Chapter 12: Gala Night
Outside the Imperial Grand Hotel, the night air was thick and smelled like burnt petrol and wet asphalt. Black cars stretched clear down the avenue in a solid line, their red taillights bleeding into the puddles.
Down under the giant glass canopy, two guards were standing by the ropes in heavy coats slicked wet from the rain.
"Who booked out the whole third floor?" the younger one muttered, shifting his feet on the pavement. "I’ve been stuck out here three hours. My ankles are shot."
"Kingston Corporation," the older one said, eyes moving over the crowd, hands tucked behind his back. "Fifty-year anniversary. Board’s here, half the senate, every rich kid with a trust fund. Keep your mouth shut and watch the ropes."
"Fifty years," the kid scoffed under his breath. "Must be nice. Saw four thousand bottles of wine go through the back loading dock this morning. Helped carry the crates. One bottle costs more than my check for the month."
"And half of it will end up spilled on the carpet by midnight," the old guard said flatly. "Move your feet. They’re coming."
Inside, the lobby was a total roar, voices, laughing, the endless clicking of heels on polished marble. High up, massive chandeliers threw a yellow glow over the walls.
Guys in white jackets moved through the crowd like ghost work, balancing silver trays loaded with glasses and little pastries nobody was actually going to eat.
Over by the fountain, two middle-aged suits stood holding crystal glasses, talking low.
"He pulled right out of the Singapore deal," the heavier guy said, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Three months of work, dumped on a Tuesday morning."
The other guy frowned. "Kian? That doesn’t sound like him. He’s been chasing that for a year."
"I’m telling you, something’s off," the first guy whispered, leaning in. "He hasn’t stayed in the office past four all week. Canceled Frankfurt too. Left the whole European team sitting in a hotel room."
"Maybe what they’re saying is true," the other muttered, eyes cutting over to the grand stairs. "About the girl."
"Isabella?" The heavy guy let out a short, dry laugh. "She’s blind, weak, and locked away. Her dad’s company is already swallowed up. What’s he worried about?"
"A guy who has everything still gets paranoid about losing it," his friend said softly. "Look around. Half the old money in this room was loyal to her dad for thirty years. They hate seeing Kian hold the reins. They take his money, sure, but they treat him like a street dog sitting in a dead man’s chair."
A few feet away, standing by a massive vase of white orchids, Alice adjusted her ear cuff.
She was wearing a tight crimson dress, backless, satin, clinging to her skin. It was loud and mean. A few guys looked as they passed, earning quick, nasty digs from the wives tugging on their arms.
"Look at her," a woman in diamonds whispered to her friend a few feet off, not even bothering to lower her voice. "The secretary. Standing there like she owns the place."
"Old housekeeper’s girl, isn’t she?" the friend sneered back. "Thinks a five-thousand-dollar dress makes people forget where her mother washes the towels."
Alice heard every word. Her jaw locked, her fingers gripping the stem of her champagne glass until her knuckles went white. But she didn’t turn around. She kept her chin up, staring straight at the front entrance, keeping her face totally blank.
"You’re gonna break that glass," a quiet voice said beside her.
Alice looked sideways. Vivienne, a senior PR manager who’d been around forever, stepped up, taking a slow sip of water.
"Let ’em talk," Vivienne said, looking at the two women. "They’re just mad their husbands haven’t looked at them like that in twenty years."
Alice let out a dry breath, pulling her dress down with one hand. "I don’t care what those old crows think."
Vivienne’s eyes drifted toward the front doors. "He’s running late."
"He had to help her," Alice said, her voice dropping tight and bitter.
Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "He’s looking at his wife a lot more these days."
Alice’s smile went thin and empty. "So?"
Vivienne shrugged, looking back out at the crowd. "Nothing. Just... he never used to."
The words hit Alice right in the ribs. She turned back to the doors, her stomach turning sour under the red satin.
---
Out on the street, inside the quiet dark of a black Maybach, the noise of the city was buried, reduced to a low hum.
Isabella sat in the back seat, hands clamped tight in her lap. She was wearing a pale pink ballgown, the heavy fabric shimmering with thousands of tiny stones catching the streetlights through the tinted glass.
It was strapless, showing her bare shoulders and neck, the tight top spilling out into a massive skirt that took up half the seat. Around her neck hung a massive platinum chain with a green emerald sitting right where her useless eyes couldn’t see it.
Her heart was pounding against her ribs. It had been months since she’d been put in front of a crowd, months since she felt people staring at her. Without her sight, the thought of walking into that room made her gut twist up.
Kian sat right next to her, silent. He hadn’t said a word in three whole minutes.
He was just staring at her. Taking in her pale skin against the pink silk, the black hair pinned up with pearls, the rise and fall of her chest. She looked soft, tiny, and totally helpless.
His stare felt so heavy she could feel it on her skin like heat, making her arms prickle with cold bumps.
"Kian?" she asked softly, her voice shaking just enough to give her away. "Are we... stopped?"
He didn’t answer right away. He reached out, wrapping his hand around her small gloved fingers. He pulled her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips hard against the back of her knuckles.
"You look breathtaking, Bella," he murmured, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her wrist. "So beautiful it makes me angry."
Isabella forced a small, weak smile, trying not to pull away. "Angry?"
"I hate the idea of five hundred people staring at what’s mine," Kian said, his voice flat, almost casual, but with that same dark, possessive twist he’d had for weeks. "I want to tell the driver to turn around and take you back."
"Kian... it’s the company’s fifty-year gala," she whispered, trying to make it sound light. "You can’t keep me locked in the dark forever."
Kian looked at her face, his eyes dropping to the hollow of her throat where the heavy green stone rested, covering the faint mark under a thick layer of makeup.
"Can’t I?" he whispered.
Before she could answer, the door was pulled open.
The roar of the crowd, the blinding flashes, and reporters screaming slammed into the car all at once.
"Mr. Carter! Over here!"
"Mrs. Carter! Look left!"
"Isabella! Is it true the medical team found something?"
Kian stepped out first, fixing his jacket before reaching back in. Isabella reached out, her fingers catching his hand as she stepped out onto the red carpet. Her heels hit the floor, the heavy silk rustling around her legs.
The flashes blew up in a brutal, blinding wall. Even though her eyes only saw gray, the sheer heat and noise made her pull back a little.
Instantly, Kian’s arm slid around her waist, dragging her tight against his side. He blocked two pushy photographers with his shoulder, walking her step by step up the wide marble stairs.
"I’m right here, Bella," he muttered right against her ear, his hand digging into her hip. "Just a small step. No stairs now. You’re good."
"I know," she whispered, holding onto his arm just so she wouldn’t trip, hating that she needed him to walk ten feet.
They moved through the glass doors into the foyer.
The second they walked in, a quiet fell over the room. Conversations died out, heads turned, and people stopped talking as they looked up at the two of them at the top of the floor.
"My God..." a woman by the fountain said, putting her glass down. "Look at her."
"She looks like a doll," a young guy whispered to his dad. "I thought she was sick."
"She’s a Kingston," the dad muttered back. "Blind or not, she carries that name like a weapon."
Across the room, Alice stood frozen next to Vivienne.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she watched Kian step in. He looked big, dangerous, every bit the guy the papers made him out to be.
But his right arm was locked around Isabella’s waist, his fingers resting right on her hip, his head bent down whispering something that made her give a tiny, fake smile.
All the confidence Alice had built up in front of the mirror for two hours crumbled right there.
"She’s taking the whole room," Vivienne muttered under her breath. "Even the old board members are staring."
Alice didn’t say anything. She took a big gulp of her champagne, the cold liquid burning down her throat as she watched him lead another woman to the head table.
---
Eventually everyone was moved into the main ballroom, a giant hall decked out in gold and navy fabric. Tables stretched out across the floor, set up strictly by who had power and who didn’t.
Alice was stuck at Table Twelve, way near the back exit with junior vice presidents and random managers.
Kian and Isabella were at Table One, right in the center, sitting higher than everyone else.
When the first food came out, small plates of meat and mushrooms, Kian barely touched a bite. He spent the whole hour cutting Isabella’s food into tiny squares, putting the fork in her hand, leaning over to wipe a drop of water off her lip with a napkin.
To everyone else, as usual he looked like a saint, a guy taking care of his blind wife.
To Isabella, every touch felt like a hot needle going into her skin.
At Table Twelve, Alice’s friend leaned over the table, grinning. "You’re staring so hard you’re gonna burn a hole in her dress, Alice."
"Shut up," Alice muttered, staring down at her plate.
"I’m just saying," the girl whispered, sliding her chair closer. "He hasn’t looked away from her once. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s obsessed with her."
Alice’s hands balled into fists under the tablecloth, nails digging into her palms.
Halfway through dinner, Kian leaned down near Isabella’s ear, his breath warm against her skin. "I need to step away for five minutes to talk to security in the back hall. Stay right here. Luke is right behind your chair."
"Of course," Isabella said, keeping her voice real soft. "Take your time."
Kian stood up, giving Luke a nod before walking toward the side hallway near the restrooms.
The second his dark suit disappeared around the corner, Alice stood up from Table Twelve. She smoothed down her red dress, pushed her chair back quietly, and slipped into the hall right after him.