The ballroom was brighter than the sun. Chandeliers dripped crystal light across polished marble floors, the air thick with perfume and laughter. Everywhere Lyn looked, there were gowns worth more than her university tuition and jewelry that could probably pay off her rent for a century.
She tugged uncomfortably at her dress. The silk was too tight, the neckline too low, and the shoes were clearly designed by someone who hated women.
I miss sneakers. And hoodies. And instant noodles, she thought desperately.
Beside her, Michael walked like he owned the building. Which, judging by the way people bowed and parted at his approach, he probably did.
He leaned close. "Stay with me. Don't wander."
"I'm not five," Lyn muttered.
His eyes softened. "You used to wander."
"…Okay, maybe a little," she admitted.
At the entrance to the hall, Rosa Vale appeared, clipboard in hand, her smile as polished as her earrings.
"Mr. Lawrence, Miss Amster," Rosa greeted smoothly. She looked at Lyn with the same expression one might reserve for a stray cat who had somehow wandered into a luxury boutique. "You're seated at the head table, of course."
"Of course," Michael replied without sparing her more than a glance.
Rosa's knuckles whitened on her clipboard, but she kept smiling.
They hadn't been seated long before Lady Seraphine swept into the ballroom like a storm of silk and diamonds.
"Michael," she purred, her voice loud enough to turn heads. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."
Her gaze slid to Lyn, sharp as glass. "And you've brought… company."
Lyn tried to smile politely. "Hi. I'm Lyn. I, uh, like your earrings."
Seraphine's eyes narrowed. "They're family heirlooms."
"Cool," Lyn said brightly. "Mine are from a discount store. Two for one."
Michael's lips twitched—just barely—but Seraphine noticed and stiffened.
"Don't get too comfortable," Seraphine murmured to Lyn, her smile sweet poison. "Not everyone in this world welcomes strangers."
"Good thing I'm not trying to be welcome," Lyn whispered back, but her hands were clammy.
The dinner itself was torture. Seven courses, each smaller than the last. Lyn was still hungry after the first three, and when the waiter placed a delicate plate of what looked suspiciously like air on a cracker, she sighed.
Michael leaned closer. "Eat slowly."
"If I eat any slower, I'll starve," she whispered back.
His mouth curved. "I'll order food later."
"You? Order food?" she teased. "What'll you do, bankrupt the pizza chain?"
He didn't answer, but his eyes glinted with amusement.
Across the table, Rosa watched them, her nails digging into her napkin.
The evening dragged on with endless introductions—names, titles, companies Lyn couldn't keep track of.
Finally, the Council of Elders took the stage, droning on about trade routes and legacy investments. Half the ballroom looked like they were dozing off.
Lyn leaned toward Michael. "Do they always talk this much?"
"Yes."
"Do they ever… stop?"
"Rarely."
"Should we call security?"
Michael stifled a chuckle, covering his mouth with his glass.
Kai and Daren, standing at the edges of the ballroom, exchanged looks.
"She's going to get herself assassinated," Daren whispered.
"Unlikely," Kai said flatly. "He'll kill them first."
As the gala ended and guests filtered out, Lyn stepped onto the balcony for fresh air. The city lights glittered far below.
Her phone buzzed.
ENJOYING YOUR NEW FRIENDS? CAREFUL. THEY'LL TURN ON YOU, JUST LIKE BEFORE.
Her chest tightened. Before?
She typed furiously: Who are you? What do you mean before?
Three dots. Then the reply: LOOK AT HIM CLOSELY. HISTORY REPEATS.
Lyn's gaze lifted. Inside, Michael was speaking with her father, calm and controlled, every inch the perfect tycoon. He looked up at that exact moment, eyes locking on hers.
For a heartbeat, the whole room faded.
He crossed to her, took her hand in his, and said quietly, "You're trembling."
She forced a smile. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't. Because the hooded figure's words wouldn't stop echoing.
History repeats.