Chapter 3 Midnight Velvet

CHAPTER THREE

Zayne's Penthouse, 5:40 PM - Gala Night

The room was quiet, save for the crisp click of cufflinks locking into place.

Zayne stood before the mirror, flawless in a jet-black tuxedo tailored by hand. The lapels shimmered faintly beneath the dim lighting, like midnight velvet. He adjusted his collar with a sharp tug, his expression unreadable - carved from years of discipline and survival.

Behind him, the door creaked open.

Nanny Maeve entered, holding his black mask. "They'll be watching you tonight," she said, offering it with a nod. "Every eye in the room."

He took it slowly, his fingers brushing hers. "Let them watch."

She lingered. "And if she's there?"

A pause. Just long enough.

"I won't make the same mistake twice," he said.

Then, without another word, he left - boots echoing against marble floors, headed straight for the storm he'd been waiting to walk into.

---

The Gala - 8:12 PM, Valencia Grand

The chandeliers bathed the ballroom in gold, their light dancing across a sea of black gowns and tailored tuxedos. Champagne flowed, laughter floated, and ambition clung to the air like perfume.

But all of it fell silent - in Zayne's mind - the moment she walked in.

Zara.

A vision in emerald satin. Her gown dipped low at the back, revealing just enough to ignite memory and mystery. Her eyes scanned the room, unhurried, untouched, as though nothing could rattle her poise.

Not even him.

Zayne froze for a breath. Then another.

She hadn't seen him yet - or maybe she had and chose to pretend otherwise.

By the bar, Khalil sipped his drink and smirked, watching the tension unfold with quiet amusement. "Let the games begin," he murmured, slipping into the crowd.

Elsewhere, camera flashes sparked. Dignitaries arrived. Board members nodded their greetings.

But Zayne's world narrowed.

He moved - slow, calculated - weaving through whispers and wine, toward the woman who once walked away in the Paris rain.

Their eyes locked.

Zara tilted her head, a subtle smile playing on her lips.

"Zayne," she said, cool as glass. "Didn't expect to see you here... hosting."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Neither was I."

For a moment, neither said anything. The music swelled, couples twirled, and under the crystal lights, past met present.

And somewhere in that tension - between what was and what still burned - the night truly began.

CHAPTER THREE (Continued)

Valencia Grand, 8:27 PM

The ballroom swelled with music and murmurs. Waiters glided through the crowd with silver trays balanced like art. Laughter echoed from polished corners, where billionaires shared rehearsed jokes and rivals traded praise like poison dipped in honey.

Zayne led Zara toward the edge of the dance floor.

"Care for a dance?" he asked, extending a hand - not just as a gentleman, but as a man staking silent claim.

Zara glanced down at his hand, then back up. "That depends. Will you tell me why you disappeared two years ago?"

He smiled faintly. "That's a conversation better left for the shadows."

Zara accepted anyway.

They moved - flawlessly. Like they'd never stopped dancing. Like time had paused and was only now exhaling.

Across the room, Khalil stood near a marble column, his gaze fixed on them. His jaw was tight, his grip on the wine glass tighter. At his side, an elegant woman leaned in to whisper something into his ear. He barely heard her.

He was watching Zayne and Zara - together again.

Behind him, a camera flash popped. Then another. A reporter from a gossip tabloid stood near the floral archway, phone already raised to capture the moment.

"They'll talk," the reporter whispered, half to herself.

"They always do," said a soft voice beside her.

It was Lana - Zara's sister - in navy blue. She had that same storm-in-her-eyes look as Zara, but sharper. Observant. Aware. Her eyes scanned the room like she was waiting for something... or someone.

Back near the floor-to-ceiling windows, Mr. kene Okafor, Zayne's senior board member and longtime business associate, stood speaking to a cluster of foreign investors. But his eyes kept flickering toward Zayne. Watching. Measuring.

Then, another interruption.

A waiter approached Zayne with a discreet note. Zayne took it and unfolded it with one hand, not breaking rhythm with Zara's slow spin.

His eyes scanned the words. And froze.

"He's watching from above. The gala isn't just a party tonight, Zayne. It's a test. Don't fail it."

No signature.

Zayne folded the paper without a blink, slipping it into his inner jacket pocket. His jaw set. "We're being watched," he murmured against Zara's ear.

"By who?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

---

9:03 PM - The Balcony

Zayne stepped out into the cool night air. The city below pulsed with lights. Distant sirens sang over the traffic hum.

Someone else was already there - Mr. Kene Okarfor.

"You looked stiff in there," kene said, swirling his drink. "Something wrong?"

Zayne didn't face him. "Should I be worried about something, Dele?"

"Only if you've got secrets worth spilling."

There was silence. Tense. Unmoving.

Kene turned, setting his glass down. "You built an empire, Zayne. But remember - empires fall from within. Not from outside."

Then he walked back into the party, leaving Zayne with the echo of a threat disguised as advice.

---

Back Inside - 9:30 PM

The music had changed. Softer, darker. A singer crooned something haunting. Shadows grew longer under the chandeliers.

Zara stood with Lana now, sipping wine and trying not to look over her shoulder.

"You still love him," Lana said plainly.

Zara's brow arched. "What makes you say that?"

Lana shrugged. "You don't breathe around him. You hold your breath."

Zara didn't answer.

And then - the lights flickered.

Just once. Brief. Barely noticed by most.

But not by Zayne.

He knew that flicker.

He knew it meant someone was playing a very deliberate game.

---