Chapter 8: The Gala of Glass Smiles
The Ryuu Global Annual Winter Gala was not a party.
It was a chess match played in silk gowns and lapel pins, with champagne traded like currency and every laugh calibrated to echo just enough to be overheard.
By five o'clock, Aria had been fitted for a custom gown—deep emerald, backless, with silver embroidery that looked like vines twisting across her spine. Her earrings had been selected by an image consultant. Her lipstick chosen for camera contrast.
Miss Yew stood in the penthouse foyer, reviewing a digital tablet.
"You'll arrive precisely at 7:40. Walk the carpet together. Hand on Mr. Ryuu's arm. Turn your head slightly left for the photographers. Smile only at stations 2, 4, and 7. Those are licensed outlets."
Aria was silent as her hair was pinned up.
"You'll remain at his side for a minimum of 45 minutes. At no point should you be seated without Mr. Ryuu's presence. Unless you're actively networking with an approved ally, you do not move alone."
"I'm not a politician," Aria murmured.
"No," Miss Yew said, without emotion. "You're an investment."
Kade didn't speak as they descended the penthouse elevator.
He looked immaculate, as always—black suit, subtle dark-green tie that matched her gown, expression smooth enough to pass for composed but not quite dead enough to hide the tension in his jaw.
He didn't offer his hand.
She took his arm anyway.
"Tell me what's wrong," she said quietly.
He didn't look at her.
"Selene Quinn will be there."
Aria's grip froze slightly on his arm. "And she is...?"
"A mistake," Kade said.
Which, from him, meant something far more dangerous than an affair.
The ballroom shimmered like a staged illusion.
Dozens of bodies floated beneath hanging chandeliers, laughter clinking like glass, every gown perfectly tailored, every gesture choreographed. Waiters moved like ghosts in pressed uniforms, silver trays held high.
Kade and Aria entered to a slow hush.
Cameras snapped. Heads turned. Someone clapped.
Kade didn't acknowledge it. He simply led her inside with a hand on her lower back—possessive without pressure, a territorial signal to the room.
And to her.
Aria held her smile like a weapon.
Until she saw her.
Selene Quinn didn't need a name tag. You could spot women like her in any empire—they carried the same polish, the same poise, the same sense that they were born behind velvet ropes and taught how to cut without drawing blood.
She wore red.
The kind that wasn't allowed to lose.
Not ruby. Not cherry. War paint.
Aria recognized it instantly.
Selene drifted toward them with the slow grace of a predator circling prey.
She reached Kade first—air-kissed his cheek with a theatrical familiarity.
"Kade," she purred. "You've been impossible to reach."
"I meant to keep it that way," he said coolly.
Selene laughed like that was cute. Then turned to Aria.
"So," she said. "This is the one who broke the internet."
Aria didn't blink. "And you must be the one who broke the mold."
Selene's lips twitched. "He does have a type."
"I wouldn't know," Aria said. "But I do know he doesn't repeat his mistakes. At least not publicly."
Selene's eyes flickered—just for a moment.
Then: "I was wondering when he'd finally manufacture a version of me that didn't bite back."
Aria stepped closer, matching her voice in tone and temperature.
"I wasn't manufactured. I was selected. Big difference. One comes with options. The other gets recycled."
Selene didn't smile this time.
She simply gave Aria a slow look, then leaned in and whispered, just loud enough for Kade to hear:
"He always falls hardest for the ones he can't control. That's why we ended, you know. He broke the leash, not me."
Then she walked away, trailing perfume and tension behind her like a storm.
Aria waited.
Kade didn't say a word.
So she did.
"That's the one you regret?"
"I don't regret her," he said. "I regret who I became around her."
"And what am I to you, then?" she asked. "A test? A correction?"
He looked at her—eyes darker than the suit he wore.
"No," he said quietly. "You're the one who bites back."
And for once, it didn't sound like a threat.
It sounded like a warning he gave himself.