The lost Invitation

Chapter Nineteen

The penthouse glitters with soft light as I finish adjusting the silver gown. The fabric shimmers every time I move, hugging me in a way that feels both terrifying and powerful. My hair is swept into a style the makeup artist created earlier, and my lips gleam faintly under the glow of the chandelier. I hardly recognize the woman in the mirror. She looks untouchable.

Then I glance at Liam. He stands by the window, phone to his ear, his suit fitting him like it was crafted with only him in mind. His shoulders are set, his jaw sharp. Even his silence has weight.

“Yes, handle it,” he says quietly. “No delays. I will be there shortly.”

He ends the call, slips the phone into his jacket, and turns toward me. For a moment he just looks, and the intensity in his eyes makes me press my hands against the folds of my gown to steady myself.

“You are ready,” he says.

“I think so,” I whisper.

“Good.” He takes his cufflinks from the dresser, fastens them with swift precision, and then walks toward the door. “The car is waiting.”

Something about the way he says it makes me curious. I follow him down the private elevator, my pulse steady but my thoughts spiraling. When the doors open, I freeze.

A limousine waits at the entrance, sleek black, polished so perfectly that it reflects the city lights like a mirror. The driver stands beside it, tall in his uniform, his white gloves pristine.

I turn to Liam, startled. “A limousine?”

He gives a single nod. “Of course.”

Of course. As if this is normal, as if everyone has limousines waiting for them at night. A laugh escapes me, nervous and sharp. “Who are you?” I murmur under my breath, half hoping he does not hear.

He does not answer, only holds out his hand. “Come.”

I slip my fingers into his, my heart thundering as the driver opens the door. The interior glows with dim lights, leather seats stretching wide, a crystal glass set gleaming on one side. It smells faintly of cedar and something crisp I cannot name.

I sink into the seat, careful of the gown, and the door closes behind me with a soft thud. Liam settles across from me, his presence filling the space even though he does not speak.

The car glides forward. I stare out at the blur of the city as it passes, towers shining against the dusk. Every movement, every detail of this ride is foreign to me, and yet here I am, wrapped in silk, painted into a stranger, beside a man who seems to hold the world at his fingertips.

After a few minutes, his phone rings again. He answers quickly, his tone clipped. “I said no delays. I will arrive in fifteen minutes. Start without me.”

I watch him, the steady lines of his face, the authority that never falters. When he ends the call, I cannot help myself.

“Another problem at the company?” I ask softly.

His gaze meets mine. “Yes. Something I must handle before the night is over.”

A knot tightens in my chest. “Does that mean you are not coming to the gala?”

“I will come,” he says firmly. “But you will go ahead of me.”

Before I can protest, he reaches into his pocket and slides something toward me. An ivory card with gold edges. The invitation.

I blink at it, then back at him. “What about you? How will you get in?”

For the first time all night, his lips curve faintly, not quite a smile, not quite an answer either. “I do not need an invitation.”

The words send a shiver down my spine. He says them with such certainty, as though the entire city belongs to him. I clutch the card, my thoughts scattering.

“You make it sound like you own the place,” I whisper.

His eyes never waver. “Just trust me.”

The limousine slows as it nears the venue. Even from inside, I hear the faint hum of voices, the flash of cameras, the low roll of music spilling from the grand hotel ahead.

Liam leans closer. “You will walk in, head high. Do not look at anyone but the door. I will join you soon.”

The driver pulls the car to a halt, and my heart slams against my ribs. The door opens.

I step out.

The night explodes.

Flashbulbs blind me, cameras clicking in rapid bursts. Voices rise around me, reporters calling out my name. I freeze, caught in the sudden storm of attention.

“Is that Ava? Ava Reynolds?”

“Daniel Cobbs ex-wife? What is she doing here?”

“She has the nerve to show up at a gala like this?”

Their words slice through the air, sharp and merciless. My breath catches. Every instinct tells me to turn back, to hide, but the weight of Liam’s last words presses into me. Head high.

I lift my chin and walk. The gown whispers against the pavement, my heels clicking steadily. Eyes follow every step. The flashes never stop.

Then a voice I know too well cuts through the crowd.

“Well, if it is not Ava.”

Elizabeth. She stands at the foot of the stairs, flawless in emerald silk, her smile edged with poison. Her gaze sweeps over me, slow and mocking.

“You should not be here,” she says sweetly, though her words drip with venom. “This is not your world anymore. You are not even close to the standard for a night like this.”

I keep walking, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. But her laughter follows me like smoke.

At the entrance, two attendants stand with perfect posture, their eyes scanning each guest. One holds out his hand politely. “Your invitation, ma’am.”

My fingers tighten around the clutch at my side. I open it, searching quickly. Lipstick, compact, nothing else. My pulse spikes.

The invitation is gone.

I blink, frantic, digging deeper. Nothing. I check again, my hands shaking. I cannot find it. My chest tightens with panic. Did I leave it in the car? Did I drop it somewhere along the way?

“Ma’am,” the attendant says again, his voice firmer. “Your invitation.”

Behind me, people begin to shift, waiting to enter. I feel their stares burning into me.

Elizabeth’s voice rises, clear enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Of course. She does not even have an invitation. She just came here to embarrass herself.”

Laughter ripples faintly through the crowd. My face burns.

“I… I have it,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I fumble through the clutch again, desperate, though I already know it is useless.

Elizabeth steps closer, her smile wicked. “You really thought you could walk in here as if nothing has changed? You have always been nothing, Eva, and tonight proves it.”

The attendant shakes his head, blocking the doorway. “Without an invitation, I cannot let you in.”

The line behind me grows restless, murmurs spreading. My pulse roars in my ears. I search one last time, but the card is gone, completely gone.

Elizabeth leans in, her whisper a dagger meant only for me. “You should go home before you humiliate yourself further.”

I stand frozen, breath trapped in my throat, caught between the flashes of cameras behind me and the closed doors ahead.

And in that moment, everything stops.