Chapter 11 - The Ghost at the Gala
-11-
Three weeks later, the Grandon Hotel ballroom was once again glittering under a sea of crystal chandeliers, hosting the annual Winter Philanthropic Gala—the very same venue where my life had turned upside down less than a month ago. But this time, the atmosphere was entirely different. There was no whispered gossip about scandals or broken engagements. Instead, every head turned in respectful, awestruck silence as Nico and I walked through the grand double doors.
I wore a sweeping, midnight-blue evening gown embroidered with subtle silver constellations that caught the light with every step. Nico walked beside me, his hand resting securely at my waist, his presence radiating an aura of untouchable power and quiet pride.
As we descended the grand staircase into the ballroom, I noticed a familiar figure standing near the service bar in the far corner of the room.
It was Liam.
He looked ghost-white, wearing a cheap, off-the-rack rental tux that didn't fit his frame properly. He was holding a glass of cheap house red wine, trying desperately to blend into the shadows, his eyes hollow and defeated. He had managed to sneak in using a forged ticket, driven by a desperate, pathetic need to see what his life had become without him.
Our eyes locked across the cavernous room.
For a fraction of a second, Liam took a half-step forward as if he wanted to approach us, to beg, to explain, to reclaim something that had never truly belonged to him.
I didn't look away. I didn't flinch. I tilted my chin up, gave him a cold, indifferent smile, and turned my head away, dismissing him as completely as if he were a piece of furniture.
Liam stopped dead in his tracks. He lowered his wine glass, his shoulders slumping under the crushing weight of his irrelevance, before turning around and slinking out through the side service exit into the cold New York night, disappearing into the anonymity he deserved.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Nico murmured beside me, handing me a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
“Just thinking about how far away yesterday feels,” I replied softly, clinking my crystal flute against his.
“Yesterday doesn't matter,” Nico said, his dark eyes softening as he looked down at me with an intensity that made the surrounding ballroom fade into nothingness. “Only right now. And right here.”
“And what happens tomorrow?” I asked with a playful, teasing smile.
May you like
Nico leaned down, his lips brushing softly against my ear as the string quartet began to play a slow, familiar waltz.
“Tomorrow,” Nico whispered, “we rewrite the rest of the world.”
