The gala (1)

Pearl stared at her reflection, almost afraid to breathe too hard in case the illusion shattered. She had never felt more like a work of art, draped in emerald satin that shimmered with each shift of light, her back bare and exposed in a way that felt bold and regal. Eveline and her team were already packing up their tools when a gentle chime from her phone announced the arrival of the car.

"That's your ride," Aria said softly, stepping beside her. "Pearl… you look like a queen. I mean it. He won't know what hit him."

Pearl turned to her best friend, nerves beginning to creep up again. "What if I mess this up, Aria?"

"You won't. Just breathe. You've already faced worse than walking into a gala with a hot billionaire. You've got this."

Before Pearl could answer, the intercom buzzed. Aria skipped over and pressed the button. "Yes?"

"This is the chauffeur for Miss Grey," came the professional voice. "Her ride to Mr. Harrison's residence is ready."

Pearl grabbed a small clutch from the table, one of the accessories chosen for her and turned back to Aria.

"Go," Aria whispered with a grin. "And remember, I want every single detail when you get back."

Pearl nodded, hugged her quickly, and walked out the door, heart hammering.

The black luxury sedan waiting outside looked like something out of a movie. The suited chauffeur opened the door for her, and she slid into the cool leather interior, the scent of polished wood and faint cologne making her even more aware of how surreal this all was.

The ride was smooth and quiet, giving her too much time to overthink. By the time they pulled up in front of Richard Harrison's private residence, an elegant glass-fronted townhouse with sharp angles and pristine landscaping her palms were sweating.

She barely had time to collect herself when the door opened, and a second man gestured toward a long black limousine waiting at the curb.

Pearl stepped out slowly, the hem of her emerald dress catching the light, and then she saw him.

Richard Harrison stood at the top of the short front steps, adjusting the cuffs of his tuxedo. He was dressed in a sharp black tailored suit, his white shirt crisp beneath the classic black bowtie. His hair was slicked back neatly, and there was a confidence in the way he stood shoulders straight, eyes unreadable.

For a second, Pearl forgot how to breathe.

He looked up and paused.

His gaze swept over her, from the soft curls framing her face to the open back of her gown and the green satin that clung to her like it had been made for her alone. His expression didn't shift much, but there was something in the slight stillness of his posture that gave him away.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "You look nice."

He descended the steps and opened the limo door himself, gesturing for her to enter. "So do you."

His tone was cool, controlled, but his eyes lingered just a moment too long.

Pearl settled into the limousine and waited as he climbed in beside her. The door shut with a soft thud, and the vehicle gilded forward. Silence wrapped around them like a thick coat. She tried not to fidget, tried not to stare at the rich fabric of his tux or the way his jaw flexed slightly every time he checked his watch.

Eventually, Richard glanced at her.

"You nervous?" he asked, his voice low.

Pearl hesitated. "A little."

"You don't need to be. Just be yourself. Stay by my side, and don't let the press get under your skin."

She nodded, grateful for the advice, even if it wasn't warm.

The limo slowed, then stopped. A valet opened the door, and Richard stepped out first. Cameras flashed immediately. He turned and offered her his hand, and she took it.

As she stepped out, the crowd seemed to freeze. Flashes erupted like stars. Pearl kept her expression calm, remembering Aria's words—chin up, eyes forward, channel your inner empress.

They walked toward the grand entrance of the venue, a long red carpet stretching before them. The paparazzi shouted questions.

"Mr. Harrison, care to tell us more about your stunning date?"

"Is this the mysterious fiancée we've been hearing about?"

"Are you really engaged or is this another publicity stunt?"

Richard kept walking, unreadable.

Pearl, however, wasn't as composed.

"Miss Grey! How does it feel to go from invisible to fiancée overnight?"

She tried to keep her gaze forward, but the questions kept coming.

"What do you do for a living, Miss Grey? Or do you plan to live off Mr. Harrison now?"

That one stung.

Pearl faltered slightly, the confidence Eveline had sculpted onto her face beginning to crack. Her grip on Richard's arm tightened just a little.

Richard didn't pause. He didn't answer, didn't flinch, just kept walking, as if they weren't even speaking. His silence was cold and absolute.

"Pearl! Are the rumors true that you met him at a party drunk and ended up in his bed?" She heard this one from a distance when they were already heading inside.

Her chest tightened. Her steps slowed for half a second, just enough for the cameras to catch the hesitation.

She wanted to shrink, and disappear.

But Richard suddenly glanced sideways, just once, and whispered under his breath:

"Don't let them get to you. They're vultures. Just follow me."

Pearl nodded faintly and forced herself to keep moving, her heels clicking steadily across the carpet like nothing could touch her, even though she was trembling inside.