Aria Hale sat at her desk, methodically working on arranging the presentation for the investors' meeting that Alexander had asked her to. Her fingers flew across the keyboard: each keystroke precise, every file aptly and carefully labeled. The office buzzed around her, but she was in her own little world—a world dominated by spreadsheets, schedules, and Alexander Knight's exacting standards.
And yet, for all of her focus, a note slipped under her door pulled her attention away.
Gala invitation: formal Black Tie; your attendance is compulsory.
Her brow furrowed. Work tasks, late-night schedules, and endless challenges—fine. But a gala? She had pictured herself safely tucked away behind Alexander's office walls, quietly carrying out tasks. She hadn't envisioned walking into a room full of the city's elite, in full view of the media, hand-in-hand—or at least side by side—with Alexander Knight.
A flutter awakened in her stomach as she examined the invitation. A gala was more than merely a social event-it was a stage. And she was anticipated to perform.
Later that afternoon, she found herself summoned into Alexander's office. The door slid open with quiet precision as always, and there he was, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights twinkling with the fading afternoon sun. He didn't turn to greet her.
"Aria," he said finally, without looking at her, "you're attending the gala with me."
Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
He turned then, gaze cool and assessing. "I said, you're attending the gala with me. Your presence is required, officially and publicly. Dress appropriately."
Aria's mind raced. "With you… publicly? Why? I'm your assistant—I don't…
"Don't argue," he interrupted, his tone final. "It's not a suggestion. It's an order."
She felt a rush of heat rise to her cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from indignation. "I'm perfectly capable of attending as myself, without… being your arm candy," she said, trying to keep her tone steady.
Alexander's gray eyes flickered, sharp and calculating. "This is not about your capabilities. This is about appearances."
"Appearances?" she echoed, her tone rising slightly.
"Yes," he said, voice calm but authoritative. "My parents, the board, and the media expect me to attend with a partner. A fiancée. A girlfriend. Someone presentable, capable, and discreet. And since my usual options are unavailable…" He paused, smirk tugging at his lips. "…you're it."
Aria's jaw dropped. "I—You—you're joking."
"I never joke when it comes to business-or appearances," he said, folding his arms. "Dress code: black tie, formal. Behavior: flawless. Smile only when instructed. Conversation: polite and minimal. You're here to exist as a perfect image."
She wanted to argue further, to tell him she wasn't a prop, that she wouldn't be treated as some accessory to his image—but she knew arguing would do nothing except ignite the cold storm she faced day in and day out.
Fine, she thought bitterly. I'll survive one night. One night won't kill me.
That evening, Aria returned to her small apartment, the gala looming over her like an impending storm. She went through her wardrobe, pulling out dresses that might pass the "formal" standard. None of them seemed quite right: too modest, too flashy, too casual. An hour of indecision later, she finally settled on a long, elegant black gown. It wasn't overdone, but it was sophisticated-the kind of dress that could stand in a room full of the city's elite and not draw the wrong kind of attention.
Standing in front of her mirror, she adjusted the dress, running her fingers over the smooth fabric. She wasn't used to this world of glitz and glamour. Her life had been modest, simple, and practical. Now she was expected to navigate a realm of wealth, power, and subtle competition-all while maintaining composure around Alexander Knight.
Her brain was whirling: Can I do this? Can I get through the night without making a fool of myself-let alone getting fired?
'
The ride to the gala was silent. Alexander's limousine glided through city streets with the smooth precision that mirrored his own demeanor. Aria sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap, trying to mask her nerves. Alexander, always composed, watched city lights blur past with a detached expression.
"You're tense," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Aria's eyes narrowed as she said, "I am not tense," though her voice didn't carry much conviction.
He lifted a single eyebrow; gray eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. "You are. It's palpable. That's fine. I expected it. Just… remember your role tonight."
"And what role is that?" she asked in a light but pointed tone.
He smirked. "Graceful, composed, and properly impressed by the city's elite. You're a reflection of me. Fail, and you reflect poorly-not just on yourself, but on me."
She bit back a retort. Of course, she thought. Everything is about him.
["The only journeys worth going on," Abel said to me one day, "are those when you know exactly where you are bound."
The gala itself was a whirlwind of lights, laughter, and carefully contrived social interactions. Aria felt immediately out of place, acutely aware of every camera flash, every whispered comment from the well-dressed attendees. Alexander moved through the crowd like a force of nature, commanding attention, exchanging measured smiles and handshakes, leaving a trail of silent awe in his wake.
Aria trailed along, mimicking composure, trying to be a "perfect accessory" and nothing more. She didn't want the wrong kind of notice. Still, it was impossible to overlook him. He was magnetic, infuriatingly so. Every glance he cast her way, even fleeting, sent her pulse into overdrive.
Then came the moment she had been dreading—and anticipating—the arrival of Celeste Moretti.
Alexander's ex-girlfriend swept into the room, shining in a silver gown, a practiced smile curling her lips. The crowd immediately noticed her, whispering, casting sideways glances. And Alexander's face went rigid-not with anger, but with that cold, measured awareness that spoke of history, of possession, of unfinished business.
Aria felt a surge of something she hadn't anticipated: jealousy. A heat rising in her chest, sharp and insistent. She told herself to calm down, to focus on her role. She was not here to compete with the past. She was here to survive tonight—and perhaps survive Alexander Knight himself.
The evening wore on, and Aria did her best to go unnoticed, but Alexander was eventually corralled by his parents near the champagne table, their faces a picture of impatience and expectation.
"Alexander," his mother said, her voice like silk wrapped around steel, "when will you finally settle down? You're not getting any younger."
"I am perfectly aware of my age, Mother," Alexander replied smoothly.
"But a man in your position …" his father began.
Alexander's gray eyes moved to Aria. For an instant, a flash of mischief-or was it desperation?-crossed his features. He straightened, raising his glass toward the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice effortlessly carrying above the chatter. "I'd like to introduce my girlfriend—Aria Hale."
The room was frozen. Cameras clicked. There were gasps everywhere. Aria felt the eyes of a thousand people, their unspoken questions burned into her. She froze, absolutely stupefied, unsure whether to protest or to smile politely.
Alexander's parents stared. His ex-girlfriend's smile faltered. And somewhere amidst that tempest of glances, something shifted inside Aria, something that would alter the trajectory of her life.
"G-girlfriend?" she whispered, incredulous.
"Yes," he said calmly, a smirk curling. "For tonight. Just… roll with it."
The words were simple, but they carried within them weight, power, and a hint of danger. Aria realized with a jolt that this wasn't just a gala anymore, but the beginning of a game she hadn't agreed to play, with rules she didn't yet understand.
By the end of the night, she had survived polite conversation, media flashes, and Celeste Moretti's subtle digs. She had kept her composure, smiled when appropriate, and even managed to impress a few of Alexander's business acquaintances.
But the tension between her and Alexander had only thickened. Every brush of his hand as they wove through the crowd, every glance he cast in her direction, every smirk and subtle remark reminded her that the line between hostility and attraction was razor-thin. As the limousine carried her back to her apartment, Aria realized something uncomfortable but undeniable: she was already invested in this dangerous, infuriating, irresistible man.
And he had no idea how much of a hold he already had on her. This is going to be a long night, she thought, staring out at the city lights. And I have a feeling it's only the beginning.