Chapter 5 The Gala Trap

Elena barely slept, and the tea sat untouched on the table, its warmth long gone. Dawn pressed against the hotel windows like a secret trying to get in, casting soft gold across the rug where Lucien had once stood. Now he was gone, leaving only silence and the photo still burning in her mind.

Her mother and a man with Thorne-gray eyes.

The coincidence was too deliberate. Too pointed. She wanted to dismiss it as a manipulation or another thread in Lucien's carefully spun web, but deep down, she knew it was something buried long before either of them wore masks.

She got dressed without thinking, pulling on the charcoal shift dress Camilla had laid out with no lipstick. Just a neutral palette, and every detail felt like armor.

By the time she walked into the suite's dining area, Camilla was already there, flipping through a digital itinerary.

"Miss Hart. You'll be attending the Hart-Thorne Foundation gala tonight. It is themed black tie and Cocktail hour. It begins at seven, and the press arrival is at six-thirty."

Elena poured herself coffee and didn't look up. "What's the cause this time?"

"Pediatric oncology," Camilla answered. "Lucien's late cousin passed from leukemia at age eight. He's made it the centerpiece of the family's philanthropic arm."

The information made Elena pause, as the bitterness softened just slightly. Still, she lifted her cup with steady hands. "Let me guess...speech, photo op, silent auction?"

"All of the above." Camilla didn't miss a beat. "And Lucien expects you at his side the entire evening."

Elena took a slow sip, then set her cup down with quiet finality. "Tell him I'm not a handbag."

Hearing this, Camilla didn't respond. She just tapped the screen again and slid the schedule across the table.

By evening, the Midtown ballroom buzzed with wealth, power, and curated elegance. Waiters moved like shadows through the crowd, balancing champagne flutes and whispered rumors.

Elena stepped out of the car in a deep sapphire gown that hugged her like water. Her hair swept to one side, her diamond earrings catching light as cameras flashed wildly. She hated how effortlessly beautiful she looked. And Lucien, however, waited at the entrance, looking flawless in a tailored black tux. His eyes swept over her, filled with appreciation yet unreadable.

"You're late," he said under his breath as she reached him.

"I was deciding if I wanted to show up at all."

He offered his arm, and without hesitation, she took it only to keep up appearances.

Meanwhile, inside, they moved like magnets through the crowd, close, composed, and controlled. The press circled but never touched as the cameras loved them, so did the guests. But Elena hated all of it.

During the silent auction, Lucien leaned in and murmured, "You should bid on something. Public generosity reads well."

With that, she picked a random item, a vintage lighting sculpture, and scrawled a bid just above the starting price. It felt transactional, like everything else.

As the evening wore on, the air grew tighter. Between speeches and rehearsed smiles, Elena felt the growing tension between who she was and what she was being turned into.

It wasn't just about pretending anymore; it was erasure, and she was starting to slip away during dessert, retreating to the edge of the balcony where the noise faded under city light. Her breath came easier here, and the stars were invisible, drowned out by ambition.

"Elena."

She turned.

Lucien stood behind her, holding two glasses in his hand. One for her and the other for himself.

"I needed air," she said quietly.

He offered the drink. "You and me."

She didn't take it; instead, she asked, "Who was the man in the photo?"

He didn't play dumb. "The one with your mother?"

"Yes."

He exhaled slowly. "I think it was my uncle. Adrian."

"The one no one talks about?"

"The same."

She studied him. "And you're still claiming you didn't know?"

He didn't blink. "I didn't. Not then."

"And now?"

"Now I'm still figuring it out."

"Figure faster." She replied hastily as she turned to leave, only to freeze as a loud gasp echoed from inside the ballroom and a ripple of voices followed.

"Elena-" Lucien said, already moving and getting there. They pushed through the crowd, and that's when she saw it.

Projected onto the ballroom's back wall was a massive screen meant for donor highlights, a grainy surveillance image of her and Lucien from the masquerade in his suite, half-dressed and tangled.

The image disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, but the silence afterward was deafening. People began whispering as investors looked confused and journalists smiled like wolves.

Someone had leaked it, Elena thought as her stomach dropped. Her name, her body, and her privacy were all weaponized in front of a thousand people.

Meanwhile, Lucien's jaw was tight as steel, but she barely registered him as all she felt was cold and betrayal.

Minutes later, tucked in a back room behind the ballroom, Lucien paced while Camilla took calls and security swept the AV equipment.

"It was deliberate," Camilla snapped. "A planted file triggered mid-event. We'll find the source."

Elena sat on a bench, trembling and silent.

Lucien approached. "I'll handle this."

She looked up, eyes empty. "You can't fix everything with a command."

"This isn't just about you," he said. "It affects the entire alliance. The board. Investors-"

"There it is," she cut in. "There's the real concern."

"Elena-"

"I'm done pretending this is normal."

He crouched in front of her, voice low. "I didn't want you to get hurt."

"Well, congratulations," she said, standing. "It's a little late for that."

And with that, she walked out with so much fury, and this made her realize that this was the start of her unraveling.