Four: The ball

Lena Stewart's POV

Two days had passed since the date, but the memory lingered like a shadow. That night, I found myself drifting into a dream I couldn't quite grasp. It was a strange, vivid dream where I stood in a moonlit garden, a place both familiar and foreign.

I was adorned in a flowing gown that shimmered with the faint light of the moon, the air around me soft and still. As I walked, I felt a gentle breeze, almost like a whisper against my skin. There he was—the man from the restaurant—his presence both calming and intense.

He stood there, his figure bathed in the silver glow of the moon. His gaze was fixed on me with a tenderness that made my heart race. His eyes, a mesmerizing blend of gold and shadow, held a depth that seemed to reach into my very soul. I felt a profound connection as if our lives had been intertwined long before our eyes met in that restaurant.

In this dream, he stepped closer, his expression a mix of longing and unspoken emotion. He reached out, his fingers almost brushing against my cheek, and I could see the silent plea in his eyes. I wanted to speak, to ask him who he was, but no words came. His presence was soothing yet unsettling, stirring something deep within me.

Suddenly, the dream shifted, and I was awake in my room, the echoes of his gaze still haunting my thoughts. My heart pounded as I sat up, my breath coming in quick bursts. The dream felt so real, and the intensity of his gaze lingered like a ghostly touch.

I shook off the remnants of the dream, telling myself it was just that—a dream. But the feeling of being watched, of that unspoken connection, refused to fade. It was as if his eyes had left an imprint on my very soul, and I was left grappling with the unsettling notion that this was only the beginning.

Two days later, I found myself sitting across from my father at the dining table. His demeanor was unusually bright, a rare sight considering our strained relationship. He looked at me with an expression that seemed almost paternal, and I wondered if this was a fleeting moment of genuine interest or just another facade.

"You did well on the date," he said, his tone clipped but approving. "I spoke with Greg's family. They were quite impressed. He's asked to see you again."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the memory of Greg's arrogance still fresh in my mind. "He did?"

"Yes," my father continued, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. "In fact, he'll be attending the Ravenswood Ball at our mansion. It's an annual event, and I expect you to be there."

I raised an eyebrow. "The ball?"

"Yes, the ball," he said, his voice firm. "It's important for our social standing. Greg is a suitable match for you. I hope you'll make the effort to get to know him better."

I forced a smile, though my thoughts were far from pleased. "I'll be there, Father."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. The ball is in two days. Make sure you're ready. And remember, it's an opportunity to strengthen your connections and possibly secure a favorable future."

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of obligatory conversation and strained pleasantries. I found myself mentally preparing for the event, the prospect of facing Greg again filling me with a mix of dread and resignation.

As I left the dining room, the weight of my father's expectations pressed heavily on my shoulders. The Ravenswood Ball was more than just a social event; it was a battleground for approval and acceptance, and I was caught in its crossfire.

The night of the Ravenswood Ball arrived with a swirl of grandeur and expectation. The mansion, adorned with shimmering lights and opulent decorations, was abuzz with the town's elite. As I walked through the grand entrance, the glittering chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests. I was swept into the throng of well-wishers and acquaintances, each offering smiles and polite conversation.

Greg was there, as expected. He had made a grand entrance with an air of confidence, his charm effortlessly masking his previous arrogance. From the moment he spotted me, his eyes never strayed far, and he made a point of drawing close whenever he could. His touch was subtle but persistent—a hand lingering too long on my back, a touch on my arm that bordered on intimate. It was clear he was making a calculated effort to win my attention.

I tried to maintain a polite distance, engaging in conversations with other guests to escape his persistent advances. Yet, Greg seemed to always find a way to insert himself into my space. His compliments were laced with an unsettling undertone, and his smile, though charming, felt insincere.

As the night progressed, I found myself retreating to a quiet corner of the ballroom. The crowd, once exhilarating, now felt overwhelming. My father's approval and Greg's relentless pursuit turned the evening into a performance I struggled to endure.

I excused myself from another round of forced pleasantries and slipped outside for a breath of fresh air. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. I wandered to the edge of the estate, where the land dropped off into a rugged cliff, a place I used to visit as a child to find solace.

Standing there, gazing out over the moonlit expanse, I tried to clear my mind, but the events of the evening continued to weigh heavily on me. Greg's insistent presence and my father's expectations felt like chains around my heart.

As I stood at the cliff's edge, the soothing sounds of the night were interrupted by an unsettling sensation—one that I recognized from my previous encounter at the restaurant. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Before I could fully process the unease, I heard a voice behind me, smooth and commanding, yet tinged with an edge of danger.

"You shouldn't be here," the voice said softly, sending a shiver down my spine.

I turned sharply, my heart pounding. The darkness around me seemed to grow denser, and the familiar yet inexplicable feeling of being observed intensified. The night was still, but the words lingered, leaving me with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.