Vanguard Gala Pt. 2

The grand ballroom of the Vanguard Gala shimmered with opulence, its vaulted ceilings adorned with crystalline chandeliers that scattered light like glittering rain over the sea of elegantly dressed attendees. The soft hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the gentle clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Everything about the scene screamed sophistication, power, and exclusivity—none of which made you feel remotely at ease.

You stood near the entrance with Liam, clutching your black satin clutch tightly in one hand and keeping your posture as poised as possible. The dress you wore hugged your body in all the right places, its deep emerald green fabric catching the light with every subtle movement. You were hyper-aware of the slit that revealed your leg and the neckline that dipped low enough to draw more attention than you were comfortable with. And, oh, people were looking.

Every step you took felt like a spotlight turned on you, and though you weren’t outright stumbling, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you didn’t belong here. Liam, in his tailored black suit and matching tie, looked far more at home, but you could tell from the way he adjusted his cufflinks every few seconds that he was just as out of his depth.

“Okay,” Liam said under his breath, leaning toward you slightly. “This isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. I mean, look at the hors d’oeuvres table. That’s gotta be a hundred bucks per shrimp.”

You shot him a sideways glance, your lips twitching into a **** smirk. “Glad to see you’re focused on the important things.”

He shrugged, his grin unapologetic. “Hey, I’m just saying. Maybe we grab some of those and hang out near the corner until we figure out what to do.”

You nodded, your stomach tightening as you scanned the crowd. People milled about in groups, their conversations animated and lively. Everywhere you looked, there were signs of wealth and influence—glittering jewelry, impeccable suits, and that intangible air of self-assuredness that screamed, I belong here.

You tried to channel some of that confidence as you walked with Liam to the edge of the room, each step made deliberately smooth by the magic-infused heels you wore. Hermes’ spell—it wasn’t much, just a subtle shift in your demeanor that made you stand a little straighter and project a quiet grace. It helped take the edge off your nerves, but it wasn’t nearly enough to overpower the pit of anxiety still swirling in your gut.

A passing waiter stopped near you, offering a tray of champagne flutes. You hesitated for a moment before taking one, figuring that a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt. Liam grabbed one too, clinking his glass against yours with a wink.

“To surviving the first five minutes,” he said.

You gave a wry smile and took a small sip, letting the crisp bubbles tickle your tongue. The drink gave you something to focus on, at least for the moment.

As you stood there, trying to blend in, the eyes on you became impossible to ignore. Men and women alike stole glances in your direction—some subtle, others not so much. A few even murmured to their companions, their expressions ranging from admiration to curiosity.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling at the hem of your dress as if that would somehow make you less noticeable. Liam, ever the perceptive one, leaned closer and whispered, “You’re turning heads, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing slightly.

“Hey, it’s a compliment,” he said with a grin. “You’re kind of killing it, honestly. Just, you know, own it.”

Easier said than done, but you nodded, taking another sip of champagne and forcing yourself to hold your head high.

A couple approached, their demeanor warm but their polished smiles unmistakably practiced. The man, tall and silver-haired, extended a hand. “Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Charles Whitmore, and this is my wife, Eleanor.”

You shook his hand, introducing yourself and Liam as smoothly as you could manage. Eleanor’s sharp eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than you liked, but her tone remained polite as she said, “Lovely to meet you. You must be new to these circles. Are you here representing a company?”

Liam jumped in before you could falter. “We’re here as guests, actually. Just...taking in the atmosphere.”

Charles chuckled, his laughter warm but laced with a faint note of condescension. “Well, enjoy the evening. The Vanguard Gala always brings out the best—and sometimes the boldest.”

With that, they moved on, leaving you feeling even more out of place. Liam gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. “Totally fine.”

The gala stretched on, and with every passing minute, your sense of unease deepened. The room was a kaleidoscope of movement—dazzling gowns and tailored suits weaving through the crowd, champagne glasses catching the light as laughter and conversation filled the air. You tried to mimic the elegance around you, keeping your posture poised and your movements deliberate, but it all felt like a performance.

Liam, standing at your side, scanned the room with a furrowed brow. "Alright, if I were Damian Kane, where would I be?" he muttered.

"Surrounded by important people, probably," you said, your voice low. "Or hiding in plain sight."

You both wandered toward a group of attendees gathered near the centerpiece—a massive ice sculpture shaped like the organization’s logo. It was an impressive display, but the real centerpiece was the cluster of influential-looking men and women chatting nearby. You steeled yourself and stepped closer, Liam following just behind.

The first attempt at conversation was with a distinguished-looking man in his sixties, wearing a navy suit with a pocket square so crisp it could have been folded by lasers. You introduced yourself with what you hoped was an air of confidence, explaining that you were "new to the scene" and interested in philanthropy.

He smiled politely, but his eyes wandered within moments. "Ah, how wonderful," he said vaguely, already angling his body away. "If you'll excuse me, I must speak with someone about the silent auction."

You barely managed to nod before he disappeared, leaving you standing awkwardly. Liam gave you a sympathetic pat on the back. "Well, he’s clearly got the personality of wet toast," he said lightly.

"Maybe I should've just talked about the weather," you muttered.

The second attempt wasn’t much better. A sharp-eyed woman in a striking red gown gave you a polite but chilly smile as you tried to engage her in small talk about the gala’s theme. Her responses were clipped and curt, and she excused herself within minutes.

By the third attempt, you were starting to feel the familiar sting of rejection creeping up on you. But instead of giving up, you took a deep breath and decided to try a different tactic. If people here weren’t interested in polite small talk, maybe you could play into Aphrodite’s lessons—just enough to catch someone’s attention.

You approached a tall man with a broad frame and salt-and-pepper hair who was chatting with two others near the bar. His laugh was loud and booming, and he radiated the kind of easy confidence you desperately wished you could fake.

"Excuse me," you said with a slight smile, your voice soft but intentional. His eyes flicked to you, and you felt the weight of his attention land squarely on your shoulders.

"Well, hello there," he said, his tone warm and intrigued. He gestured for his companions to give you space, which they did without hesitation. "And who might you be?"

You introduced yourself, leaning ever so slightly into a subtle flirtation, as much as you could manage without cringing at yourself. "I couldn’t help but notice you seemed to be having the most interesting conversation in the room. Thought I’d see what I was missing."

The man chuckled, clearly pleased. "Flattery will get you everywhere," he said. "I’m Robert. And what brings someone like you to a place like this?"

"Someone like me?" you echoed, your brow arching.

"Someone who looks like they belong on the cover of a magazine, not standing here talking to me," he said smoothly, his smile growing.

Your cheeks flushed, and you **** yourself to keep the playful tone going. "Well, maybe I just have good taste in conversation partners."

The exchange flowed easily enough, but it became clear within minutes that Robert’s interest wasn’t in discussing philanthropy or anything remotely helpful to your cause. His eyes lingered on your neckline a little too long, and his hand brushed your arm more than once as he spoke.

Still, you couldn’t exactly afford to shut him down outright—not when you were supposed to be blending in and working your way toward Damian. So, you played along, offering polite smiles and responses that didn’t commit to anything.

Liam, standing just a few feet away, caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if you needed an out. You gave the faintest shake of your head, signaling that you had it under control.

Robert, emboldened by your apparent interest, leaned in slightly. "You know," he said in a lower voice, "I could introduce you to some very important people here. People who could help you...navigate these kinds of events. Those people have...generous...wallets too."

The insinuation was clear, and your stomach turned slightly. You **** a tight smile, mentally cursing Aphrodite for putting you in this situation in the first place. "That’s very kind of you," you said carefully, "but I think I’ll manage just fine."

He chuckled, clearly not deterred. "Well, if you change your mind, I’m not hard to find."

"Good to know," you said, your tone neutral.

As soon as he turned his attention elsewhere, you made a beeline for Liam, who was pretending to inspect a nearby sculpture. "That was awful," you muttered under your breath.

"You handled it like a pro," Liam said with a grin. "I was about to swoop in and play the overprotective boyfriend if he got any handsy-er."

"Great. That’s what I need," you said dryly.

Liam shrugged. "Hey, at least you’re getting noticed. That’s something, right?"

You didn’t respond, instead letting your eyes wander the room again. The crowd was as dense and intimidating as ever, and Damian Kane remained elusive. Each failed interaction chipped away at your confidence, leaving you feeling more out of place with every passing minute.

Liam nudged you gently. "Come on. Let’s keep looking. He’s gotta be here somewhere."

Reluctantly, you followed him, forcing yourself to take another deep breath. There was no turning back now. You had to keep trying, no matter how impossible it felt.

Liam, sensing your frustration, leaned in close. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you lied, your voice tight. “I just...don’t know what I’m doing here.”

He gave you a sympathetic look, then tilted his head toward the far end of the room. “Come on, let’s check out the silent auction table. Maybe we’ll spot him there.”

You followed him, your heart sinking with every step. The glamour and glitz of the gala were suffocating, and no matter how many heads turned your way or how many polite smiles you received, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were in way over your head.

At the auction table, a woman in a shimmering gold gown glanced at you and Liam with a polite nod before returning her attention to the items on display. You stood awkwardly, pretending to admire a painting while stealing glances around the room.

Liam leaned toward you, his voice low. “Still nothing?”

You shook your head. “No sign of him.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, we’ve still got time. Let’s just—”

Before he could finish, a booming voice filled the air, drawing everyone’s attention. You turned to see a man stepping onto the small stage at the front of the room. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and exuded an air of authority.

Damian Kane.

Your stomach churned as your eyes locked onto him. This was it—the man you were supposed to win over. But as he began speaking, his tone confident and commanding, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread.

How were you supposed to get through to someone like him?