Chapter 8: The Aureum Ball Belongs To You

Chapter 8: The Aureum Ball Belongs To You

As determined as ever, Isla trained relentlessly. She took her etiquette and social classes very seriously, pushed through her self-defense sessions, and even toured Harold’s company. Morning after morning, night after night, day after day, week after week, month after month until, at some point, she found herself in a wedding gown, standing at the altar with Gareth, exchanging rings, vows, and kisses. Then came years after years.

Eight years later...

The towering glass edifice of Khan’s Empire gleamed above the city skyline, its name etched in bold blue lettering at the grand entrance for all to see. The lobby shimmered with polished marble floors and glittering crystal chandeliers. Rows of sleek workstations buzzed with activity; laptops clicking, sketches being discussed, intercoms ringing endlessly, assistants striding past with the sharp click of heels against glass floors.

Inside the boardroom, silence reigned. The long oak table, surrounded by directors, managers, and department heads, carried the gravity of a cathedral. At its head sat Isla Khan, looking composed and commanding, in a perfectly pressed ivory suit. Her wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her hazel eyes stayed fixed on the man at the projector.

The man’s voice was steady but cautious. “Our diamond collection has outperformed projections by twenty percent across Asia. However, our competitors in Europe are gaining ground with their campaign on ethically sourced stones. If we fail to address this market shift, we risk losing dominance to other jewelry brands.”

A low murmur spread through the room, but Isla lifted her hand midair and the whispers died immediately.

“Dominance is not negotiable,” she said in a low and deliberate tone. “We will not compete with our rivals in Europe.”

“What are we supposed to do then?” a board member asked.

Isla leaned back in her chair, her slender fingers tapping against the desk. “From now on, every stone collected by Khan’s Empire must carry a certificate of ethical sourcing.”

Gasps erupted across the room.

“Ethical sourcing will only double the cost!”

“Customers won’t pay extra, they don’t care that much.”

“Vision alone won’t set us apart.”

Isla smirked at their protests, lifted her half-full glass of water, and took a measured sip.

“Luxury without conscience is weakness.” She set the glass down, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room. “And here at Khan’s Empire, we do not tolerate weakness. I want to see the certificate as soon as possible”

The room quieted. They knew better than to argue with Isla.

“I think we’ve spent enough time here. This meeting is dismissed until next week. Everyone, return to your duties.” Isla rose gracefully and exited the boardroom.

“Mrs. Khan,” a young woman in her early twenties, looking elegant and decent, approached quickly. “I got a call from DC Styles. Your ball gown is ready, and I’ve booked your styling appointment for 5 p.m.,” Nadia, her assistant, informed her.

“Noted.” Isla strode past her toward her office, Nadia following closely.

The office was spacious and meticulously arranged. On the walls hung oversized portraits of Isla seated regally in a throne-like chair, adorned with jewels and cultural motifs. On her desk sat neatly stacked files, a steaming cup of green tea, and a packed lunch.

Her head tilted, staring at the lunch.

“Your Nana sent it,” Nadia quickly informed as Isla settled into her chair.

“She didn’t have to,” Isla murmured.

“Believe me, Mrs. Khan, I tried. But Ms. Margaret was stubborn, she insisted you must eat something.”

Isla sighed. “It’s fine. You can go. I’ll call if I need you.”

“Yes, Mrs. Khan.” Nadia bowed slightly and slipped out, closing the door carefully behind her.

Isla reached for her phone and dialed. After a few rings, an old yet gentle face appeared on the screen.

“Nana, I got your lunch. Thank you so much.” Isla’s lips softened into a rare smile. Aside from Gareth, Priya, and her grandmother Margaret, no one else ever received that warmth.

“Do you like it?” Margaret’s cracked but tender voice came through.

Isla nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“I’m glad. I know it’s your favorite.” Margaret’s wrinkles deepened as she smiled.

“Nana, you don’t have to cook for me all the time. I told you, I already have chefs here,” Isla scolded softly.

“I’ll keep feeding you until the day I die, Isla,” Margaret said firmly.

“Nana… don’t say that.” Isla pouted, she didn't like when Margaret starts talking about death.

They chatted a while longer before Isla ended the call and returned to her meetings. Time flew, and soon the Mercedes dropped her at a gleaming glass tower.

“Welcome, Mrs. Khan.”

“You look stunning, Mrs. Khan.”

Employees greeted her warmly as she walked with elegant poise to her private dressing room, her heels clicking gently against the polished floor.

“Isla, sweetie! Always a pleasure,” James, dressed flamboyantly in women’s clothing, greeted her with a smile.

“Good to see you too, James,” Isla replied, spinning her chair toward the mirror.

“You are absolutely gorgeous, Isla. You don’t even need styling but since you are Isla Khan, the Aureum Ball belongs to you tonight.” James clapped his hands, summoning his team.

“This is Isla Khan,” he reminded them as though they were not familiar with her face. “You know the plan for her angelic look, make it happen flawlessly.”

The makeover began. The stylists treated her with exquisite care, offering a massage, freshly squeezed orange juice, and little luxuries to ensure her comfort.

When finished, Isla was transformed into a vision in a sleek, flowing blue gown with a daring thigh-high slit. Diamonds sparkled at her neck, her wavy hair shone with each bounce, and white Louboutin heels completed the look, paired with a shimmering silver clutch.

Her security team escorted her to a glossy black Rolls Royce Phantom. The chauffeur opened the door, but when one guard extended his hand, Isla ignored the gesture and slipped in herself.

Nadia followed, and the smooth ride began.

Isla snapped a photo of herself and sent it to Gareth. His reply came almost instantly:

God, you look so beautiful. I wish I could teleport to Singapore right now.

Isla chuckled softly and typed back:

I miss you.

Gareth had been away for nearly two months, on a compulsory business trip to London where his team worked on their next big project.

I miss you too. Can’t wait to hold you again.

Smiling, Isla turned off her phone and gazed out the window as the glittering streets of Singapore passed by. Eight years and so much had changed. She had gone from being a nobody, mocked and humiliated, to a name that everyone in the business world recognized. Prestigious brands now sought her out, opportunities she had never dared to dream of.

The strangest part of it all, she was married. Married for four years now. After her training, Graham had insisted she attend college. There, no one bullied her or looked down on her, she was already considered one of them. Four years of school later, she had married Gareth.

A small world indeed. She had never thought anyone could love her. Thinking of this unknowingly brought a small smile to her face.

The Rolls Royce pulled up at Horizon Bay towers one of the city's most iconic resorts. The garage gleamed with rows of luxury cars. As the chauffeur opened her door, a storm of flashing cameras erupted.

“Isla, one picture please!”

“Mrs. Khan, just one photo!”

But she swept past, not interested in the red carpet. The ballroom glittered with glass walls, chandeliers scattering golden light across the polished floor. A violin hummed softly as businessmen and women murmured, some holding bubbling champagne.

“Isla, I adore your outfit!” An elegant woman appeared before her. “And those stones....are they from the new Khan collection?”

“Yes, Jessica, Thank you,” Isla answered smoothly, giving a flawless smile.

“Whatever award they give tonight, you deserve it!" Jessica forced a laugh that Isla could see but it didn't surprise her, it was how the business world works. 

"You too Jessica"

"Can we take a picture together?” Jessica asked, waving at a photographer.

“Of course.”

The flash captured them, and Jessica blew a kiss before drifting away to greet others.

“At least she should try to hide her jealousy,” Nadia muttered and Isla only smirked, looking ahead to see an empty table with her name on it. 

“There’s our reserved table.” 

The event unfolded with endless conversations with business elites and brand representatives. Needing a break, Isla went to the champagne fountain.

She picked up a glass, gently twirling it, and was about to take a sip when she heard the slow patter of approaching footsteps. A familiar cologne hit her nostrils, the scent stirring back old, uncomfortable memories.

Isla frowned slightly as she lifted her glass of golden wine to her mouth. She had been ready to leave, but the familiar voice that came next froze her in place.

“Isla Pereira?” the person called.

That voice.

She never thought she’d live to hear it again, the voice of the past she’d spent years trying to bury.