Grand Galloping Gala Dresses Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Done. Pick her up at eight. Black tie. And Killian, keep her out of trouble.” Killian gave a sharp nod, but his grey eyes burned when they finally met mine. He was warning me. I smiled sweetly back, uncrossing and recrossing my legs again just to watch his control strain. The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of preparation. Sofia came over to help me pick the dress for the gala. A deep emerald green number that hugged my body like a second skin, with a thigh high slit and a neckline that plunged between my breasts. It was elegant enough for high society but sinful enough to destroy Killian’s focus.

****Day of the Gala**** The gala is every bit as over-the-top as Cassie promised. Crystal chandeliers, waiters moving through the crowd with trays of champagne. There’s a live band, and the air smells faintly of roses and expensive perfume. Cassie is in a deep red gown that's catching more attention than necessary. I’m in black silk dress with my hair packed up, diamonds at my ears. I feel... dangerously hot. We mingled, sipped drinks, laughed at Cassie’s commentary on the ridiculous art auction starting in the corner. And then—

I eyed the guards, who looked straight forward like the wall was super interesting and walked back into my room where Guela, Luzo and Willa were putting out all the make-up, hair stuff and dresses. All the dresses were over the top. Gold dresses, silver, deep red, half naked ones, see through ones, even a bright pink one. The gala was meant to be a fashion show, so I wasn't disappointed by their choices. Masks that covered the top half of the face matched every dress. Someone upped the fashion show bit.

Once Anne and Etan engage, Anne and her mother won't let me go. I can abandon love, but I must take revenge!' Jean went back to her office, opened her computer, and sent an email. "You can show the last dress I designed. By the way, please send the dress to 131, Building 5, Lexington Avenue." The sender was Galene. Five years ago, Galene won the gold medal in the international fashion design competition. That dress was auctioned by a foreign collector at one million dollars. Then, Galene became very famous.

Plunging necklines, hip-high slits, shimmering fabrics that caught the light in ways that made me blush in the mirror. “You keep reaching for safe,” she chided, plucking a muted gown from my hands and replacing it with a deep red silk number that looked dangerous just hanging on the hanger. “This is a gala. You want their eyes on you from the second you walk in until the second you leave.” Grandpa nodded approvingly. “Red has always been your color.” I laughed, but something in me was thrilled at the thought. Maybe I was ready for dangerous. After seeing Dominic and Neil doing bodyshots, it seemed a little silly to go for something reserved. My God, my head hurts.

At the woman Dorian had made her into. Then she unzipped the black dress and let it fall to the floor. ****” The gala was in the hotel's grand ballroom, with all gold accents and marble columns, with ice sculptures shaped like swans and champagne towers that sparkled under chandeliers. Men in tuxedos and women in gowns that probably cost more than Dorian's McLaren walked around exchanging polite greetings. It was all a performance. Cassia stood at the entrance, hands clutching her small purse. The red dress fit perfectly, hugging her curves, showing just enough cleavage to make her feel exposed. Beautiful and terrified all at once.

“That’s what you get, Ophelia! Bye-bye!” I shook my head, my heart still racing. “Let’s keep shopping, MJ,” I said, picking up the silver dress. “This one’s mine.” We spent another hour trying gowns, the private room quiet now. I settled on the silver beaded dress—sleeveless, with a deep neckline and a slit that showed just enough leg. It was perfect, bold and powerful. Maryjane picked a teal gown, her curls bouncing as she twirled. “We’re gonna own that gala,” she said, grinning.

The Gala for the Metropolitan Opera is the biggest event of the season. I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room. Dominik chose the dress. He didn't go for his usual black or red. He chose gold. It’s a floor-length gown made of liquid metallic fabric that clings to every curve like a second skin. It has long sleeves, a high neck, and a back that plunges dangerously low. It looks regal. It screams money. My reflection looks stunning. I look like a trophy polished to a high shine.

“Oh my God. Di, that’s… you’re going to stop traffic in this dress.” “I’m going to look like someone I’m not.” “You’re going to look like someone with power. There’s a difference.” She examined the diamonds on the bodice. “Are these real?” “Apparently.” “Jesus. Okay, I take it back. Twenty-eight thousand is reasonable for this. You’re going to look like a goddess.” “I’m going to look terrified.” “Same thing.” She grinned. “When’s the gala?” “In two nights. Xander’s picking me up at six thirty.”

The Vale Gala had always been a performance. Tonight, it was also a battlefield dressed in crystal and champagne. I stood at the top of the marble staircase, music swelling beneath my feet, light fracturing across chandeliers. Gold and silver wolves filled the room below - Alphas, Lunas, board members, investors, enemies pretending to be neither. And every single one of them looked up. Good. Let them look. The dress clung like it had been designed as a warning rather than clothing - liquid emerald silk poured over curves that refused to be ignored, cinched at the waist, daring everywhere else. The slit revealed a flash of thigh with every step, not hurried, not shy. Controlled.