Bubbles and Blush

The valet pulled away from the curb, leaving the city lights glittering behind them as Seraphina and Kiara made their way up the polished stone steps of the venue.

The soft hum of chatter and the bright shimmer of event lighting filled the night air, a subtle buzz of expectation setting the tone.

Kieran could hear the quiet click clack of both his and Seraphina’s heels against the pavement—a detail that still weirdly caught his attention every time—and tried not to think too hard about how natural it was starting to feel.

Tonight was important.

Vivienne had made that very, very clear before they'd left the penthouse.

"Kiara, remember: This isn't a party. It's an opportunity. The board members, the press, the partners—you must be effortless but sharp. Warm but untouchable. Poised, polished, every inch the perfect face of Euphorica."

"One mistake, one careless slip, and people will start whispering that you're too young, too inexperienced. That you're only here because of your father. And you can't afford that."

Kieran had nodded obediently at the time, letting his mother adjust the his dress while rattling off more last-minute pointers—smile with your eyes, not just your mouth; hold your champagne glass by the stem; keep your back straight even when sitting; listen more than you speak.

A crash course in High Society 101.

He hadn't wanted to go tonight.

God, he'd rather have been at home, in sweats, ordering takeout, gaming until 3 a.m.

But then he'd found out Seraphina would be coming too—technically his "assistant" at the event, but realistically his only lifeline to not dying of boredom.

And suddenly, the whole night didn’t seem so bad.

Kieran glanced over at her as they reached the doors, and for a moment, he almost forgot how to breathe.

Seraphina looked absolutely stunning.

She wore a deep emerald green satin gown, the kind that clung to her in a way that was elegant but dangerously close to indecent.

The plunging neckline was tasteful enough not to be scandalous, but just low enough to make Kieran’s mind spin every time he accidentally looked.

The gown hugged her waist before flaring slightly at the hips, the slit up one side revealing a flash of long, smooth leg when she walked.

Instead of her usual sleek ponytail, her hair was loose tonight—blown out into soft, voluminous waves that framed her face and tumbled down her back.

Her makeup was a bit more dramatic than usual: a bold cat-eye, fluttery lashes, and a soft nude gloss on her full lips.

Jesus Christ, Kieran thought, barely managing to keep his Kiara-smile in place.

Meanwhile, he himself—no, she herself—was a picture of polished sophistication.

Celeste had all but orchestrated the look for tonight: a sleek, form-fitting black evening gown a neckline that hinted at collarbone and shoulder without being too much.

The gown nipped in at the waist (thanks to the torturous corset hidden beneath), and flared just slightly at the bottom, allowing graceful movement without sacrificing the tailored silhouette.

Vivienne had raised an eyebrow earlier when she saw the gown, questioning why he and Celeste had chosen something with such a high neckline. They'd had to explain—somewhat awkwardly—that most of the options with visible cleavage simply didn’t work, since Kiara didn’t have real breasts, only adhesive inserts carefully sculpted into place. It was a delicate balancing act: just enough illusion to sell the image, without inviting too much scrutiny.

Kiara's makeup was impeccable—soft, dewy foundation, a hint of peachy blush, subtle golden eyeshadow that made her eyes look bigger and brighter, and a classic red lip that demanded attention without screaming for it.

She looked good.

She knew she looked good.

She moved like she belonged here.

From the way her hand naturally adjusted the thin strap of her clutch bag, to the way her heels clicked perfectly in step with Seraphina's, to the way her shoulders stayed back and her chin lifted with an easy, practiced grace—it was all there.

All the training.

All the practice.

Even though under the calm surface, Kieran was still Kieran—cocky, amused, a little resentful of the whole thing.

As they stepped into the grand marble foyer, a waiter in a crisp black tuxedo approached, offering a silver tray of champagne flutes.

Seraphina grinned at Kiara, the two of them locking eyes with mischievous sparkle.

"Cheers to surviving another week," Seraphina whispered, lifting a flute from the tray.

Kiara plucked one too, handling it daintily by the stem just like Vivienne had drilled into her, and lifted it toward Seraphina.

"Cheers to," she paused, adopting a mock-thoughtful look, "getting drunk enough to make it through tonight without homicide."

Seraphina giggled, a delicious sound, and they clinked their glasses lightly before each taking a long sip.

The champagne was crisp and cold, bubbles tickling Kieran’s nose in a way that felt oddly more girlish than he liked to admit.

"Okay, Miss CEO," Seraphina teased as they moved farther inside, navigating through the crowd, "what's our game plan? Work the room? Hide in the corner and look mysterious?"

Kiara smiled, easy and polished, sipping again before answering.

"Find the least boring people and stick with them until they stop being tolerable."

Seraphina laughed again—full, bright, and totally genuine.

God, Kieran thought, heart squeezing unexpectedly.

He loved making her laugh.

The event space was gorgeous—high ceilings draped in silk, chandeliers spilling golden light across white marble floors, clusters of the city's most powerful and glamorous milling around sipping champagne and making careful conversation.

There were men in sharp tuxedos, women in glittering gowns, flashes of jewels and perfectly coiffed hair wherever you looked.

Kieran had to keep reminding himself—head up, smile easy, step lightly, hand poised—as he moved, even though those habits were baked so deep now they barely needed conscious thought.

They mingled, smiling, nodding politely at greetings, exchanging small talk that Kiara deflected with smooth ease.

But all the while, his mind was only half in the game.

The other half?

The other half was burning up thinking about how Seraphina's dress dipped at the small of her back when she turned, how her perfume—a heady, sweet vanilla-musk—trailed in the air around her.

How a few more glasses of champagne might make it dangerously easy to forget every single rule he'd been trained to follow.

Because tonight?

Tonight she wasn’t just his assistant.

She wasn’t just a friend.

She was a glowing, devastatingly beautiful woman.

And he was a man—no matter how much lipstick and shapewear they threw on him.

Kieran finished his champagne and glanced at Seraphina, who caught his eye and grinned again, tilting her head toward the ballroom.

"C'mon, Kiara," she teased, nudging him playfully with her hip. "Let's make some trouble."

And Kieran smiled back, sweet and polished, adjusting the little diamond stud in his ear with a delicate, feminine flick of his hand.

"Lead the way," he said, voice soft, poised, perfectly Kiara.

Even as his heart thundered against the steel trap of his corset.

The grand ballroom was a swirl of light and silk, soft music thrumming in the air as Kiara and Seraphina navigated through the glittering crowd.

Kieran—no, Kiara—held her champagne flute gracefully in her left hand, careful to balance the delicate glass just so, her pinky just slightly elevated, wrist loose but poised.

Every step she took was measured: heel down first, then toe, an elegant glide that Celeste had drilled into her until it was second nature.

The corset helped—****—her posture upright, shoulders back, neck long.

The tight shaping wear under her gown kept her core pulled taut, forcing her to move with the natural, fluid grace expected of someone in a dress like this.

It wasn’t something she thought about consciously anymore. It just... happened.

Seraphina had kept close by her side from the moment they finished their cheers, and it was clear that the green satin gown wasn't the only thing clinging to her.

Her first champagne flute was nearly empty, and her laughter was just a touch too loud, her cheeks flushed with a blooming pink that had nothing to do with her blush.

Kieran hid a smile behind a dainty sip of his own flute.

Seraphina was a lightweight.

A huge lightweight.

And it was adorable.

They made their way through clusters of guests, engaging in polite nods and greeting the key players Vivienne had warned him about.

Every time they approached someone, Kieran slipped seamlessly into his Kiara persona—charming, approachable, but tinged with the cool polish of someone important.

And every single time, he made sure to introduce Seraphina proudly.

“This is my assistant, Seraphina,” Kiara said, smiling warmly, tilting her head just so in that subtle, polished way Celeste had shown her during endless hours of media training.

“She’s absolutely brilliant. I don't know what I'd do without her.”

Seraphina, tipsy and clearly a little embarrassed, would always duck her head shyly, flashing a smile that was bright but humble.

“Oh, I just help out however I can,” she would murmur, her voice sweet and breathy, her hand instinctively smoothing the satin of her dress.

Kieran found himself feeling a weird little flicker of pride every time.

He liked showing her off.

He liked how people’s eyes slid appreciatively over Seraphina before they turned their attention back to him—how she was a subtle trophy by his side.

They spoke with a couple of prominent donors, made polite small talk with a local news anchor, and exchanged words with a few board members lingering near the bar.

And through it all, Seraphina grew steadily more... clingy.

By the time her second flute was drained, she had tucked herself close against Kiara's side, looping her arm through Kiara's for balance, her fingers brushing lightly along the curve of Kiara’s arm.

She was wobbly in her heels now, leaning slightly against Kiara for support, her perfume heady and sweet.

Kieran tried not to laugh as he adjusted to her weight, standing a little straighter, anchoring himself more firmly in the pinching embrace of his corset.

The tight shapewear under his gown made bigger movements impossible anyway, but he handled it like a pro—small, subtle shifts to compensate, just like Celeste had taught him.

They moved like a pair, and anyone watching would have just seen two beautiful women, thick as thieves, laughing and chatting and turning heads without trying.

No one would suspect that under the gown, Kiara's body wasn’t what it appeared.

No one could see the tight bindings, the hidden awkwardness of a tucked-away dick, the ridiculous boner scare a few nights ago still fresh in his mind.

Kieran was buzzed, but not drunk—not like Seraphina.

The champagne had smoothed out his nerves, loosened his limbs a little, given him the perfect floating sensation to move through the evening with relaxed elegance.

He could feel the **** just slightly in his cheeks, a little warmth in his chest, but his mind was sharp.

Focused.

As they paused at the edge of the dance floor, Seraphina let out a soft giggle, pressing her body more tightly against Kiara's side.

“You’re... you’re way too good at this,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone, nudging Kiara playfully with her shoulder.

“Like...you belong here. Like, perfectly.”

Kieran's smile widened, effortless.

“I fake it really well,” he murmured back, letting his voice stay light, flirtatious but safe.

Because the truth was... she wasn’t wrong.

Over the past week of being CEO, Kieran had settled into this Kiara skin shockingly well.

The board had been impressed—borderline delighted—with his first few moves: small, strategic policy tweaks, the beginnings of a new marketing campaign, a quietly ambitious restructuring plan that showed he understood Euphorica’s DNA better than anyone had realized.

Vivienne had been cautiously optimistic.

Celeste, of course, had been relentless—but a bit less scathing in her critiques.

And Kieran himself...?

He still didn’t care the way they wanted him to.

Not deep down.

He was performing because it was easy, because he was good at it, because there was a weird, thrilling satisfaction in playing the game and winning.

Not because he truly bought into the idea of being Kiara Laurent for the duration of the probation period.

But still.

He moved through the world now as her without thinking about it, with an elegance that had been trained, drilled, and smoothed over every rough edge of his old self.

The way his waist curved naturally under the shapewear, the subtle sway in his hips when he walked in heels, the softness of his voice when he responded to a question, the artful way he crossed his legs at the ankle when he sat.

All of it came now without resistance.

Even the way he _held _Seraphina now—delicate, protective but not clumsy, moving together like two pearls on the same string—was Kiara, not Kieran.

Seraphina stumbled slightly, and Kiara instinctively tightened her arm around her, steadying her with a soft, feminine laugh.

"Careful," she teased gently. "You’re not gonna make it to dessert at this rate."

Seraphina giggled again, cheeks flushed, her hand sliding down to grip Kiara’s forearm more securely.

"S'fine. I’ve got you."

The words sent a shiver down Kieran’s spine he tried to ignore.

Yeah. You’ve definitely got me, he thought, swallowing another sip of champagne to mask the sudden heat blooming in his gut.

They drifted along the edge of the crowd, pausing occasionally to smile, to wave, to engage in brief, polished conversations when needed.

Each time, Kieran adjusted automatically to compensate for Seraphina’s growing tipsiness—standing a little closer, speaking a little more clearly, always steady, always poised.

It was almost... fun. Even as part of him screamed—this is dangerous.

But tonight? Tonight, everything was a little blurry.

A little too easy.

And Kieran was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to let the lines blur a little more.