Chapter 1: Ghost in the Ballroom

Emelda's POV

The fancy ballroom at the Ritz-Carlton sparkled like a jewelry box. Crystal lights hung from the ceiling, throwing colorful reflections across tables covered in silk and women wearing expensive dresses. Champagne glasses clinked together as everyone celebrated Carter Enterprises going public, and the air buzzed with excitement about new money and fresh success.

I stood in the corner like a ghost, watching Allen control the room from behind the microphone. He looked amazing in his custom tuxedo, every bit the successful boss who had officially become worth forty-seven million dollars tonight. 

“Five years ago, I had nothing but a dream,” Allen's voice boomed through the speakers, his practiced smile catching the bright lights. “No money, no friends in high places, no head start—just pure determination and the belief that anything was possible in America.”

The crowd made approving sounds. I pressed my back against the wall, my simple black dress feeling cheap next to all the designer clothes around me. Allen had hinted I should wear something “more fitting” for tonight, but Emma Clark's closet didn't have thousand-dollar gowns.

“Tonight, we celebrate not just Carter Enterprises' success, but the power of the American dream,” Allen continued, raising his champagne glass. “When you refuse to give up, when you work harder than everyone else, when you believe in yourself even when nobody else does—that's when magic happens.”

A woman next to me wiped her eyes with a silk tissue. “So moving,” she whispered to her friend. “A real poor-to-rich story.”

If only she knew. I bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing—or screaming. Every word Allen spoke was a lie dressed up in pretty language. The “brilliant customer system” he was talking about right now? I'd built it during a weekend of non-stop work while he was in Vegas “meeting” with investors. The “game-changing partnership plan” that had won our biggest client? I'd written every word of that proposal while Allen slept off another hangover.

“Of course, I couldn't have done this alone,” Allen said, his eyes looking around the crowd. “This company's success belongs to everyone who believed in the dream and worked day and night to make it real.”

For a moment, hope jumped in my chest. Maybe he would mention me, publicly give credit to the partnership that had built this empire. Maybe tonight would be different.

“I want to thank my amazing team,” he continued, “especially our head of marketing, Rachel Sanchez, whose brilliant campaigns have made Carter Enterprises a name everyone knows.”

My heart dropped as a gorgeous woman in a red designer dress stood gracefully at a front table, accepting the clapping with a bright smile. Rachel Sanchez—five-foot-eight of perfect curves and flawless skin, with the kind of confidence that came from a lifetime of being the most beautiful woman in every room.

She'd joined the company six months ago with perfect credentials and an Ivy League degree that Allen couldn't stop raving about. More importantly, she had the social connections and polished class that someone like Emma Clark could never have. She belonged in this world of champagne and fancy food in a way I never would.

“Rachel's creative thinking has been key to our success,” Allen continued, his voice getting warmer in a way I hadn't heard directed at me in months. “She understands that in today's business world, it's not enough to have a great product—you need a great story to tell.”

Rachel stood and blew him a kiss, her red lips curving in a smile that made my stomach twist with something that felt like jealousy. The crowd loved it, clapping louder as Allen's gaze stayed on her with obvious admiration.

I pushed myself deeper into the corner, watching as Allen finished his speech to loud applause. Waiters moved through the crowd with more champagne, and the party shifted into full celebration mode. A jazz band began playing in the corner while couples moved onto the small dance floor.

This was my chance. Allen looked happier than I'd seen him in years, glowing with success and surrounded by people who hung on his every word. Maybe if I went to him now, if I reminded him of what we'd built together, he would remember the promises he'd made in that tiny apartment above the laundromat.

I smoothed my dress and made my way through the crowd, dodging waiters and avoiding eye contact with the investors who never remembered my name despite the countless meetings where I'd presented their reports. Allen stood near the bar, still talking with a small group of well-dressed men who laughed too loud at his jokes.

“Excuse me,” I said softly, touching his elbow. “Could I talk with you for a moment?”

Allen turned, and for just a second, I saw something cross his face—annoyance, maybe, or embarrassment. But it was gone so fast I might have imagined it.

“Emma! There you are.” His smile didn't reach his eyes. “Gentlemen, this is Emma Clark, one of our hardworking employees. Emma, I was just telling Mr. Harrison about our expansion plans.”

“One of our hardworking employees.” The words hit me like a punch. After everything we'd built together, I was just another face in the crowd to him.

“Congratulations on tonight,” I managed, forcing a smile. “You must be so proud of what we've accomplished.”

“What I've accomplished,” Allen corrected smoothly, and the men around him chuckled. “Though of course, every leader needs good support staff.”

Support staff. I felt my face get hot, but before I could respond, a musical laugh caught our attention. Rachel Sanchez glided toward us like a swan on water, her red dress hugging every curve as she moved with practiced grace.

“Allen, darling,” she purred, sliding her arm through his with casual intimacy. “You were absolutely brilliant up there. I'm getting texts from reporters who want interviews about your inspiring story.”

Up close, she was even more stunning—perfect olive skin, flawless makeup, diamonds sparkling on her neck and wrists. Everything about her screamed money and class, from her designer heels to the way she held her champagne glass like she'd been born to attend parties like this.

“Rachel, you remember Emma,” Allen said, his tone taking on that dismissive quality I'd been hearing more and more lately. “Emma, Rachel was just telling me about the Forbes article they want to do about innovative young CEOs.”

“How exciting,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “You'll have to tell them about the customer management system that really made the company stand out.”

Rachel's smile got sharper. “Oh, were you involved in that project? How sweet. It's always nice when everyone gets to help out in their own little way.”

Their own little way. As if I'd brought coffee to the real innovators instead of designing the entire system from scratch.

“Actually, I—” I started, but Allen cut me off.

“Emma's always been very dedicated,” he said, the words somehow managing to sound like an insult. “She puts in long hours, very detail-focused. The kind of employee every company needs.”

The dismissal was so casual, so complete, that for a moment, I couldn't breathe. Employee. Detail-focused. Support staff. Five years of partnership reduced to corporate words that meant nothing.

I stared at Allen's face, searching for any trace of the man who'd held me on the floor of that tiny apartment, who'd promised we'd conquer the world together. But all I saw was a stranger wearing Allen's face—someone who looked at me like I was a problem he'd rather forget.

That's when I noticed it. A smear of red on his white collar, perfectly matching Rachel's lipstick shade. My eyes flicked between them, seeing the way Rachel's hand rested possessively on Allen's arm, the way his body leaned toward hers like a plant reaching for sunlight.

The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. The late nights Allen claimed to be meeting with investors. The expensive cologne that wasn't his usual brand. The way he'd been looking right through me for months, like I was invisible.

“We need to talk,” Allen said quietly, his voice dropping to a tone that made my blood run cold.

Rachel's grip on his arm tightened just slightly, and I saw something flash in her dark eyes—victory, maybe, or satisfaction. She knew. Whatever was happening between them, she knew exactly what it meant for me.