The invitation

The city sparkled beneath the afternoon sun, its golden rays streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse. The view stretched endlessly—towering skyscrapers, the glittering river below, and streets buzzing with life. But inside, it was quiet. Peaceful.

I lounged on the plush cream-colored couch, wearing nothing but an oversized black shirt that hung loosely off my shoulder. My long black hair, sleek and glossy, cascaded down my back as I lifted a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice to my lips.

Across from me, Myra sprawled out on the floor, scrolling through her phone. Myra had been my best friend long before all the chaos—before the photoshoots, the runway, and the flashing cameras. And no matter how much my life had changed, she stayed the same—loud, dramatic, and always ready to drag me back to earth.

“Okay, Miss Superstar,” Myra teased, glancing up at me. “How does it feel to be famous? Do people still deliver chicken to you, or is that

beneath you now?”

I rolled my eyes, taking another sip of my juice. “Please. I still burn toast, and my Wi-Fi sucks half the time. Nothing’s changed.”

“Uh-huh,” she snorted. “Nothing except your face is on half the billboards in the city. You know, my aunt called last week just to ask if you were ‘that gorgeous girl from the Grand Luxe show.’ You owe me an autograph.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “It’s been months since that runway, Myra. I’m not that big of a deal.”

Myra’s eyes narrowed as she set her phone down and leaned forward. “Not a big deal? Girl, your face is everywhere. You could sneeze, and it would be trending.”

I shrugged, stretching my legs across the couch. “I’m just busy, that’s all. It’s been

photoshoot after photoshoot. I barely have time to sleep, let alone worry about some

runway show that’s ancient history.”

“Ancient history?” Myra gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “You mean the same show where Heldon couldn’t stop staring at you?”

I nearly choked on my juice. “Oh my God. Not this again.”

“What?” Myra grinned wickedly. “I’m just

saying… the country’s most famous, most

gorgeous, most unattainable man spent the entire night looking at you like you were the only person in the room. I’d still be bragging about it if I were you.”

I waved her off, though my face grew warm at the memory. “He probably wasn’t even looking at me.”

“Uh, yes, he was,” Myra quipped, pointing a finger at me. “You just didn’t want to admit it. And don’t think I forgot how he showed up at your dressing room afterward.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to push the memory aside. Heldon—perfect, breathtaking,

impossible Heldon—had spoken to me that night. His voice had been smooth as velvet, and his eyes… God, those eyes. But it was months ago, and people like him didn’t stick around.

“It’s old news,” I said firmly. “Besides, it’s not like he called or anything.”

“And yet, here you are, thinking about him,” Myra shot back with a knowing smile.

I opened my mouth to argue when the sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment. Myra raised a brow. “Expecting someone?”

“No,” I muttered, pushing myself off the couch. I padded toward the door, my bare feet cool against the marble floor, and when I opened it, a delivery man stood there, holding a sleek black box tied with a crimson ribbon.

“For Rovina,” he said, handing it over before

disappearing down the hallway.

I shut the door and carried the box back to the living room, my heart pounding softly in my chest. “Weird. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“Ooooh,” Myra cooed, scrambling to her knees. “Mysterious package? Open it!”

I untied the ribbon carefully, lifting the lid to reveal an elegant black envelope with gold lettering embossed across the front:

An Exclusive Invitation to the Red & Black Party

Myra snatched the card from my hands before I could process the words. Her mouth fell open as she read aloud:

“‘You are cordially invited to the most exclusive event of the year—The Red & Black Party. A night of luxury, secrets, and power. Attendance by invitation only.’” She gasped, clutching the card to her chest like it was a winning lottery ticket.

I blinked, stunned. “The Red & Black Party?”

“YES!” Myra screamed, jumping to her feet. “Girl, do you know how impossible it is to get invited to this thing? The richest, most powerful people in the industry go. If you’re there, you’re somebody.”

I stared at the card, still frozen in disbelief. The Red & Black Party wasn’t just another social event—it was the event. Only the top names in fashion, film, and business were invited, and for someone like me—who had started by delivering chicken—it felt unreal.

Myra spun in circles, waving the invitation like a flag. “Oh, we are so going. You’re going to make an entrance, and Heldon won’t know what hit him.”

I laughed softly, but excitement began to creep into my chest. “Slow down, drama queen. It’s just a party.”

“Just a party?” Myra’s jaw dropped. “Mizo, this is our Cinderella moment—minus the pumpkin. We’re finding you the most jaw-dropping dress, and you’re going to slay. Period.”

I shook my head, sinking back onto the couch as Myra prattled on about gowns, heels, and hair. But even as the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this invitation was more than just a golden ticket.

It felt like a door opening—one I never thought I’d walk through.

And deep down, I wondered—was Heldon

going to be there?

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