Chapter 3: The Gala and the Ghost of My Past

Amelia's Pov

I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to wear a gown again.

To feel silk glide against my skin, to see my reflection in the mirror and not recognize the woman staring back.

The dress Alexander’s assistant delivered that morning was silver; sleeveless, sleek, expensive. The kind of dress made for a woman who belonged on his arm.

But that woman wasn’t me. Not yet.

As I fastened the last earring, I caught my reflection; my pale face, calm eyes, painted lips. My heartbeat thudded softly beneath the shimmer.

It had been a year since the wedding. A year since I’d become the invisible Mrs. Sterling. And tonight, for the first time, Alexander had asked me to attend a public event with him.

A charity gala.

The same kind of glamorous world I used to belong to before everything fell apart.

My palms were clammy. My chest felt tight.

Because tonight, I would be seen.

And worse… recognized.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, Alexander was already waiting near the grand staircase.

Black tuxedo. Crisp lines. Hair slicked back.

Every inch of him looked dangerous, controlled, and effortlessly magnetic.

He looked up as my heels clicked softly against the marble floor.

For a fraction of a second, his gaze faltered. It wasn’t admiration, not exactly. More like surprise. As if he’d expected a ghost and found a storm instead.

“You clean up well,” he said simply.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.” His lips curved slightly. “But it can be.”

I rolled my eyes, and for a brief moment, something like amusement flickered in his. Then it was gone.

“Stay close to me tonight,” he said as we walked toward the waiting limousine. “The people you’ll meet… they notice everything. What you wear. What you say. How long you hold a smile.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” he replied. “But necessary.”

“Why bring me, then? I thought you preferred to keep me invisible.”

He didn’t answer right away. As the car door closed behind us, he said quietly, “Because sometimes, invisibility loses its usefulness.”

The gala was held at the Meridian Hotel, the kind of place where every chandelier cost a fortune and every guest’s perfume smelled like money.

Flashbulbs went off as soon as we stepped onto the red carpet.

Reporters called Alexander’s name. Cameras turned toward us.

He placed his hand lightly on the small of my back, his touch cold but steady. “Smile,” he murmured.

For the next ten minutes, I smiled until my face ached.

Inside, the ballroom was a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos. Waiters moved like dancers, champagne flutes balanced on silver trays. A string quartet played softly near the stage.

And everywhere I turned, people were watching.

“Alexander Sterling,” someone said behind us. “It’s been too long.”

A tall man approached, shaking Alexander’s hand with practiced warmth. His wife followed, her diamonds catching the light.

And then she looked at me. “Mrs. Sterling, isn’t it?”

Her tone was polite but curious; the kind of curiosity that hides judgment.

I smiled faintly. “Yes.”

“I must say, you’re not what I expected.”

Neither am I, I thought.

Alexander’s hand tightened subtly on my waist, a silent reminder: composure.

“She’s full of surprises,” he said smoothly.

They laughed. I smiled again, pretending not to feel like I was suffocating under their gazes.

I wandered away after a while, needing air.

The ballroom was too bright, too loud. My nerves buzzed under my skin.

I slipped out onto a private balcony, the city lights glittering below like fallen stars.

Cool air kissed my skin, and for the first time that night, I could breathe.

I closed my eyes and that’s when I heard it.

“…the campaign was a stroke of genius. Vanessa Hayes is brilliant.”

My stomach turned to ice.

That voice; smooth, deep, and painfully familiar.

I turned. Inside the ballroom, through the glass doors, I saw a large screen being unveiled onstage. A new marketing campaign.

My campaign.

The designs, the colors, the concept, all mine. Every detail was exactly what I’d created two years ago for Ward & Co. The project Ethan had stolen.

But there it was, under a new name. Under Vanessa’s name.

Applause filled the room. Cameras flashed. Vanessa in a red gown that clung like vanity itself. She took the stage, smiling like she owned the world.

And beside her stood Ethan, My ex-fiancé. The man who had ruined me.

He looked older, sharper, more confident. The kind of confidence that comes from stepping on someone else’s back.

My breath hitched. My fingers curled around the balcony railing so tightly my knuckles ached.

It was as if the world had stopped moving.

And then, anger. Hot, electric, alive.

I felt it burn through the numbness that had lived inside me for a year.

They were smiling. Laughing.

Celebrating my work.

And I was here, wearing a mask, playing the obedient wife to a man who barely looked at me.

No more.

“You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

I spun around.

A man stood near the balcony door, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that gleamed under the soft light. His expression was relaxed, but his gaze was sharp.

He held a glass of whiskey loosely in his hand, his other tucked into his pocket.

“Sorry,” I said, quickly straightening. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Hide?” he finished, his lips curving. “That’s exactly what I’m doing too.”

I studied him carefully. There was something familiar about his face.

He offered a hand. “Adrian Blake.”

The name hit me like a bell.

One of the most respected investors in the country. Ruthless, brilliant, unpredictable.

“I’ve heard of you,” I said quietly.

“I’ve heard of you too,” he said, studying me with interest.

I frowned. “You must be mistaken. I’m nobody.”

He tilted his head. “Funny. You remind me of someone; Amelia Quinn. The creative director who designed the Elysian campaign years ago. That project impressed me so much I tried to invest in it, but the company never followed through.”

My breath caught.

No one had ever connected me to that project publicly. Not after Ethan erased my name from it.

“How do you know about that?” I asked.

“I make it my business to know things that matter.” He took a slow sip. “And talent like that doesn’t just disappear. Tell me, Mrs. Sterling, where have you been hiding?”

I froze. My mind raced for an answer.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” I said carefully. “I don’t know this… Amelia Quinn.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But if I were her, I’d be furious right now.”

I looked away, blinking fast. “Fury doesn’t build anything. It only burns.”

“Not always,” he murmured. “Sometimes it forges.”

His words lingered in the air.

When I turned back toward the ballroom, Ethan and Vanessa were laughing under the lights, soaking in applause.

A strange calm washed over me.

Maybe fury could forge.

Adrian set down his glass. “If you ever decide to build again, Mrs. Sterling, call me. I have a feeling your silence isn’t permanent.”

Before I could respond, he slipped back inside, just as Alexander stepped out.

“You disappeared,” Alexander said coolly, scanning my face.

“I needed air.”

His gaze followed mine toward the stage where Vanessa and Ethan stood. His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly.

“Do you know them?” he asked.

“I used to,” I said. “Once upon a time.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

“Be careful,” he said quietly. “People like them don’t change.”

Neither do I, I thought.

We stood side by side, watching the celebration inside. His presence was calm but heavy, like the eye of a storm.

After a long silence, I said softly, “You hide yourself well, Mr. Sterling.”

His gaze shifted toward me. “Do I?”

“The rumors,” I said. “Everyone says you’re old, cold, and half-dead inside. But you’re not, are you?”

His eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Then what should I believe?”

He leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. “Whatever truth you’re ready for.”

My heart skipped once.

Before I could say anything, the ballroom doors opened behind us. Someone called his name.

He straightened instantly, the cool mask snapping back into place. “Come,” he said. “The night isn’t over yet.”

As we walked back inside, my mind spun with everything I’d seen, heard, and felt.

The stolen campaign. Adrian Blake’s offer. Alexander’s strange words.

Something was changing. I could feel it in my bones; the shift, the spark, the awakening.

Tonight had reminded me of everything I’d lost. But more importantly, it reminded me of everything I could take back.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel broken.