Night of Lights

The moment I stepped out of the town car and saw Celine in that deep burgundy gown, I forgot what air was.

She wasn't just beautiful—she was breathtaking in a way that made everything else dim. For a second, I almost forgot the flash of cameras, the stiff press lines, or the fact that every move we made tonight would be scrutinized. All I saw was her.

"You're stunning," I said, because it was the truth.

She smiled softly, not bashful, but steady. Composed, as always. But her eyes lingered on mine a beat longer than they used to. There was something there. Something new.

The photographers swarmed the moment we joined hands and made our way onto the carpet. I kept my grip firm but relaxed, the way I'd been taught by decades of public appearances. But with Celine beside me, this didn't feel like a performance. It felt natural.

Cameras flashed. Voices shouted. We paused, posed, smiled.

And yet, between every step and turn, I kept looking at her. Not for show—because I couldn't help it.

Inside, the venue glowed with elegance. The marble floors reflected golden lights from chandeliers overhead, and the soft hum of a string quartet gave the space an air of refined calm.

I leaned in slightly. "You okay?"

She nodded. "You?"

"Not quite," I said with a quiet smile. "You look like every dream I didn't know I had."

She didn't reply, but her lips curved just a little, like she didn't want to give me the satisfaction of seeing how much it affected her.

The gala was in full swing by the time we entered the main ballroom. Waiters in black and white moved smoothly through the crowd, serving champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Several industry leaders approached us, exchanging pleasantries, offering congratulations, pretending like they hadn't spent the past six months speculating on our forced union.

Celine handled it all with effortless grace. She always had. But now, she leaned into me slightly when someone said something too forward. She looked at me for cues when asked about the merger. We weren't just business allies anymore—we were beginning to act like partners.

"Blake, a word?" my grandfather's voice broke through the noise. He stood near a windowed alcove, drink in hand, flanked by two members of the Aldridge board. I gave Celine a nod, and she smoothly transitioned into conversation with a director's wife.

I joined Charles, who clapped me on the back with quiet approval. "You two are making quite the impression."

"She makes it easy," I replied honestly.

He gave me a long look. "She's more than capable. But she's also guarded. Be patient with her. And don't fake anything."

"I'm not."

"Good."

The conversation turned to board matters, but my attention kept drifting back to her. Celine, who had now joined the mayor's wife and was laughing—really laughing—at something.

The kind of laugh that made my chest tighten.

She caught my eye across the room and gave a small, knowing look, as if she'd felt my gaze.

We made our way back to each other sometime before the speech. I offered her a glass of champagne.

She took it, fingers brushing mine. "Speech ready?" she asked.

"I've been delivering them since I was twelve," I replied. "But I might forget all my lines if you keep looking at me like that."

She didn't blush, but her lips quirked up. "Focus, Aldridge."

We stood on stage as the foundation chair introduced us, framing our companies' new union as a symbol of progress and cooperation.

Celine spoke first. Clear. Sharp. Elegant. She acknowledged our history, the significance of our partnership, and even managed a perfectly timed line about building a stronger future "together."

Then it was my turn. I stepped up to the podium, looked at the sea of expectant faces, then back at her.

And I meant every word when I said, "I've stood on stages my whole life, but tonight, standing beside Celine Cater, feels different. This is not just a business merger. This is a new chapter—one we're writing together."

Applause followed. Cameras clicked. People leaned in, intrigued.

As we left the stage, Celine whispered, "That was unexpectedly charming."

"Unexpectedly?" I raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged, the smile never fully leaving her lips. "Don't get cocky."

Dinner was served shortly after. We sat beside each other at the head table, engaging politely with other guests but rarely with each other directly. Yet there was a current between us, a charged awareness that made the air around us hum.

Once dessert had been cleared, I turned to her and said, "Walk with me."

She hesitated just a second, then nodded.

We slipped out to the terrace. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the warmth of the ballroom. Below, Velmora stretched in glittering silence. I leaned against the railing, letting the wind settle my thoughts.

"You handled tonight well," I said. "Better than I did."

She came to stand beside me. "We both did what we had to. For the cameras."

"Yes. But also for us."

She didn't respond right away. Her eyes were on the skyline, her expression unreadable.

"I don't know what this is yet," she said eventually. "But I know it's not what it started out as."

I turned to her. "It's not. And I don't want to pretend anymore."

Celine looked up at me, and in that moment, all the pretense fell away. The city lights reflected in her eyes, and for once, neither of us had to say the thing aloud.

It was already there—between us, undeniable.