The gala was at a museum near central park; it was in a big white—Victorian palace looking—building that was housed with artworks and artifacts—similar to the Golden Hour. It's known for housing one of NYC's best fundraisers.
As Grace, Allison, and I walked up the marble stairs of the building's entrance, Grace explained what the fundraiser was about. "The money is going to charities around the city obviously, but a percentage will go to certain businesses for startup promotion. My grandfather's friend is the organizer but the main donor is actually my father, Theodore."
We walked down the wide hall until we came across a massive staircase. A golden chandelier dangled a few feet in the air. "The fundraiser is actually to support my brother—your fiance," Grace explained to me. "He's twenty, meaning he has access to the company's stocks and can invest more money into them or even invest somewhere else. He's creating a start-up in France and needs a couple of investors. The whole event is to gather money."
I gave her a weird look, a little bit skeptical about the whole thing. "Do the donors even know that?" I didn't know a single thing about the business world, everything that dealt with business was closed behind locked doors when I was in the manor. But I did know that embezzling money, creating fake sanctions, or even fake events to make money was something that could be used against. "Won't your family get sued," I asked.
Allison scoffed. "That's what makes it so elitist. Louis and Grace's father, Theodore, made a gala just so they could give Val the boost he needs as the successor."
"Nothing beats a fabulous reputation," Grace added.
We paused at the entrance of the doorway. "I don't get it. It's a huge risk."
Grace turns to me, raising an eyebrow. "We're not just any business Isabella. We're—no matter how classy we seem—an underworld mafia and a city gang, so in other words, an ethical business means nothing to Louis. This family will do anything for success."
The doors opened, and I set my eyes on a lavish ballroom with red curtains draping the high windows. An entire orchestra played at the very top of the stage, below them on the stage platform, was a speaker and microphone. Women in gowns and men in suits were fit in the most lavish of gold and silver, drinking thin glasses of champagne—waiters in black were passing them around.
I turned to Grace, eyes open. "This place is gorgeous, it's a real ballroom."
Allison shrugs. "If you think this is something, wait till you go to the balls in the mansions Upstate."
Grace had her eyes set on someone else near the circling pillars in the ballroom. "Oh my God, is that Lou?"
My head snapped to the person she was looking at. Leaning on the pillar was a dark haired boy in a fine suit. As Grace dragged me towards him I was shocked at how similar his features were to hers; sharp jaw, pink plump lips, and hollow cheekbones.
"Lou," Grace called. Lou's head turned up from his phone. He had the darkest blue eyes I'd ever seen. He looked surprised to see us. His eyes landed on Allison's first. "What the hell are you guys doing here?" He was about five inches taller than all of us.
Grace didn't bother to greet him. "Lou, this is my friend," she says, then turns to me, "This is my cousin, Lou."
I forced a smile in my awkwardness. "Hello."
He gave me a stone-faced expression, his eyes puffy as if he was drunk. "Who the fuck are you," he asked, rudly.
I bent my head back, stunned, the confidence in his stance suddenly turned into arrogance. "Excuse me?"
Grace smiled awkwardly. "Lou, dear, this is Isabella Eclipse."
His expression didn't change.
"Isabella. The one marrying my brother."
Lou's eyes widened, starstruck by the fact that I was standing right in front of him. I didn't think my name weighed so much terror—or maybe it was my fiance's. "Holy shit," he hissed. He was tense, but quickly raised his head. "I apologize," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Lou Vemoure, pleasure to meet you."
I didn't extend my hand, instead I stared at him coldly. "Pleasure is mine."
He took back his hand awkwardly, stuffing it into the pocket of his pants. Allison chuckled under her breath at how embarrassed he was. "Don't mind him," she says. "He can be a total bitch when he wants to be."
Lou gave her a warning. "That's enough Al."
She shrugged, giving him the finger.
Before Lou could retaliate, a maid with a stray came to us with champagne, Grace, Allison, and I took a glass. I gave them a skeptical look. "This is totally illegal."
Grace shrugs, taking a huge gulp. She shakes her head, ill faced. "This tastes like shit covered in roses. I need something stronger."
"There's a bar at the other end of the room," Lou suggested.
"Won't they ask for ID," Grace said, unsure. "What if my mothers near the bar—she's always at the bar—I can't have her catch me here."
Lou pulled out a card from his pocket, showing it to the three of us.
"Is that a fake ID?" Allison asked, shocked.
Lou grins. His smile spread to the other side of his cheek, almost crooked but in a very attractive way. "I have my ways."
Grace gives Lou a big smooch on the cheek. "This is why you're my favorite cousin."
"I know."
The three start to walk around the pillar. Grace and Allison follow Lou down the corridor but suddenly stop when I fall back behind, my eyes staring at the stage. "You coming?" Grace asks.
I shake my head. "You guys go, I'll stay here."
Grace nods her head, following Allison and Lou along.
I decide to go sit by the window, my red dress blending with the red curtains. From this view I could see central park. All the trees were dark but the lamps were bright enough for me to see the paths. I saw a delightful glimpse of the city from here. I sipped my champagne, not finding the flavor all that bad.
There was a time—when I was at the orphanage—that Jasmine would bring all the kids here to play in the grass, running down the hills so our kites could fly. It feels like centuries ago, but it's only been a decade and a year. I guess that is long ago. But I can't help but feel like it was yesterday.
"Young lady."
I turned to the voice. An old man in a fine suit, gloated from head to toe stared at me in awe, as if he was lavishing the sight before him. I've never been looked at that way—as if I was more than just the plain girl many thought I was. "You look breathtaking," he said, stunned.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. I felt weird—uncomfortable even. He was staring at me with so much lust. "Do I know you?"
He cleared his throat, stepping forward. I moved back. "Could I get you a drink," he asks.
"I have a drink in hand."
"Then prehaps you can accompany me upfront."
"I'm fine over here."
"Do you prehaps know anyone?"
"I came with a friend."
He starts to walk even closer, we were know about a feet away. I could smell the liquor in his breath and see the white hair on his nostrils. The man had to be twice—triple maybe— my age, yet he was so intent. "How about a dance?"
I pushed away from him, my shoulder bumping into his. He tried to grab my arm but I turned back and gave him a threatening glare. "Piss off."
He took his hand back, scoffing, turning around at the other guests who were eyeing him weirdly. "Nothing to see here," he says, chuckling.
I quickly walked away, speeding through the crowds of folks speaking in hushed tones and drinking their champagne. I was staring at the floor, shivers going through my bones at the thought of that guy near me once again.
And then I remembered that moment.
When I was about twelve, I entered fathers room for another beating. But instead of a belt, or smack, or a punch, I got wet kisses on my lips and cheeks. He was drunk, his breath smelt like horse shit and whiskey, he whispered into my ear, "Good Girl." When I had returned to my room, I threw up on my desk, and then rinsed my mouth with soap and water. I didn't tell anyone, not even Sal. To think something like that could happen again, even when I'm miles away from father is just … terrifying.
I bump into a lady, my champagne glass shattering to the ground. The people around turn, concerned, some annoyed. I desperately move her away from the glass. "I'm so sorry miss." The woman with short cut slicked blonde hair gives me a dirty look. Her lips were thick purple, she wore the puffest brown coat I'd ever seen over her beige gown. "Excuse me young lady," she sneered. The man next to her, tall and broad in a suit, his expression grim gives me the same stare as hers. His beard was perfectly cut, reminding me of fathers. "Watch where you're going."
I look at the glass on the ground, feeling so belittled by the two. "I'm so sorry."
When I pull my head up, I feel two glares grilling my back, when I look to the front, I shrink, feeling the blood drain from my face.
Victor—in a tux—stares at me, his expression a mix of confusion and shock. Sofia, in a blue dress, her hair straightened, stares at me with a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion. I turn away, already knowing I'm screwed.
I walk away from the couple, and make it towards the exitway near the pillars. I could almost hear Victor's footsteps following me, but I don't care, I just make a run for it. "Shit," I hissed under my breath as I walked down the stone steps. I didn't know which exit I used, just that this stairway was the nearest to where I was.
This staircase in particular was circular, taking you down to the first floor. I needed to get back to Grace, but it's not like I have her number—I didn't even bring the phone Victor got me. I couldn't just leave her upstairs either, if I get caught, Victor will question me and she'll get in trouble.
I stop at the first floor, surprised to see that there's only a dead-end, just a circular room, candles hanging at the corners. Before I could go back up the stairs, I heard a noise. I shrink back down, creeping to the side of the staircase. What the hell.
I peek my head to the voice.
"~ah … ah~fuck-
Oh.
"~god keep going—"
I reach my head closer, witnessing the most disturbing thing of all. A woman with dark hair had her hands clenched on the indented polls of the stone walls, her face in pure euphoria. Under her, a man— his face masked by the drape of her burgundy dress—gripped her thighs as his upper body was positioned under hers, holding her by force as she cried out in pleasure.
I was dumbfounded.
I could hear the sounds of her moans, and the sounds of his … grunts as he went down on her. I didn't even know what to think. I wondered why I was still here. I gulped when his veiny hands reached closer to her hips. Who the hell would do it here of all places?
I leaned closer when he suddenly pulled his face away, latching himself from her hip and pulling her legs down on the floor. When he rose from the ground, I was surprised at his height and pure leaness. What was even more spiraling was his face, someone so seemingly devilish but so beautiful. He had jet black hair—wavy curls, wet in the candlelight—and a sharp jawline.
I gulped as their lips met, his body moved into hers as they made-out in the most heated manner.
When I was young I used to read explicit stuff like this. If there was one book I loved, it was a book I read online—one of the girls from my high school sent it to me. It was an explicit read, one I loved to the point that I read it countless times. I thought intimacy was all but a fantasy, but this was way beyond that.
"Did you come for me," he whispered, his voice raspy.
She couldn't speak, her mouth open but her tongue numb as she felt so lost in her desire to have him please her.
I tiptoed on the stairs, hoping the darkness could cover me as I was too curious to not go back upstairs. Instead, I tripped on my heel, toppling face forward into the light. I quickly got up from the floor, the couple both stared at me in horror, fear sparkling in their eyes. I didn't understand why they looked so afraid. But then again this was a little scandalous. Before they could say a word, my foot had already touched the stairs. I was running up like a mad man.
When I reached the top floor, I almost collapsed. I walked into the entryway of the ballroom, my eyes wandering around to see if I could spot Grace and Allison. I turned to the stage, Louis was speaking, all the guests crowded under him. It looked like he was presenting an award—or receiving. The lights were so dim now I couldn't spot those three delinquents anywhere.
I decide to walk to the bar area, but then strong hands grab on my arm. Sofia.
"Doll," she said sternly. "I was looking all over for you! Why the hell are you here? By the way you look gorgeous—but seriously, why the hell are you here?"
I groan, already knowing that Grace was going to kill me.
—
Sophia walked me to the entryway, her hands at her hips, she reminded me deeply of a strict teacher on her way to discipline. A massive window was set to the right of the entryway, a bench underneath. Lou, Allison, and Grace sat on the bench, their faces in distress. Victor was in front of them, his hands in his pockets as he glared at them.
As Sophia and I walked closer, his eyes wandered to mine.
He looked incredible in a tux, his blonde hair was slicked back with gel, the curls ending at his nape. His green eyes were so dark; they could've been black. It gave him such a dark demeanor. But he didn't seem dark or gloomy—not like when I first saw him. Instead his eyes widened in surprise when he saw me, just like it did in the ballroom. I must've been insane because they almost softened. He turned away.
Sophia halted right in front of Lou. Shaking her head. "Grace and Al are one thing, but you know you shouldn't be here, not after the shit you pulled last time."
Lou scoffed, looking at the ground in annoyance.
I moved closer to Grace. "What happened last time?"
Allison held back a laugh. "Last month there was an event like this and he lit a woman's hair on fire."
My jaw dropped, I turned to Lou. "How the hell did that happen?"
He shrugged, leaning back into the wall. "I have my ways."
Grace hit him in the gut and he yelped, flinching. Allison smiled. Victor sighed, turning away.
Sophia shakes her head, as if she was ready to throw all them out of the window. "All of you are going home. Immediately. If Samantha or my mother sees you all here then you're all screwed. As for me, I'll keep my mouth shut as long as you leave quietly."
Grace slumps. "Wonderful."
Sophia turns to me. "You're also in trouble, little doll."
Allison rises from her seat. "For the record, Grace and I convinced her to attend, it's not entirely her fault."
"That doesn't mean she should've listened," Victor says, stepping in. "From now on, the three of you are not to bother Isabella or pressure her to do anything. She isn't a guest staying for the weekend, she's your future in-law, meaning, treat her as you would treat me and Sophia."
Lou, Allison, and Grace nodded, not wanting to meet my eye. "Sorry Isabella," Grace mumbled.
"It's fine," I say, trying to cheer her up. "Tonight wasn't all that bad." Which was a lie.
"Great," Sophia says, turning to Victor. "You're in charge of her, drive her back home."
"What about us," Lou asks.
Sophia smiles. "The three of you are taking the train."
Grace almost fell to the floor, Allison let out a groan and Lou hissed. "You're literally the worst sister to ever exist."
Sophia blows him a kiss.
We all come to a halt when we hear the orchestra start playing, creating an echo all around us. I turn to the door that leads to the ballroom. "What's going on?" I ask.
Sophia turns to Victor. "I think the event is finishing up." The sound of camera flashes blends in with the classical music.
The five of us walk towards the entrance. A huge crowd is gathered in front of the stage, the piano playing a calm melody. On the stage is the man from earlier, the creep by the window, I shudder at the sight of him. Next to him is Louis who's—as old as he is—in a fine white tux, shaking the hand of the creep as photographers under them take pictures.
"Who's that man?" I ask Victor.
"Rilus Cruger, he organized this gala. He works for Louis."
Pictures are taken of the duo. The crowd claps as the announcer speaks into the mic. "Now let's have the stockholders come up to the stage."
By the stage's stairs, four people step up. When I look closer I see two pairs of couples. My heart stops when I recognize one of the pairs from earlier—the couple that belittled me when I bumped into them. The blonde lady with the fur coat and the man with the finely cut beard. "Who are the two on the left?"
"Samantha and Theodore," Sophia said.
"My parents," Grace mumbled.
The pair next to them were more moderate, a tall man in a full black suit with hair as white as now. The woman next to him in a velvet gown had curly blonde hair that reached to her back. The four of them, next to Louis, posed for the pictures with confidence.
"I'm guessing—"
"The two on the right are my parents," Sophia says. "Silver and Josie."
Two other men rise to the stage—both tall, dark haired, and in a tux—and stand next to Silver and Josie. Every blood vessel in my veins stops when I recognize the man at the end. I turn ill as the man from earlier smiles at the camera. The same dark hair, broad shoulders, and V-shaped jaw—the same man with the woman from earlier; by the stairwell—stands with the rest of the Vemoure Dynasty.
I step back, but Victor catches me, his cold hands on my shoulder, sending sparks down my spine. I turn my head to him, but he doesn't look at me, his eyes are glued to the stage—glued to that man. "Is that him?" I ask.
He nods his head. "That's Valorie Vemoure. Your fiance."