Chapter 1 – The Gala in Gold
1135 Words
The grand ballroom shimmered like liquid gold, chandeliers scattering light across polished marble floors. Music swelled softly in the background, punctuated by the clink of glasses and bursts of laughter. Ava Hart navigated the crowd carefully, balancing a tray of champagne flutes. Every well-dressed guest felt like a living reminder that she didn’t belong here—not really.
She tugged her plain black dress down, hoping it was smooth enough to pass unnoticed, and adjusted her apron for the tenth time. She’d taken the job at the gala to pay her mother’s mounting hospital bills, to keep her mother alive while debts piled higher than Ava wanted to admit. A few hours of servitude, blending into the background, and then she could retreat to her small, quiet apartment. Easy. Manageable. Safe.
Then, the world tilted.
He appeared at the edge of the room like a figure carved from marble—tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly elegant. Ethan Blackwell. His sharp navy suit made him look more like a model than a businessman, his dark hair perfectly styled, and the faintest trace of a five o’clock shadow only adding to the dangerous allure. But it wasn’t just his looks. It was the presence, the aura of power that made people part instinctively, almost reverently, as he passed.
Ava froze, her tray wobbling. “Oh—sorry!” she murmured, stepping back, but he didn’t seem upset. Not even a little.
“No harm done,” he said, his voice smooth, deep, teasing. “But maybe next time, you’ll let me help you.”
Her stomach twisted. Was it fear? Desire? Both? She couldn’t tell. His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, and heat prickled at her collarbone. For a moment, the clamor of the gala—the music, the chatter, the glasses clinking—vanished. It was just him, just her, and that impossible tension coiling between them.
“I… I think I can manage,” she replied, cheeks flushing, aware of how tiny and insignificant she felt compared to the confident men and women swirling around in silk and gold.
He smiled, and it was a slow, deliberate curve of lips that seemed to know exactly the effect it had on her. “If you insist. But I have a feeling you’ll change your mind.”
Ava bit her lip, wishing she could disappear. She should be serving, blending, invisible. She should not be thinking about the way his eyes darkened slightly when he looked at her, or the way his hand had brushed hers, sending a jolt up her arm that had nothing to do with electricity.
Her tray wobbled again. A guest reached for a glass, and she steadied it just in time. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice just close enough that her pulse fluttered. “Wouldn’t want the champagne to spill on someone important.”
Ava’s breath hitched. “I—I’m fine,” she said, though her hands were shaking.
He leaned in slightly, studying her. “You’re nervous.”
“I… maybe a little,” she admitted, hating how her voice sounded weak, almost childlike. “It’s my first gala.”
“I can tell,” he said, but his expression was more amused than mocking. “Don’t worry. Most people here are better at pretending they’re comfortable than they actually are.”
Something in her chest loosened, a tiny spark of connection forming. He wasn’t just untouchable; he was human. And yet, dangerous in ways she couldn’t define. Dangerous in ways that made her pulse race and her thoughts jumble.
“You look… different from them,” he added, his gaze lingering on her face, her modest black dress. “More… real.”
Ava’s stomach twisted. Compliment? Insult? She couldn’t tell. “Different how?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Authentic,” he said simply. “Not afraid to be yourself. Most of these people are playing a game. You… you’re just here.”
Her heart thumped audibly in her chest. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. He was magnetic, pulling her in whether she wanted to be drawn or not. “I… I’m just trying to do my job,” she said, hoping her words sounded more confident than she felt.
“And yet, you stand out.” He offered her a hand, just lightly brushing hers as he gestured toward the crowd. “Come with me. At least for a minute, enjoy yourself. I promise I won’t bite.”
Her rational mind screamed no. You don’t belong here. He’s a billionaire. You’re… you. But her heart? Her heart wanted to say yes.
Against her better judgment, she nodded. “Okay… but just for a minute.”
He led her through the throng of guests, his hand never leaving hers. Ava could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady strength of his grip, and it made her pulse spike uncontrollably. Every step, every brush of his arm against hers, made her aware of him in a way that was impossible to ignore.
“Why are you really here?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, curious.
Ava blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you here, Ava?” he said, stopping to look directly at her. His dark eyes were intense, searching, like he could see every layer of her. “Not the gala, not the champagne—why are you here?”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him the truth, wanted to scream about hospital bills and debt collectors and fear that gnawed at her every waking moment. But she only shook her head. “I’m… just working,” she said softly.
He studied her a moment longer, then smirked. “I like that. Honest. Brave.”
Ava’s cheeks burned. Brave? Honest? She was anything but. She was scrambling, barely holding it together, terrified she’d screw everything up.
The music swelled, and Ethan leaned closer. “Dance with me,” he said, surprising her.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
“I’m… I’m working.” Her voice wavered.
“Then consider it a break,” he said, offering his hand again. “Just one dance. I won’t let anyone ruin you.”
And against every instinct, she placed her hand in his.
The moment he pulled her close, the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against hers, Ava forgot the crowd, the gala, the weight of her life. For the first time in months, she felt… seen. Truly seen.
He whispered lightly, “You’re incredible, you know that?”
Ava’s pulse raced. “I… I’m not.”
He laughed softly, low and intoxicating. “I think you are. And tonight, I plan to prove it.”
- Writer
