GALA OF GHOSTS
The chandelier sparkled above like frozen fire. Gold trim lined the velvet-curtained ballroom, and the scent of white roses floated in the air. Spain's elite gathered in clusters, glasses in hand, their laughter bouncing off marble pillars.
Leon Moretti stood at the edge of it all — timeless in a charcoal suit, a gold pin at his collar that marked his power even in silence. His expression unreadable. His heart… not so much.
It had been weeks since Ayla.
Yet he stood there, letting the music wrap around him, not because he was ready to rejoin the world, but because someone had whispered something impossible:
Celeste Moreau was alive.
And now… she was about to speak.
The Spotlight Shifted.
Celeste stepped onto the stage in emerald silk, her grace commanding silence. The soft curls of her hair fell perfectly around her shoulders, her posture royal, yet warm.
"Good evening," she began, voice like soft bells.
"I stand here today not just as Celeste Moreau, but as someone who has returned to a life she barely remembers. Thank you for accepting me with open arms, and allowing me to rediscover the world with love, kindness… and family."
Applause erupted.
Leon didn't clap.
He stared.
Something in her voice pulled at him. Something behind her smile unraveled him.
He should've looked away.
But he couldn't.
It didn't feel like he was seeing her for the first time since her disappearance.
It felt like…
She'd never really left.
He scoffed under his breath. Get a grip, Leon.
She wasn't Ayla.
She was Celeste. His first love. A ghost. That's all.
"Leon," a smooth voice broke his thoughts.
He turned. It was Mr. Moreau, beaming.
"I've been meaning to reintroduce you to our daughter. I believe you both used to be close as children."
Leon's throat tightened.
Celeste walked up to them, radiant. Her parents stood between them, but the tension between her and Leon was immediate.
"Celeste, this is Leon Moretti," her father said proudly.
She smiled politely. "Of course. I've heard so much about you."
Leon gave a slight nod, lips twitching with something unreadable.
"And I remember quite a bit about you too," he said carefully, holding her gaze.
Celeste blinked. Something strange tugged at her chest.
They moved aside to talk privately.
"I didn't think you'd be here," Celeste said softly, sipping champagne.
Leon tilted his head. "I didn't think you would be alive."
Her smile faltered — just a fraction — before she masked it with elegance.
"I suppose life has strange ways of rewriting fate," she replied.
Leon looked at her with quiet intensity.
She didn't remember him.
She didn't remember them.
But he did.
Every kiss. Every fight. Every moment before she vanished.
And now she stood here, whole… and not whole at all.