Chapter 7 The Gala Mask

The morning after her first dinner with Lucas Kane, Mia Carter woke up to sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft rustle of birds from the garden outside, and a cold weight of reality pressing down on her chest.

She was no longer a waitress.

She was a Kane.

But that didn't mean she belonged.

She sat up in the massive bed, the silk sheets pooling around her legs, and stared at the closet door. Ingrid had informed her that the stylist would arrive by nine. Mia checked the new phone-still nothing from Lucas. Just a calendar reminder: "Whitmore Gala. 7 PM. Dress appropriately."

Mia didn't know what "appropriately" meant in his world. She'd never been to a gala. She'd barely been to a wedding that wasn't held in a backyard. Still, today was important. Her first public appearance as "Mrs. Lucas Kane."

And everyone would be watching.

By 9:01, there was a knock on the door. Mia opened it to find a trio of women standing outside-stylists, clearly. One carried a rack of gowns in garment bags, another wheeled in a case filled with heels, accessories, and cosmetics, and the third, a sleek woman in a tailored black jumpsuit, introduced herself with a cool smile.

"I'm Elodie. Mr. Kane's personal stylist. Today, I'm yours."

Mia stepped back, letting them in as her nerves buzzed in her chest. The team moved like a well-oiled machine-pulling out dresses, adjusting lighting, setting up a full-length mirror. She felt like she was on a movie set, only she didn't know her lines.

"You have good bone structure," Elodie said, circling her like a hawk. "But your posture is too hesitant. Tonight you're not a waitress, you're a billionaire's wife. Stand like it."

Mia straightened, cheeks flushing.

An hour later, she was wrapped in soft silk and shimmering lace. They chose a deep emerald gown that clung to her curves but still looked elegant-timeless. A plunging neckline balanced by long sleeves. Her hair was swept into soft waves over one shoulder, her makeup subtle but transformative.

When they were done, Mia barely recognized herself.

Elodie handed her a small emerald clutch to match the dress and a pair of stiletto heels that looked like weapons.

"You'll wear the heels until they hurt. Then you'll keep wearing them. Smile when you're introduced, don't speak unless addressed, and for the love of fashion, don't slouch."

"I-okay," Mia said. "Thank you. Really."

Elodie smirked. "Don't thank me yet. Surviving a Kane gala is like walking a tightrope with no net. Just remember-tonight isn't about you. It's about how you make him look."

And with that, they left her alone again.

The mansion had transformed.

By the time Mia stepped out of her room that evening, the once-quiet estate was buzzing with activity. Staff in black uniforms moved like shadows through the halls, setting tables, arranging floral displays, and carrying silver trays of crystal glasses. Music drifted softly from downstairs-a string quartet rehearsing.

Mia descended the grand staircase slowly, each step deliberate. She could feel the eyes of the staff watching her, judging her. Her heels clicked against the marble, loud in her ears.

Lucas was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

He was in a tuxedo. Not just any tux, either-tailored black silk, crisp lines, and an open-collared shirt that made him look effortless and dangerous at once. His eyes swept over her.

"You clean up well," he said, tone flat but with a flicker of something in his gaze.

Mia swallowed. "Thank you."

He offered his arm. She hesitated, then took it.

They walked out to the waiting limo, a silent chauffeur holding the door. As Mia slid in beside him, the tension between them crackled. Neither spoke during the short ride, but the air felt charged. Lucas looked out the window, expression unreadable. Mia stared at her reflection in the dark glass.

The Whitmore estate was already teeming with guests when they arrived. Cameras flashed from the end of the drive. A line of luxury vehicles curved along the private lane. As they stepped out, Lucas placed a hand firmly on Mia's waist.

"Smile," he murmured. "And pretend you like me."

She gave a shaky laugh. "Is that what you're doing?"

He didn't answer.

The ballroom glittered like something out of a dream. Massive chandeliers hung overhead, scattering golden light across the marble floors and mirrored walls. A live quartet played from the raised platform at the far end. Waiters moved gracefully with champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres.

Mia clutched Lucas's arm, her pulse thudding. Every guest seemed dressed for royalty. Diamonds sparkled. Laughter echoed like wind chimes. She caught glimpses of famous faces she'd only seen in magazines.

As soon as they entered, the room quieted-not completely, but just enough for her to feel it.

People turned. Heads tilted. Murmurs followed them like perfume.

"She's the wife?"

"Where did Kane find her?"

"She looks like a deer in headlights."

Lucas didn't flinch. He kept walking, nodding curtly to a man in a silver bowtie, then to a woman with hair coiled like a crown. Mia forced herself to smile. Smile. Smile. Like Elodie said.

A waiter offered champagne. Mia took a glass and nearly dropped it when she recognized the woman heading toward them.

Tall. Sleek. Icy eyes and red lips. She was stunning.

"Lucasss," the woman purred, drawing out his name like a threat. "You didn't tell me your plus one was so... fresh."

Mia stiffened.

Lucas's tone was cool. "Sophie. This is Mia. My wife."

Sophie arched a brow. "How quaint. A Kane wedding without an announcement?"

"We preferred it that way."

"And she's wearing emerald. Bold choice."

Mia opened her mouth, but Lucas's hand tightened at her waist. A warning.

Sophie leaned in, voice low. "I hope you know what you're doing, darling. The sharks don't take kindly to new blood."

Then she was gone, leaving only her perfume and the echo of veiled threat.

Mia exhaled. "Friend of yours?"

Lucas sipped his champagne. "Ex-fiancée."