me that I’ve worked for every inch of space I’m occupying tonight.”

​Julianna stepped a fraction closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for the three of them. “Hard work is a charming story, Miss Reed. But in this room, lineage is the only currency that doesn't devalue. You can learn the data, you can wear the velvet, and you can even master the jargon. But you will always be an outsider looking in through a glass wall that Lucian built.”

​“Glass walls are meant to be seen through,” Ava countered. “And as for currency, I’ve found that being undeniable is much more effective than being entitled. Lineage is a gift. Capability is a choice. I know which one I’d rather rely on.”

​For the first time, the icy composure on Julianna’s face flickered. A flash of genuine irritation crossed her features before she masked it with a tight, brittle smile. She looked at Lucian, her eyes searching his for a reaction—a spark of nostalgia, a hint of regret—but she found only the same cool, gray wall.

​“She’s quite the fighter,” Julianna murmured to him. “But be careful, Lucian. Even the most loyal soldiers eventually realize they’re fighting in a war that isn’t theirs.”

​“She isn't a soldier, Julianna,” Lucian said, his gaze fixed on Ava. “She’s the one holding the map.”

​Julianna stiffened, her hand tightening on her clutch until her knuckles turned white. She gave a curt, stiff nod to the table, her silver dress catching the light like a blade as she turned and swept away toward her father’s table.

​The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Ava took a slow breath, feeling the adrenaline finally start to ebb away.

​“That was… a lot,” Ava whispered, her fingers tracing the stem of her wine glass.

​“You held your own,” Lucian said. He didn't look back at Julianna. He reached over, his hand briefly covering hers on the table. It was a grounding touch, firm and warm. “She wanted to see if you would crack. You didn't even bend.”

​“I’ve dealt with harder things than a woman in a silver dress,” Ava said, thinking of the hospital bills and the long nights.

​Lucian’s thumb grazed her knuckles before he pulled his hand back. “I know you have. That’s why you’re here.”

The orchestra began a slower, more sweeping arrangement as the dinner plates were cleared. The air in the ballroom felt thick with the aftermath of Julianna’s departure, a hundred pairs of eyes darting between the Sterling table and the Blackwood table, waiting for a crack in the armor.

Lucian stood up first. He didn't look at the board members or the photographers. He looked only at Ava, extending his hand with a quiet, steady resolve.

"The room is getting small," he murmured, his voice cutting through the nearby whispers. "Let’s find somewhere with a bit more air."

Ava placed her hand in his. His grip was firm, a silent anchor amidst the rising tide of gossip. He led her away from the table, weaving through the clusters of elite guests until they reached the center of the dance floor. The marble underfoot was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the thousands of crystals hanging from the ceiling.

As he turned to face her, Lucian placed one hand on the small of her back, right where the emerald velvet gave way to the low scoop of the dress. His touch was warm against her skin, causing a faint shiver that had nothing to do with the draft in the room. Ava placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling the solid strength of him through the fine wool of his tuxedo.

They moved together with surprising ease. Lucian didn't dance with the stiff formality of the other men in the room; he moved with a controlled, predatory grace that forced the world around them to fade into a blur of light and shadow.

"You're remarkably calm for someone who just had a public standoff with the Sterling heiress," Lucian said, his gaze fixed on hers.

"I have a good poker face," Ava replied, her voice steady despite the way her heart was racing. "Besides, she was right about one thing. The altitude is a bit dizzying up here."

Lucian pulled her a fraction closer, navigating them away from a group of prying socialites near the edge of the floor. "Don't let her get in your head. Julianna measures the world by what she was given. You measure it by what you’ve built. There’s no contest."

"Is that why you brought me tonight?" Ava asked, looking up at him. "To prove a point to the Sterlings?"

Lucian stopped moving for a heartbeat, the music swelling around them. He looked down at her, his gray eyes dark and unusually open.

"I brought you because when I’m in a room like this, I usually spend the entire night looking for the exit," he admitted quietly. "Tonight, I haven't looked for it once. I was too busy making sure you were still standing by my side."

The admission felt heavier than any of the business talk they had shared. For a moment, the "Ice King" persona was gone, replaced by a man who seemed just as tired of the glass walls as she was.

They drifted back into the rhythm of the dance, two people caught in a spotlight of their own making. For the first time all evening, Ava didn't feel like an assistant or a guest. She felt like his equal.

As the song began to wind down, Lucian leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "The car is waiting. We’ve stayed long enough to satisfy the board. Shall we make our own exit?"

Ava nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "I think that’s the best strategy I’ve heard all night."

The car ride back was a stark contrast to the noise of the gala. The interior of the town car was a sanctuary of dark leather and soft ambient light, the city passing by in a silent reel of neon and shadow.

Lucian sat beside her, having finally loosened his bowtie. He leaned his head back against the seat, looking less like a titan of industry and more like a man who had finally reached the end of a very long road. He didn't speak for several blocks, but he also didn't move his hand from where it rested on the seat between them, just an inch from hers.

"You handled Julianna better than I did," he said eventually, his voice gravelly in the quiet. "I’ve spent years perfecting the art of ignoring her. You actually managed to silence her."

"I think she was just surprised," Ava replied, looking out at the blurring lights of Broadway. "She expected me to be intimidated by the history. But history is just a story someone else wrote. It doesn't have to be my script."

Lucian turned his head to look at her, his expression unreadable in the shifting shadows. "I'm starting to realize that about you, Ava. You don't follow anyone's script."

When the car pulled up to her modest apartment building, the engine cut, leaving a sudden, heavy silence. Lucian didn't wait for the driver; he stepped out and walked around to open her door himself. He walked her up the small flight of stairs to her front door, the emerald velvet of her dress rustling against the concrete.

Standing in the dim light of the hallway, the luxury of the Metropolitan Museum felt a thousand miles away.

"I'll see you on Monday?" she asked, her key already in her hand.

Lucian nodded, but he didn't leave. He stood in her space, his height casting a long shadow over the door. He reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of her sleeve near the shoulder.

"You were the most impressive person in that room tonight," he said. It wasn't a flirtatious compliment; it was a quiet, firm statement of fact. "And I don't just mean the dress."

"Thank you, Lucian. For... for all of it."

He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes. For a heartbeat, the air between them was thick with everything they hadn't said—about the hospital, about the Sterlings, about the way he looked at her when the world wasn't watching.

But he didn't cross the line. He simply inclined his head, a ghost of a smile touching his mouth. "Rest, Ava. You've earned it."

She watched him walk back to the car, his stride steady and certain. As the black sedan disappeared around the corner, Ava stepped inside her apartment and leaned against the door.

The scent of sandalwood still lingered in the small hallway.

She walked to the kitchen table and picked up one of the lemon bars Jamie had left. It was a little dry now, a relic of a different life, but it still tasted like home. She took a bite, looking down at the emerald velvet that still clung to her skin, realizing that for the first time in her life, she didn't have to choose between who she was and who she was becoming.