Chapter 2: The Grand Regent Ballroom

The Grand Regent Hotel was the epitome of luxury. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings like frozen rain, casting a brilliant, fractured light over the sea of velvet, silk, and diamonds. The air was thick with the scent of expensive champagne, roasted truffles, and the suffocating perfume of high society.

Evelyn stood at the top of the grand staircase, her hand resting lightly on the marble balustrade.

She wore a gown that was a complete departure from her usual style.

In her past life, she had worn a soft, blush-pink dress tonight, chosen specifically because Julian liked her in pastel colors that made her appear demure.

Tonight, she wore emerald green. The silk satin clung to her curves like a second skin, dropping into a daringly low back, while the front was structured, regal, and severe. Her dark hair was swept up, exposing the long line of her neck.

“Evelyn! There you are!”

Julian bypassed a group of minor tech billionaires and hurried down the stairs. At twenty-three, he was undeniably handsome in a conventional, boyish way. He had golden-blonde hair, a perfectly symmetrical smile, and the easy, unearned confidence of a young man who had never been told 'no' in his entire life.

Behind him, hovering like a delicate shadow, was Chloe. She wore a soft cream gown, her eyes wide and innocent, playing the role of the devoted, self-sacrificing best friend perfectly.

Evelyn felt a sudden, violent surge of nausea at the sight of them. Her hands clenched into fists against her dress, her nails biting into her palms until the physical pain grounded her.

“Breathe,” she told herself. “Let them play their parts. Your stage is bigger.”

“You look... different, Evie,” Julian said as she descended the final steps. He reached for her hand, his touch cold and possessive.

“Green? I thought we agreed you’d wear the pink gown my mother liked.”

Evelyn smoothly avoided his outstretched hand, reaching instead for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. She took a slow sip, her eyes locked onto Julian’s face with a detachment that made him visibly blink.

“I woke up with a sudden distaste for pink, Julian,” she said, her tone smooth and completely devoid of its usual warmth.

“It felt a bit too... childish. Don't you think?”

Chloe stepped forward, her voice a melodious, practiced coo. “Oh, but Evelyn, Julian loves you in soft colors! It suits your sweet personality. Though I must say, this dress makes you look quite formidable.”

“That’s the intention, Chloe,” Evelyn replied, offering her friend a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

“A woman should look formidable when she’s about to make a life-changing decision.”

Julian frowned, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. He disliked any change in the status quo, any sign that Evelyn was thinking for herself.

“Right. Well, the press is waiting near the East Wing. Father hasn't arrived yet–he probably won't as usual–so we’ll go ahead and announce the engagement in twenty minutes. Grandfather’s board members are already here.”

“Your father isn't coming?” Evelyn asked, turning her gaze toward the massive, arched entrance of the ballroom.

“Only a court order can make Arthur Vance attend family functions.” Julian scoffed, a bitter, resentful edge bleeding into his voice

“He’s probably locked in his penthouse, looking over spreadsheets. Forget about him. We don't need him for this.”

Oh, Julian, Evelyn thought, her heart swelling with a dark, triumphant anticipation. You have no idea how much I need him.

Right on cue, the ambient noise of the ballroom suddenly died down. It wasn't a gradual fading of conversation, but a sharp, collective intake of breath that swept through the five hundred guests like a sudden frost.

The heavy wooden doors of the ballroom swung open.

Two security details in black suits stepped through first, clearing a path that nobody dared block. And then, he walked in.

Arthur Vance.

The patriarch of the Vance family was forty-six years old, but he carried himself with the predatory grace of a man in his absolute prime. He was exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered, and possessed a striking handsomeness that made Julian look like a pale imitation. His hair was dark, salted with silver at the temples, and his eyes were a piercing, monochromatic gray–the color of a winter sky over a frozen sea. He wore a bespoke charcoal tuxedo that fit him with military precision.

Unlike Julian, who practically begged for the room’s approval with his smiles, Arthur looked at the crowd as if they were nothing more than obstacles in his path. He radiated an oppressive, absolute power.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Julian muttered, his face turning pale as his grip tightened on his champagne glass.

Chloe took a step back, her eyes wide with a genuine, instinctual fear.

Arthur Vance was notorious for his ruthless restructuring of companies, his absolute intolerance for incompetence, and his complete isolation from high society. He was a myth made flesh.

Arthur didn't look toward his son. He didn't look toward the board members who were already adjusting their ties and preparing their most bootlicking greetings.

He walked straight toward the VIP lounge at the far end of the ballroom, a solitary king entering a temporary outpost.

“Julian,” Evelyn said softly, setting her champagne glass down. “I need to use the bathroom before the announcement.”

Julian didn't even look at her, his eyes still glued to his father’s imposing figure.

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Just don't be late. Twenty minutes, Evelyn.”

“I won't be late,” Evelyn murmured. “I’ll be exactly on time.”