I gazed at the Moon's shimmering face, casting its radiant light through the expansive hotel window, as I prepared myself for the upcoming dinner party.
The stunning lilac off-shoulder dress I wore boasted a V-neckline adorned with elegant ruched ruffles and a tasteful splicing that extended from the neckline to the dress's hemline, imbuing it with an epic flair.
I'm not one to typically admire myself, but tonight was different.
The dress fit me perfectly, its beautiful color complementing my figure. Although the short length and the subtle glimpse of my décolletage made me slightly uncomfortable, I reminded myself that it was a night for revelry.
I let my hair cascade down, straightening it until it reached past my waistline, nearly touching my thighs.
I'm not sure why, but I've always been hesitant to cut my hair. However, with its rapid growth, it had become challenging to manage, especially without anyone's assistance.
Completing my ensemble, I adorned myself with a sparkling diamond necklace and matching earrings that accompanied the dress.
As I sat down, waiting for him to arrive, I toyed with my fingers to pass the time, acknowledging that I looked great tonight.
The door swung open, and he entered the room, his searching gaze intently traversing my body, as if he wanted to devour me with his eyes.
I could tell there was something he wanted to say by the expression on his face, but his pride held him back.
Momentarily, his gaze shifted away from me, focusing on nothing in particular, as he spoke with a commanding tone.
"Follow me," he said, and then walked out of the hotel room.
I trailed behind him as we made our way to his car.
"Get in," he commanded, and I obliged, opening the car door and settling in.
And off we zoomed.
*****
We arrived at the Victoria Banquet Hall in Country Z.
The hall buzzed with people, slow music wafting rhythmically from the speakers, and tables laden with an assortment of cocktails and wine.
A few couples swayed on the dance floor while I directed my attention to the grilled cheese sandwiches, which were elegantly cut lengthwise, accompanied by tomato soup in a mug. Their presentation alone hinted at their scrumptious taste.
Suddenly, the music ceased, and a voice resonated from the stage.
"It is a privilege to have you here, Mr. Donovan. We warmly welcome your presence among us. Enjoy your time here," one of the hosts proclaimed, prompting a round of applause from the attendees.
"You are all invited to celebrate this momentous day with us—a grand celebration of our company's incremental growth and its thirtieth anniversary."
"Thank you all for joining us. Let's make the most of this evening," the man concluded, and the crowd erupted in joyful applause.
It was an awe-inspiring celebration, I thought, dipping my sandwich into the mug of soup and savoring the delectable taste.
My eyes wandered ceaselessly around the room, scanning each person as I relished the flavorsome bite.
Every woman in the banquet hall exuded opulence, dressed in expensive and alluring diaphanous gowns, while the men donned impeccable business attire. Except him.
He appeared casually dashing in a black long-sleeved shirt and suit pants, without any extravagant embellishments.
I poured myself a glass of wine and took a sip.
Just then, a man approached him and introduced himself.
"Mr. Donovan, it is an immense honor to meet you in person. I deeply admire your work, and I would be thrilled if you could spare some time to meet my daughter," the man said softly, seeking his permission.
"Who is your daughter, Mr. Charles?" he asked, his tone cold, causing the man to shift uncomfortably and motion for his daughter to come closer.
"Yes, Father," a lady in a black gown stepped forward, casting a disdainful glare my way before smiling at her father.
One glance at her, and it was evident she was a pampered girl from a wealthy background.
Undeniably beautiful, she fit his type perfectly.
I wondered what was going through his mind at that moment. Did he fancy her? Would he leave me and choose her? Or was it just a fleeting night of passion?
"What's your name, beautiful?" he inquired, his gaze solemnly fixed on her.
"U-umm... my name is Delia Charles, Sir," she replied, her voice quivering, captivated by the man's striking presence.
Her heart raced, butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she looked at him in awe.
"Nice to meet you, Delia," he responded warmly.
"The pleasure is mine, sir," she replied, extending her hand for a handshake.
"Would you like to dance, Delia?" he asked, taking her hand in his.
What...? He was asking another woman to dance?
Whatdo I expect, anyway? I was always invisible to him, perhaps too insignificant for him to notice.
I glanced up at the lady, her cheeks now flushed with excitement as he led her to the dance floor, while I sat there, observing them.
An unfamiliar anger surged within me, fueled by a mix of jealousy and resentment. How could he disregard me so easily?
But my anger quickly transformed into an overwhelming sense of jealousy as I watched his hand gently rest on her waist, their bodies swaying in harmony to the music.
He treated her with tenderness, just as he did with almost every other woman. However, when it came to me, he seemed to want to tear me apart.
Her hands roamed freely across his chest, a deliberate display aimed at provoking me. But what did it matter?
I despised him anyway.