Chapter 5

Evelyn's POV.

When I got home, Lina was curled on the couch, glasses on, a textbook open in her lap.

 I dropped my keys on the console and stood there for a second too long, my shoulders aching like I’d been carrying the night with me.

“You’re home early,” she said, then took a closer look. “Oh, no. What happened? Did the dress malfunction?”

“Worse.” I kicked off my heels, the relief in my feet a small, pathetic comfort. “I proposed to Lucien to be my fake husband.”

Lina jumped up and hugged me. 

“You did it!” she exclaimed, then paused, her hands still on my shoulders as she stared, unblinking. “What’s wrong?”

I spilled it all. 

“He gave me a chance!” I insisted, pacing the worn rug. “The Vanguard Charity Gala. If I can get an invite and get through it flawlessly, he’ll consider it.”

Her expression cycled from horror to disbelief to a sort of awe.

Lina snorted. “The Vanguard? Evelyn, that’s for philanthropists and old-money heirs. People who own yachts named after their grandmothers. There’s no way.”

“There has to be a way.” The alternative was accepting that I’d humiliated myself for nothing. That Vincent and Clarissa got to win. 

Fighting them without a powerful name was like using a needle to fetch water from the sea.

 A slow, burning anger began to replace the panic. I’d given them enough breathing space after the fallout, licking my wounds in the shadows.

“What about the friend who gave you information about Lucien?” I said suddenly. 

Lina looked skeptical. “What about him?”

I was already grabbing her phone. “He can help us,” I said, the words tight and fast. “Take it. Call him.”

She looked at the phone like it might bite her. For a second, I thought she’d refuse. Then she nodded and took it.

Her thumb moved over the screen, as she dialed the number and put it on speaker. 

He answered. His voice was gravelly with sleep and annoyance. “Lina? For god’s sake, do you know what time it is?”

Her eyes darted to mine. “Sorry,” she said, her voice hushed and rushed. “It was urgent. “It’s about the Vanguard Gala. I need an invitation.”

There was a long pause.

 “You and everyone else in this city. I can’t get you an invite, Lina. I process spreadsheets. My ‘specialty’ is data aggregation, not gatecrashing the social event of the season. The guest list is handled by a separate committee. It’s ironclad.”

My heart sank. “There’s nothing? No back door?”

“The only back door is being a donor who’s given at least six figures,” he said, not unkindly. “Or being the personal guest of someone on the board. That’s it. I’m sorry.”

She thanked him and hung up.

“See?” Lina said softly. “It’s impossible.”

Impossible. The word echoed. It was the same word Vincent had used when I’d told him I wanted my own child. 

“No,” I said, my voice quiet. “It’s not.”

I spent the next 48 hours living like a mad woman. I had to beg one of Vincent’s old friends for this invitation.

Vincent belongs here. My family doesn’t. That’s why Clarissa is so obsessed with him, he’s her ticket to forever being on the inside.

Miraculously, he agreed. A forwarded email, a name added to a secondary list. An e-invitation appeared in my inbox.

I stared at it, my hands shaking. Phase one.

 I drained my savings account, as I brought an expensive dress.

Lina did my hair. I practiced walking in the devastatingly simple, sky-high heels. I watched videos of the gala from previous years, memorizing the rhythm, the cadence of fake laughter and air-kisses.

***

The night arrived. 

The gala was at the Orion Museum, my heart pounded, but my hands were steady. This was it.

I stepped inside.

 Crystal chandeliers threw diamonds of light across a sea of black ties and gowns. I moved, letting the current carry me, my eyes scanning. I had to find him first.

 I had to show him I’d arrived.

And then I saw him. Lucien Vance was near the center of the room, a fixed point in the orbiting crowd. He was speaking to an older man in a military uniform, his 

posture relaxed but commanding. 

He looked even more untouchable here.

I allowed myself a small, private smile. It was a smile of victory, of a challenge met.

Then my gaze, sweeping past him, caught on two other figures near the grand entrance, and the smile died on my lips.

Clarissa and Vincent. 

Lucien’s voice echoed in my head: “…navigate that entire evening by my side without causing a single, solitary scandal…”

One thing I knew for sure: Clarissa and Vincent would not let me be.

What should I do?