Chapter 6: Her First Ball

ORMON, CITY

Bodyguards escorted Tiffany toward the private helicopter her father had sent, informing her of an urgent meeting with the Alphas in Ormon City.

"Did my father say why I must attend?" she asked.

"No, Miss," one guard replied. "Just that your presence is required."

She boarded the helicopter without further questions. From Liban to the mayor's estate in Ormon City, the journey would take three hours—brief, thanks to her father's private chopper. She suspected this meeting had less to do with formal business and more with her father's shady dealings.

The clock read past six, and the air felt icy despite her thick coat. Tiffany leaned back, steeling herself for the evening ahead.

The hollowness in her chest stirred, a familiar ache she'd carried since childhood. But she shoved it aside. 'Someday, the bad memories won't catch up to me anymore,' she thought.

A guard placed a headset over her ears, and after a string of radio exchanges, they lifted into the night sky.

Three hours later, the helicopter landed on the sprawling lawn of a grand estate. The mayor's residence was a lavish structure adorned with glittering lights, and faint strains of classical music spilled into the crisp evening air. Two women in sleek black-and-white suits approached as Tiffany climbed out. "This way, Miss," they said in unison.

She followed, her guards trailing closely. Inside, an elevator took them to a lavish hallway adorned with portraits of elegantly styled women. She paused briefly, admiring the artistry, before being ushered into a private room.

"Good evening, Miss," a woman greeted. "I'm Mylene, your stylist for tonight. The Don requested I prepare you."

Tiffany's gaze landed on the gown displayed nearby—a black, floor-length silk masterpiece with intricate beading, off-shoulder sleeves, and a daring slit. She ran her fingers over the fabric, letting out a soft sigh. "Lovely," she muttered.

"It's for the masquerade ball, Miss Tiffany," Mylene explained. "Your father wants you as his muse tonight."

Tiffany changed without protest. Her father often paraded her at events like these, a stand-in for the trophy wife he never bothered to acquire. Usually, she resented the role. But tonight was different—this was her first Alpha meeting, and she intended to make an impression.

As Mylene perfected her look, Tiffany's phone buzzed. Her assistant handed it over, and she answered without checking the caller ID.

"Hola?"

"Has visto el vestido (Have you seen the dress?), Tiffany?"

Her mood lifted instantly. "Mamita (Mommy) Dionee!" she exclaimed. "Yes, I'm wearing it now!"

"Your impulsive father demanded it finished in record time," Dionee complained, his voice comforting. "Can you believe the nerve? Tenía muchas ganas de que fuera perfecto! (I wanted it to be perfect!)"

Tiffany smiled, her fingers brushing the gown's intricate beading. "It's absolutely perfect, Mamita. No te preocupes (Don't worry.) Truly, eres el mejor estilista de moda de España (You're the best stylist in Spain)."

"Te quiero, cariño (I love you, darling)," Dionee's warm laughter made her grin. "Now go show them how dazzling my favorite muse can be!"

"I hope you'll visit me in the Philippines. I miss you," Tiffany said wistfully.

"I miss you too, darling. Don't worry, we'll see each other again soon."

They chatted for a while before Tiffany finally hung up. Now that she knew her favorite aunt had made her gown, the thought of attending the ball filled her with even more excitement.

When Tiffany entered the hall, all eyes turned to her. Even with her face partially hidden beneath a mask, she commanded attention. Her chin lifted with confidence; she strode toward her father, who was already beaming with pride.

Later that evening, the Don introduced her to a parade of influential men, many showing keen interest in the Alpha's striking daughter.

Tiffany endured the attention with her usual poise, though she whispered sharply to her father when they finally sat.

"You could've warned me it was a party," she said, sipping her champagne.

"You're supposed to be prepared for anything," he smirked.

As she stifled a frustrated sigh, the city mayor entered—a rotund man in a vibrant violet tuxedo. His arrival caused a stir, and soon Tiffany was face-to-face with him.

"Compadre (Friend)!" her father greeted warmly, clasping the mayor's hand. The two exchanged pleasantries before the Don gestured to Tiffany. "Meet my daughter, Tiffany."

The mayor's gaze lingered a second too long, but Tiffany kept her composure as he kissed her hand. "The pleasure's mine," she said politely.

"She still has to prove herself worthy," her father added. "But she's among the top students at the Academy. Even my toughest goons can't beat her in training."

Tiffany managed a small smile at the backhanded praise.

"Ah, Compadre," the mayor said. "I must also introduce my son, Yuan Lloyd Marquez."

Only then did Tiffany notice the young man behind him. Dressed in a pristine white suit with a subtle diamond-studded mask and a red rose pinned to his lapel, he looked the heir to his father's influence every bit. Yuan stepped forward, his eyes locking with Tiffany's.

For a moment, she froze, her breath catching. She recognized him. "I-It's you…" she stammered.

Yuan took her hand with a confident smile, brushing it lightly with his lips. "Hello, Miss Blonde," he murmured before stepping back with a playful wink.

Tiffany stared, utterly speechless, as the evening's intrigue deepened.