Gala Night Pt. 3

The girl had been standing near the edge of the ballroom, framed by the glow of golden chandeliers and the blur of laughter and champagne glasses. Her skin was sunkissed, hair loose and dark, tumbling in soft waves down one shoulder like she’d stepped off the cover of a summer editorial. Her dress was short, slinky, wine red satin—backless, strapless, legs bare, and heels unapologetically tall. She had that effortless kind of beauty that didn’t ask for attention but got it anyway.

Kiara—no, Kieran—was drawn to her like a magnet.

He didn’t hesitate. Not even a pause to prep the voice. Just smirked, turned on his heels with a practiced swish of the velvet gown, and crossed the floor, every step in those stilettos more natural than the last.

“Is this spot taken?” Kiara asked, voice smooth, confident, and a little husky in that flirtatious way he’d only recently learned to mimic.

The girl turned, brows lifting. “Not anymore.”

They both smiled.

“I’m Kiara,” he said, knowing full well she already knew.

“I know,” she replied. “Kind of hard to miss the new CEO in a dress like that.”

“Too much?” Kiara asked, cocking a hip and grinning.

“Maybe just enough,” she replied, eyes giving him a deliberate once-over. “You don’t look like a CEO.”

“Well, you don’t look like someone who’s intimidated by one,” Kiara shot back.

That got a laugh from her—low, warm, real.

“Amara,” she said, offering her hand. “Amara Vale.”

He took it with a practiced grace, held it a moment too long. “So, Amara… what brings you here? Besides the chance to run into me, obviously.”

“Oh, definitely just that,” she deadpanned, tilting her glass toward him. “Nothing to do with my aunt being on the board.”

Kieran blinked, then smiled again—Kiara-style, warm and teasing. “Ah, a legacy guest.”

“And you’re the legacy heir.” She eyed him, clearly amused. “Funny how the universe works.”

“I think the universe just wanted us to meet tonight,” he said, leaning a little closer.

Amara arched a brow, still grinning. “You’re not what I expected from the Laurent dynasty.”

“Most people expect porcelain and posture,” Kiara replied, swirling the last of her champagne in her glass. “But I’m full of surprises.”

She stepped in slightly, their arms brushing. “Yeah? Like what?”

“I’ve been told I’m a terrible dancer,” he said smoothly. “But I have great rhythm in other departments.”

Amara’s mouth curved into something downright mischievous. “Dangerous talk, Miss Laurent.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “Life’s short. Might as well talk dangerously.”

“You’re trouble,” she said, eyeing him.

“And yet you’re still standing here.”

She tilted her head. “For now.”

Kiara leaned against the wall beside her, velvet brushing softly against her bare arm, the scent of his subtle perfume curling between them like a secret. “I’ll take my chances.”

The air between them started to crackle—slowly, lazily, seductively. Amara’s smile turned a bit softer, a bit more intrigued, her head tilting as she looked at him. Kieran could feel it—somewhere between curiosity and heat.

“So tell me, CEO Kiara Laurent,” she purred, “how does someone at the top of the ladder even notice a girl like me?”

Kieran’s smile widened, but this time, it wasn’t cutesy. It was confident. “Maybe because girls like you aren’t easy to forget.”

Amara bit her lip—softly, deliberately.

He took one slow step closer, then another. Their faces were only inches apart now. Her perfume was floral and sweet, and it mixed with the faint heat of champagne and the decadent buzz in the air. Kieran felt his heart in his throat. His third flute was starting to blur the edges of logic, and the moment was heady, bold, almost cinematic.

They could’ve kissed. Easily.

And they both knew it.

But just then—“Kiara.”

Vivienne’s voice sliced through the moment like a scalpel.

Kieran froze. Amara blinked, pulling back.

Vivienne’s hand curled gently—but firmly—around his wrist, her polished nails cool against his skin.

“We need a word,” she said, smiling pleasantly for Amara’s sake. “Alone.”

Kieran opened his mouth to protest, but his mother shot him a glance so sharp and commanding that the words died in his throat.

He gave Amara one last look—almost apologetic, maybe even disappointed—but she just smiled and waved her fingers in a playful goodbye.

“Duty calls,” she teased.

Kieran turned, velvet skirts whispering behind him as Vivienne led him away from the crowd and into the quiet.

And for the first time all night, he felt just a little less in control.

Kieran stumbled slightly as Vivienne pulled him away, out of earshot from Amara, the soft music and clink of champagne glasses fading into the background.

“Mom, what the hell—” he started, voice dropping several octaves back toward Kieran territory.

Vivienne wheeled around and gave him a sharp look. “Don’t.”

He stopped. A beat passed.

“I was just talking to a girl, not jumping off a balcony—”

“I said don’t,” she snapped, eyes flashing. Her voice was low, controlled, too measured. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“But she was into me! You pulled me away from—”

She raised her hand—barely. Not even a full gesture. Just enough.

Kieran shut his mouth.

He hated how that worked. Hated that he still respected her enough—maybe feared her just a little—that she could silence him with nothing but a look.

But seriously? She had no idea how rare it was to find a girl like that into someone who was, for all intents and purposes, currently cosplaying her way through a high-profile masquerade ball in heels and padding. It was cruel.

Before he could work up the nerve to risk arguing again, they were interrupted.

“Kiara!”

A smooth, cheerful voice came from behind him. Kieran turned and instantly straightened his posture—shoulders back, chest slightly out, chin up. All the little tics Celeste had drilled into him in front of the mirror over the past week snapped into place like second nature now. His third glass of champagne buzzed warmly in his limbs, softening his edges, but the movement was automatic.

Vivienne turned as well, just as a couple stepped into view. Elegant, polished, and very much the kind of power duo who made other people nervous. Marjorie. Clarence.

Vivienne greeted them both with practiced warmth. “Marjorie, Clarence. You look radiant. And you’ve already met my daughter Kiara, of course.”

That word again: daughter. Kieran didn’t flinch, but it still felt like a pebble in his shoe every time.

“Of course,” Marjorie said, offering a hand with a dazzling smile. “The new face of the future.”

Kieran—Kiara—slipped right into the role. He gave her a practiced smile, soft and sweet, and took her hand lightly. “It’s lovely to finally meet you outside of a boardroom."

Clarence offered his own hand next. “I'm excited for the future.”

That actually threw him for a second. Clarence’s grip was firm. His eyes? Too direct. Like he was sizing Kiara up—and not in the boardroom sense.

And it only got worse when he glanced—not subtly—down at her figure. Quick sweep. Hips to neckline.

Kieran could’ve vomited.

But instead, he just blinked slowly, kept smiling, and turned ever-so-slightly toward Marjorie. No sudden movements, just a soft adjustment of body language, shifting Clarence out of his immediate eye line.

Celeste would’ve been proud.

“Your dress is divine,” Marjorie said, still smiling. “Velvet always makes a statement.”

“My sister helped pick it,” Kiara said, giving a little laugh. “I just stood still and hoped she wouldn’t kill me for blinking too much.”

That got a small laugh out of Marjorie, and even Clarence chuckled.

“We were just speaking with some of the other board members,” Marjorie said. “Everyone’s excited to see what you bring to the company.”

“I hope I can live up to their expectations,” Kiara replied, keeping her voice in that lilting, polished tone he’d been trained to maintain. He even let his hands hang softly at his sides, fingers relaxed, posture lifted—but not stiff. Relaxed elegance, Celeste called it.

“It’s not about living up,” Marjorie said. “It’s about redefining. That’s what this industry is. And you, my dear, are already halfway there.”

Kieran didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean. But he smiled, nodded politely, and murmured, “Thank you, I really appreciate that.”

Eventually, Marjorie and Clarence moved on, taking their curated charm and sharp eyes with them.

Kieran exhaled, subtly adjusting his heels and reaching to smooth his dress near his waist. It wasn’t bunched—but it was a habit. A small feminine tick Celeste had taught him. Something about always appearing graceful, even when no one was watching.

Vivienne didn’t miss it. Of course she didn’t.

She leaned in. “You’re tipsy.”

Kieran gave her a side-eye. “No, I’m fine.”

“That was your third flute. I was counting.”

“I’m not slurring.”

“You’re looser. I can tell. And you keep wandering.”

“I wasn’t wandering—”

Vivienne gave him a look that immediately made him stop talking.

“From this point on,” she said smoothly, “no more champagne. And no more girls.”

Kieran frowned. “You act like I was about to run off and get married.”

“Don’t tempt me to check the legal paperwork,” Vivienne muttered. “You’re doing well. Don’t ruin it with distractions.”

He folded his arms, careful not to mess up the lines of the dress. “So now I can’t even talk to people?”

“You can talk. Charm. Laugh. Network. Smile like Kiara does. But if I see you pressed against another girl like you were with that one—”

“I wasn’t pressed—”

She stepped closer and narrowed her eyes. “No. More. Girls.”

Kieran sighed, the tipsiness starting to irritate him now. “Fine.”

Vivienne gave him a look, then walked off without another word, her posture immaculate, her gown gliding behind her like it was floating.

Kieran watched her go, arms still folded. His smile—the Kiara smile—was gone now. Underneath the padding and makeup and jewelry, the real Kieran was simmering.

But he bit his tongue.

Because tonight wasn’t about what he wanted.

It was about survival.

And somewhere in this sea of billion-dollar perfume deals and diamond smiles, he had to remember that.

Even if he hated every second of it.