Velvet and Venom

He seemed like he wanted to ask something but chose not to, it's almost time for Ethaniel's ball, hurry and prepare..., I had almost forgotten..

The chandeliers above glittered like a thousand secrets, hanging heavy over the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits. The Grand Synergia Hall was pulsing with life—models, moguls, and moguls-in-the-making all clinking glasses and swapping ambitions at the annual Fame & Fabric Gala.

Adjusting the strap of my sleek burgundy gown, my fingers brushing the handmade lace along the bust—proudly my company’s signature design. Tonight was about exposure, networking, and maybe a few soft smiles in front of flashing cameras. It was not—absolutely not—about her.

Then I saw her.

Starr Counze, bathed in gold and glitter, waltzed in like a climax in motion. The woman practically glowed, teeth too white, laugh too effortless. A walking magazine cover. My chest tightened.

And of course, the crowd parted for her like the Red Sea.

“Alexandria.” Starr’s voice sliced through the ambient hum, laced with something sweet... and sharp. “Oh, darling, I didn’t expect to see you here. Did they let in all the industry tiers this year?”

A few heads turned. I held her smile, unwilling to let her get the best of me. “Starr. How charming of you to pretend you don’t obsessively follow my progress.”

“I try not to. Mediocrity’s contagious.”

Gasps. A few scattered chuckles.

Stepping closer,I said what had been on my mind since I first knew her. “You know what else is contagious? Desperation. You're practically dripping in it.”

The words hit harder than Starr expected. Her nostrils flared, but her lips remained curved. “Careful, Keys. You’re one tantrum away from staining that knockoff couture with your own bitterness.”

“Knockoff?” I laughed. “Sweetheart, this lace? Hand-stitched by women your team can’t even afford to book.”

That did it.

The spat grew louder. Paparazzi lenses, hidden in floral arrangements and behind champagne flutes, zoomed in like vultures.

“And tell me, Starr,” now inches from her, “what do you actually design? Besides drama?”

“Public interest, for starters. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand substance over show.”

“Oh, honey, no one’s buying that—”

“Ladies.”

The single word cut through the noise like a scalpel. Calm. Controlled.

Valtor.

The air seemed to freeze as heads turned. He stood near the entrance, tailored in charcoal-grey, face unreadable, Ethan's right-hand man and a quiet force in the fashion world. His voice wasn’t loud—but when Valtor spoke, people listened.

Starr immediately softened. “Valtor,” smiling sweetly, stepping toward him. “Thank God. This little scene was becoming quite… provincial.”

Clenching my jaw.

All eyes now locked on him. The room buzzed, silent but electric, like everyone was holding their breath. Everyone assumed he was here to pull Alexandria aside, smooth it over with Starr, the golden girl of the Ethaniel's empire.

Valtor walked forward slowly. Then stopped just between the two women.

Then, after a long pause, he looked directly at Starr and said—

“You're not the one he watches.”

Silence.

It hit like a dropped chandelier.

Starr blinked. “What?”

Valtor didn’t repeat himself. His eyes never left mine.

My breath caught in my throat. I hadn’t expected anything—not a rescue, not an insult, definitely not that.

The room, once buzzing with gossip and murmurs, now hung in stunned silence.

Somewhere, a glass clinked against the floor.

And just like that, the night had changed.

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