Chapter eight

The ballroom of the Vice's was as magnificent as it was beautiful. Hanging from the ceiling was a three step white lit chandelier that had no problem illuminating the entire room alone. The pillars holding the mansion were decorated with tiny emeralds and rubies. At one corner of the room was a staircase that ran up to the first floor, and then another staircase that ran even further up, leading to another floor. Gwen took a galss of wine the waiters hawked, finding the corner of the room with the dimmest lighting. She noticed the doors, about three of them just few inches apart. Gwen would have loved nothing more than to pass the night quietly in any of the rooms and get this party over with.

"They say this is one of the most beautiful halls in town." She heard a lady whisper to her friend as they walked by her. She looked familiar, Gwen thought, but then again, she hadn't attended these things enough to recognize anyone.

But she had to agree with them, the Vice's had one of the most elegant ball rooms.

The commotion at the other far end of the room caught Gwen's attention. Apparently, a lady had stumbled into one of the flower pots and broken it. Gwen scoffed. The large pots stationed at every end of the room were too pretty and bold to have been unnoticed. And they complimented the ceiling beautifully. Green was nature's special touch, and it was perfect.

Gwen had not noticed the white lights ingrained in the pillars until the chandelier was turned off and the room depended only on the pillars to give it brightness. 

It was almost surreal to behold in the dim lighting of the room. 

Gwen had heard stories about the Vice's ballroom, and seen pictures, but this was her first time beholding it. As the social outcast she chose to be, attending a lot of business related balls had not been on the agenda.

Gwen stylishly looked up, enjoying the view of the ceiling. Shadow flowers and a touch of colors. Gwen wondered where the colors seeped from.

She gathered that this was an argument in favor of the existence of aesthetics. 

When the lights came on again in its full glory and brightness, she concluded that the ceiling looked better in the dim light.

She was always one to prefer the darkness over light. 

Gwen turned around when someone tapped her shoulder. Her eyes turned cold instantly like it always did when she talked business or to men. 

"Gwenevere Welch, the social outcast. I'm shocked to see you here."

He'd managed to ruin her little joy with his presence. 

She rolled her eyes, snickering behind her glass of château Margaux. A broad sexy yet beautiful smile graced her lips when her glass dropped from her mouth. He hadn't done anything to her, yet, so there was no need to be hostile. She dreaded having to converse with another Damian-like human being.

Cold ran down her spine when the moments she'd spent with Damian flooded her mind. She kept her composure, refusing to let anything crack her facade.

"Mr. Charles." 

"Mr. Charles is my father. Call me Ethan." He smiled.

For all the money in the world, Gwen could not understand why sons of business moguls, with very few exceptions, turn out to be such prickly disappointments. Gawain, Damian, Ethan, to mention a few, turned out privileged and stupid. And the worst part was, they never realize how stupid and worthless they were.

For example, the gentleman that stood with her. He was the first son of Charles of Charles and sons, a business oriented family who earned their seat on the table of the wealthy in society by selling tiles. The Charles have been in the business of selling construction materials, their tiles being the most durable, for four generations now, and have gathered massive wealth over the years. They were regarded as old money, and while every first born from over the years have struggled to continue prospering the business and upholding the legacy of their families, Mr. Ethan here had been going around town doing the opposite.

He was always in the tabloids, giving bad publicity through his promiscuity to generations of hard work and dedication.

And there is such a thing as bad publicity.

Gwen didn't particularly care about him and how he lived his life, but because he had a sister and she did all the work and he gained all the credit, she was repulsed by him, hence her snickering and utter hatred for the man. 

Another dumb male who had more power than a smart skillful female because he had a dick between his legs and she didn't. 

Gwen couldn't wait to build a better world.

If only she knew what a better world was, or if it existed in the first place.

"I'm sorry but I'm not particularly comfortable addressing you so informally. If I'm not being too rude, I'd like to continue calling you Mr. Charles…" she smiled politely. "Or would you rather I call you Mr. Ethan."

"Charles or Ethan is fine. But the Mister got to go." 

He was flirting with her.

It wasn't surprising to her. She'd expected it. The slimy bastard flirted with anything under a skirt. Which was okay, until he tried to do it with her.

"Tell me Ethan, I hear there's a new competition just blowing people away with their sturdy and authentic tiles. What's your strategy against this?"

His smile fell. "You're every bit the workaholic they say you are." He began to smile again. "A word of advice, all work and no play, makes Gwen no fun to play with." 

He stuck the tip of his tongue out and a small portion of it rolled in between his lower and upper lips pressed together. immediately after, he bit his lower lip briefly and then winked at her. 

She obviously didn't hit him hard enough. Metaphorically. "I hear you lost business in the east because of them. They're something huh?"

This time he didn't hide the frown she'd caused with her meddling in his family's business. 

"They're a start up, what kind of harm do you think they can do? My family has been into this business for generations. We rule." He smirked.

We rule? Gwen had never heard a business man sound so unbusiness-like. This was supposed to be the heir of a company whose net worth was over ten billion dollars. It was obvious who the brain of the company was. His sister might only be the COO in the company, but the world couldn't be that stupid that they didn't realize who was running it.

"I guess you're right." She humored him. She was done talking to this imbecile of a man.

"I wonder why Katherine didn't come. Please send my regards to her. And tell her I would love to sit down and talk business," she enunciated, "with her. Do have a lovely evening."

She walked away, leaving him stunned with rage and anger. 

He wasn't that stupid after all.

Gwen found a new spot to stand and drink. All through the evening she'd barely spoken a word to anybody. She wasn't fond of the people in attendance, although blaming her lack of social attendance on occasions like these was the wrong way to go. She just didn't like the people from her world, and she didn't know any of them enough.

Aside from the news she read and the scandals reporters were always so ready to jump on and publicize, she didn't care about these people. She was here only for one reason. 

Barbara. 

She'd spoken to her and Sigurd only once the whole evening. It was a given. They were the hosts after all.

"Gwenevere? Gwenevere welch?"

She turned around to the voice, ready to bite off another unworthy male's head. She bit her tongue when she saw who was standing in a black double breasted suit in front of her. He was smiling, but all she saw was his captivating lips resting over his very appealing jaw line. His stubble had caught her eyes too. All in all, she saw a man who had all her attention.

For the first time tonight, she didn't force a smile.

He was one attractive man.

Gwen's smile grew. "Daxton Vice."