Chapter 5 The Gala

Sophia's POV

I stood in a crowded room of people who were essentially too important for my career, feeling like a fraud in borrowed heels. The Metropolitan Museum's marble foyer glittered with lights of chandeliers and couture.

Gripping a champagne flute that probably cost more than my rent, I tried to blend in. My heart pounding louder than the string quartet, I held my portfolio like a shield.

"Stop fidgeting," Elena muttered, steadying my elbow. "You look like you're casing the place."

"Fidgeting? I'm not. What I'm doing is experiencing a silent panic attack. There's a difference."

Elena looked stunning in her own design, a deep emerald green dress that hugged her curves and complimented her olive skin. Even standing next to her in my blue silk qipao, I still felt out of place.

"You look amazing," she said, reading my thoughts. "This is your best dress. You belong here."

I nodded even though I wasn't convinced. This dress was one of my best. It was sapphire blue silk made with a modern representation of traditional Chinese elements. The style has structure, which made my tiny figure look taller and more commanding. Yet, I wasn't really hiding the facts; in this sphere of old money and influence, I didn't belong.

"That's Vera Simmons," Elena whispered, slightly nodding towards a rail thin woman with a sleek silver bob and calculating eyes. "Fashion director for Style Quarterly. If we could just get five minutes of her time..."

"She's surrounded by important people," I whispered. "Let's be realistic."

Elena shot me a look. "That's exactly why we made your elevator pitch. You never know how one thing could change everything."

My phone buzzed inside my clutch. I looked at it relieved, because it was a welcome distraction. I brought it out while keeping one eye on Vera Simmons and her entourage..

"That text from last night," I told Elena, showing her. "It was sent again."

She squinted. "'I have seen your work. I have a proposition for you that will solve all your problems. - XM, Montgomery Industries.'" Her eyes widened. "Montgomery Industries? As in, the new owners of our building?"

"Probably spam," I said, thumb hovering over delete. "A phishing scam."

Elena grabbed my wrist. "Wait! What if it's him-Xavier Montgomery?"

"The billionaire? Why would he text me?"

She was already googling. "Xavier Montgomery. CEO. Thirty-four. Net worth-holy shit, Sophia."

She turned her phone toward me. I looked at the cover of a business magazine featuring a devastatingly attractive man with incredible cheekbones, blue eyes that pierced into the soul, and dark hair styled by a person who would have control of every aspect of their existence. His fitted suit probably cost more than my entire design portfolio. He wore a coolly confident expression which might have been considered arrogance.

"New York's most eligible bachelor, since his engagement to Victoria Winters fell apart," Elena read from the article. "He is referred to as 'The Ice King' due to his no-holds-barred acquisition strategies."

"Why would someone like him want to contact me?" I asked, truly baffled.

"Maybe he was impressed by your work? He's known to frequent these charity events himself," said Elena, her eyes alight with excitement. "Maybe he is looking to invest in the label."

I scoffed. "Sure. The Ice King wants to invest in my label that can't pay rent."

"Don't delete it. Just... see if he's here."

I sighed but tucked the phone away without deleting the message. "Fine, but I'm going to focus on people who can actually help us, and not financial unicorns."

We worked our way through the crowd, Elena engaging in the social aspects as naturally as she did and I managed to discuss my designs without stuttering too badly when people approached me. A few fashion industry insiders had complimented me on my "distinct vision" and "new ideas" but none had made it very far with conversations for funding or investments.

My feet ached in borrowed heels. My face hurt from forced smiles. I'd seen major editors and known investors, but no one stuck around.

"This is hopeless," I muttered after another "I'll be in touch" brush-off.

"It's networking Soph. It's a process," she said as she nudged a fresh champagne flute into my hand. "Drink this. You look like you are at a funeral."

I reluctantly sipped, "I might be at the funeral of my career."

"Drama queen", Elena elbowed me. "Look there's Vera Simmons! Finally, she is alone. Go talk to her."

"Now?"

"No, when were both dust in a hundred years! Yes! Now!" Elena gave me a gentle shove forward. "I will create a diversion if I have to. Go!"

Heart pounding, I crossed the floor toward Vera. She was studying sketches like a surgeon inspecting organs.

I made it three steps before something caught my attention-a huge fuss to my right. Two women-long-time established designers whose careers I'd followed forever-were having what looked like a serious argument behind a decorative column.

"-stole my concept, and we both know it," the taller woman was saying, her voice low but full of intensity. "The textile pattern and the silhouette-it's my design from last season but with a few changes."

"Paranoid as usual, Diane," the second woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Just because you can't design anymore doesn't mean everyone is stealing from you."

I shouldn't have stopped. I shouldn't have eavesdropped. But the notion of design theft-every creator's worst nightmare-held my feet in place.

"You won't get away with it," Diane spat. "I already talked to my lawyers."

"About what? Your fall from relevance?" The second designer laughed, but it was empty. "Get real, darling. You're old news."

I leaned in closer, intrigued by this peek behind the glistening curtain of glamor, when my elbow hit something. A waiter stumbled right in front of me, launching all the champagne flutes on his tray into the air at once.

In slow-motion, I watched as the golden liquid arcs flew -inevitably-down the front of my silk dress.

Oh my god,` I exclaimed horrified, as I watched the pale gold liquid penetrate the vibrant blue silk.

Horrified, I grabbed a napkin. Too late. The pale stain spread.

The arguing designers vanished, Vera was now surrounded again and Elena was nowhere in sight.

I gingerly slipped away from the encounter, and red-hot embarrassment settled while I was still futilely dabbing my dress. Where was the bathroom? I had to get to the bathroom before the stain set in.

"Perfect," I muttered, tears stinging my eyes. "Just perfect."

I had spent hours on this dress. I took my time to find the right silk, and hand-stitched all of the detailed fastenings. Then, just like that, it was destroyed, along with my dreams of making a good impression as a professional. It was not lost on me, the metaphor for my working life-one screw-up and it's all over.

Still dabbing the dress, a tall figure stopped in front of me.

"Ms. Chen," he said in a deep voice. "I believe we have some mutual interests to discuss"

I looked up into the coldest blue eyes I had ever seen-the same man from the photograph Elena had shown me on her phone.

Xavier Montgomery stood before me, impeccably dressed in an expensive black suit and an unreadable expression. In person, he was even more imposing than his photos suggested-tall and broad-shouldered, with an undeniable presence that seemed to bend the space around him.

The Ice King had found me-drenched in champagne and humiliated.

And for some reason, I just knew my life was about to change forever.