3: The Ghost In The Gala

The silence in the penthouse the next morning was heavier than before, thick with the unspoken violation of Kaelan’s surveillance.

Elara moved through the vast space like a ghost, hyper-aware that her every move might be monitored. The leather-bound contract felt less like a document and more like a shackle.

Sophia arrived, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold atmosphere. She’d brought a rack of evening gowns. “The Starlight Foundation Gala is tomorrow night, dear. Mr. Thorne believes it’s the perfect debut for the happy couple.”

Elara’s stomach twisted. “So soon?”

“The investor, Mr. Lee, values public image. He’ll be there,” Sophia said gently, holding up a breathtaking gown of liquid sapphire silk. “You need to look the part.”

The next evening, Elara stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, barely recognizing herself. The dress was a masterpiece, hugging her curves before cascading to the floor.

Her hair was styled in an elegant chignon, and the diamonds at her ears and throat glittered with a cold fire. She looked like Kaelan Thorne’s wife. She felt like an imposter.

Kaelan entered the room without a sound. His eyes swept over her, and for a fleeting second, something unreadable—something hot—flashed in their stormy depths before it was extinguished.

“Adequate,” he said, his voice neutral. He offered his arm, his posture rigid. “Remember, tonight is a performance. Smile. Look at me as if you can’t bear to be apart. Follow my lead.”

The gala was a whirlwind of crystal, champagne, and calculating smiles. Elara’s hand trembled slightly on Kaelan’s arm, but she held her head high. He was a different man here.

His hand rested possessively on the small of her back, his smiles, though never reaching his eyes, were charming, and he whispered false endearments in her ear for the benefit of those nearby.

“You look beautiful tonight, my darling.” The words were a lie, but the warmth of his breath on her skin felt dangerously real.

They were circling the room when an older woman with sharp eyes and pearls the size of grapes descended upon them. “Kaelan, my dear boy!”

“Mrs. Hartford,” Kaelan said, his smile tightening almost imperceptibly.

The woman’s gaze landed on Elara, scrutinizing her from head to toe. “And this must be the one who finally captured you! We were all beginning to wonder if you’d ever move on after… well, after the tragedy with Genevieve.”

She leaned in conspiratorially towards Elara. “Such a devastating loss. That girl was a perfect angel. Kaelan was utterly shattered.”

The air around them froze. Kaelan’s arm beneath Elara’s hand turned to stone. The charming mask he’d worn all night cracked, revealing a glimpse of such raw, icy fury that Mrs. Hartford physically flinched.

“Genevieve is in the past,” Kaelan bit out, his voice low and lethally calm. “Elara is my present and my future. If you’ll excuse us.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He whisked Elara away, his grip on her arm firm, almost painful. He didn’t stop until they were on a secluded balcony overlooking the glittering city.

He released her and gripped the railing, his knuckles white, his back to her. The sounds of the gala were a distant hum.

Elara’s heart ached for the wounded animal she saw in him. The story Sophia had hinted at was real, and its shadow was long and dark.

“Kaelan…” she said softly, taking a tentative step toward him.

He didn’t turn. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice ragged. “That part of my life is none of your concern. It’s not in the contract.”

“But it affects this,” she gestured between them, to the tense space crackling with unspoken emotion. “It affects you.”

He finally turned, his expression a mask of controlled torment. “What affects me, Elara, is the success of this arrangement. Nothing more. Now, compose yourself. We’re leaving.”

He strode back inside, leaving her alone in the cold night air. Elara wrapped her arms around herself, the beautiful gown suddenly feeling like a costume.

She had played her part perfectly, but she had just met the real leading lady of this tragedy: a ghost named Genevieve. And she knew, with a sinking certainty, that this ghost was far more dangerous than any business rival.