Gala Night Pt. 2

The clink of crystal, the soft hum of jazz, and the rhythmic chatter of New York’s elite formed a polished but overwhelming blur around Kiara Laurent—formerly and still very much Kieran—who stood poised near the center of it all, glass of champagne in hand, heels subtly aching, and every inch of his body perfectly engineered to project effortless glamour.

It was not what he expected.

Like, sure, he thought it would be a bunch of rich old dudes and a few executives clapping politely while his mom made some over-the-top speech. But this? This was a full-blown spectacle.

Everywhere he turned, someone else wanted to say hello. A firm handshake here, an air kiss there, soft voices paired with sharp eyes that flicked from his shoes to his earrings to the exact slope of his neckline—like they were all trying to decode him. Vivienne, elegant and sharp as ever in what Kieran could only describe as some insanely fitted black dress with structured shoulder things and maybe silk or satin or something, was by his side, always ready with a name and a whisper when someone walked away.

“That was Eleanor Moretti,” she murmured under her breath after a short, slightly tense exchange with a towering woman in red. “She runs product at Bliss & Bloom—rival brand. Be polite, but don't give her anything.”

“Got it,” Kiara said, giving a sweet, empty smile as Eleanor sauntered away, hips swaying. He took another sip of champagne. Okay, a gulp.

This was fine.

Really.

Sure, his cheeks were starting to ache from smiling so much, and he had to keep reminding himself not to stand too stiff, or too relaxed, or let his hand just hang at his side like a dude. But he was managing it. And hey, the champagne helped. The second glass had hit just right—warm, a little fizzy in his chest, like his nerves had been taken off with the pop of the cork.

A tall, broad-shouldered man approached next, with a jaw like he’d been carved out of finance. Vivienne turned and gave a pleasant, professional smile.

“Kiara, this is Lucien Grant. He works in international distribution. Paris office.”

Lucien smiled. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the new CEO in person.”

Kiara—Kieran—blinked. “Oh, um, thank you! I’ve heard a lot about, um, you too,” he said in that soft, casual-Kiara tone Celeste had been drilling into him. Something just this side of flirty, but still professional. He tucked some of the hair behind his ear as he said it, like a reflex.

Lucien nodded politely, not lingering. When he walked away, Vivienne leaned in and whispered, “Good. You held his eye just long enough. He likes confidence. And you said the right thing.”

Kieran rolled his eyes internally but nodded, lifting his champagne glass again for a sip. He caught his reflection in the mirrored wall near the bar. Velvet hugging the right places. Hair smooth and sleek. The neckline was low, but not dangerously so. He didn’t look like a dude in a dress—he looked like a woman. A confident one, even if the confidence came with bubbles.

Another figure approached. This time a woman in a pale gray suit with a plunging neckline and heels that looked like they cost more than a car. She smiled, eyes warm but scanning.

“Kiara, darling. I’m Miranda Penn. Old friend of your mother’s.”

Kieran flashed a smile. “So nice to meet you,” he said automatically, going in for the air kiss like it was second nature.

After she left, Vivienne murmured, “Penn runs editorial at ‘Beauty & Culture.’ If she liked you, we’ll know by next week.”

He tilted his glass up again, finishing what was left. The room was starting to feel... softer. The lines between conversations blurred. His steps stayed light, hips shifting just a little with each movement—not because he was trying, but because that’s how he’d been walking lately. The dress demanded it, and honestly, at this point, his body was starting to respond like it just knew what was expected of it.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he was still Kieran. Still the guy who was 99% sure this whole ordeal was being exaggerated.

This gala? Easy. Everyone was too polite to say anything weird. The dress worked. The makeup looked good. The people were nice, and if they weren’t, well, champagne smoothed the edges.

All he had to do was smile, talk like Kiara, move like Kiara, charm the crowd like Kiara—and then he could go home, peel off the shapewear, ditch the heels, and text his friends about how ridiculous all this had been.

Seriously. Overreaction city.

He turned to catch another stranger approaching, his third glass of champagne already refilled by one of the waiters gliding around in black.

“Kiara,” Vivienne said, already smiling as she leaned toward him again. “This next one’s important. So smile like you mean it.”

And so Kiara Laurent did exactly that—perfectly poised, effortlessly elegant.

Even if Kieran thought the whole thing was still a bit of a joke.

The gala had swelled into a glittering, pulsing thing—soft jazz drifting through the velvet-lined ballroom, champagne flutes clinking, laughter rising in pockets like bubbles. Kieran, still very much pretending to be Kiara, was three glasses in and honestly feeling just the right amount of buzzed. It dulled the sharper edges of anxiety and made the whole affair feel far less intense than his mother had made it out to be.

That was, until a tall figure approached.

“Kiara, darling,” Vivienne said smoothly, placing a gentle hand on Kieran’s back and turning him slightly. “I’d like to introduce you to someone very important. This is Lucian Devereaux—Executive Vice President of Strategic Development, and the youngest person to ever hold that title in the company’s history. And—” she added with a softer smile, “—his father and your late father were very close.”

Lucian was... striking. Tall, broad shoulders, jet-black hair slicked back in that effortlessly expensive kind of way. His suit was sharp and dark, perfectly tailored, with a subtle silk pocket square that somehow didn’t feel try-hard. There was a confident ease in his posture, and a devil-may-care charm behind his silver-blue eyes.

Kieran definitely recognized the name—Devereaux. He remembered sitting in on a few strategy meetings with his dad years ago, hearing the name brought up with deference. Lucian wasn’t just another suit. He had power, and not just the kind written into a contract.

“A pleasure, Kiara,” Lucian said, taking her—his—hand and giving it the kind of kiss that made Kieran almost flinch. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you all evening.”

Before Kieran could respond with anything snarky, he felt Vivienne’s hand leave his back. “Oh, Miranda Penn just walked in—I should go say hello.” She turned to Lucian with a polite nod. “Will you keep my daughter company for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” Lucian said, smiling that easy, dangerous smile.

And then she was gone. Just like that.

Now it was just him. And Lucian.

Great.

“So,” Lucian said smoothly, his gaze focused fully on Kiara’s face. “What’s it like, stepping into the spotlight as CEO of Euphorica? It’s quite the crown to inherit.”

Kieran fought to stay composed, but smiled lightly in that demure way Celeste had hammered into him. “Oh, you know... I just try not to trip in heels.”

Lucian chuckled. “Well, you’re doing a hell of a job. And here I thought I was young to be taken seriously around here. You’ve got half this room eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Kieran tucked some hair behind his ear—a subconscious habit now. “That’s sweet of you to say,” he said in Kiara’s light, polite voice. “But I think it’s just the novelty. New face and all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Lucian replied, sipping from his glass. “You’ve got presence. You walk in, and it’s like—people notice. It’s rare.”

Kieran’s internal alarm bells started ringing. Compliments were fine. Flattery was expected. But Lucian’s tone had a warmth that made Kieran want to backpedal. Fast.

He deflected with a laugh. “Well, I’ve had some help. My mom and Celeste made sure I didn’t go full disaster on my debut.”

Lucian smirked. “I’d pay good money to see what a ‘full disaster’ looks like from you.”

Kieran took a sip from his third flute, letting the sparkle of **** cushion his responses. His legs were crossed at the ankles, knees modestly together, posture delicate but natural. He hadn’t even realized he was doing all of it—the Kiara things. At least until Lucian leaned in a bit.

“Tell me, Kiara,” Lucian said in a lower tone. “Have you had a chance to really enjoy any of this? Or has it all been business, business, business?”

Kieran's eyes flicked across the ballroom to catch his mother’s gaze. She was watching—obviously—and gave him a polite, almost expectant smile.

Of course. Impress Lucian. Make allies. Don’t screw this up.

But God, he hated how Lucian was looking at him. Not in a bad way, just in a way he really didn’t want. Like Kieran was a girl. A real girl. Like he was soft and delicate and interesting and available. That kind of look.

Lucian had this easy, disarming smile—equal parts charming and dangerous. It was the kind of smile that seemed to promise secrets in candlelight and lingering touches in the dark. He wore a perfectly tailored tux with the kind of effortless grace Kieran had never bothered mastering. His tie was undone just enough to look purposeful, his tousled dark hair never once needing adjustment, and his eyes—sharp, intelligent, with just a hint of mischief—were locked on Kiara like there was no one else in the room.

“So,” Lucian said, voice smooth as silk. “Tell me, Kiara… how does it feel? Being the new queen of the castle.”

Kieran sipped from his third champagne flute, giving him a sweet smile. “It’s been a little of both, honestly. But I’m hoping the second half of the night is a bit more fun.”

Lucian tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Dangerous thing to say in a dress like that.”

Kieran let out a girlish laugh—soft, flirty, the kind Celeste trained into him. “Oh, come on. You can’t blame the dress.”

“I don’t,” Lucian said smoothly, taking a step closer. “I blame the girl in it.”

Ugh. Kieran gave a breathy giggle again, mostly to fill the space, to sell it.

Lucian sipped his drink, eyes never leaving Kiara. “You know, I’ve met plenty of women in this business. The polished kind, the ruthless kind. But you… you’re different.”

“Different how?” Kieran asked, trying to keep the tone breezy, not too encouraging.

Lucian looked him up and down—slowly, like he wanted him to feel it. “Well, you look like a dream and talk like a CEO. That’s a dangerous combination.”

“Dangerous,” Kieran echoed, trying to let the word fall playfully off his lips.

“Oh, definitely. You could ruin a man with one smile. And the worst part?” Lucian leaned just a little closer. “He’d say thank you.”

Kieran laughed again, more out of necessity than anything else. “You’re laying it on very thick,” he teased, batting his lashes.

Lucian leaned in slightly, enough for Kieran to feel his breath. “Only because you’re making it very easy.”

Kieran sipped from his glass again, polishing it off. That was number three. He felt a little floaty now—like things were moving too fast to get caught in. No pressure, no anxiety. Just vibes. His mother caught his gaze across the room, offered him a tiny nod.

He nodded back.

Lucian followed his gaze. “I can tell your mother is proud of you. And I get it. I mean, the board vote? The press tonight? You walked into this whole empire like you were born to run it.”

Kieran smiled, eyes flicking back. “I guess I’ve just been watching and learning for a long time.”

“But now look at you.” Lucian’s voice softened. “You really are stunning tonight. No lie.”

Kieran gave him a dazzling smile. “Thank you.”

Lucian studied him, not saying anything for a long second. “You don’t believe me.”

“I do,” Kieran said, trying to keep it airy. “I’ve just… heard a lot of compliments tonight. Hard to keep track.”

Lucian smirked. “Well, I meant mine.”

“Of course.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and shifted again—small, practiced movements, automatic. He had no idea when it all started feeling so normal.

“Kiara…” Lucian began, taking a breath, “I’d really like to—”

Before he could finish, a firm hand landed on Lucian’s shoulder. One of the older partners—gray-haired, stern, but with a twinkle in his eye.

“Lucian, sorry to interrupt,” the man said, “but they’re calling us for the partners’ toast.”

Lucian sighed, clearly not thrilled. “Right. Of course.”

He turned back to Kiara, giving her a slow, meaningful smile. “I’ll find you after.”

“Looking forward to it,” Kieran said in his sweetest voice, barely able to hide the sarcasm buried beneath it.

And then he was gone.

Kieran sighed, feeling the weight of Lucian’s presence finally lift. He turned back toward the room, scanning for someone who wasn’t twice his age or trying to flirt with him.

And then he saw her.

A girl.

Young. Gorgeous. Standing alone by the edge of the marble fountain, sipping on something pink and bubbly. Long lashes. Off-shoulder black dress. Hair curled into soft, glossy waves. A little nervous, a little unsure.

Definitely not a corporate shark.

Kieran didn’t hesitate. He took a last sip of champagne, felt it glide down his throat, and stepped off in her direction—his heels clicking softly against the floor, his hips swaying slightly more than he realized, dress brushing gently against his thighs with every step.

He was Kiara right now, sure. But maybe—just maybe—he could still be Kieran in all the ways that mattered.

And with that, he walked right up to her.