Miranda POV
Miranda Chase stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over her as she prepared for the gala. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the gown she had painstakingly chosen—a deep emerald green, Damian's favorite color.
The fabric hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating every curve with precision. The plunging neckline was daring but elegant, and the slit along the side revealed just enough leg to tease without giving too much away. She knew she looked stunning, yet the doubts gnawed at her as she turned to examine herself from different angles.
"Will he even notice me?" she whispered to herself, her voice laced with uncertainty.
Her mind raced with memories of Damian. His magnetic presence, the way his sharp eyes could pierce through a crowd, the smooth confidence in his voice—it all came rushing back. But so did the harsh reality. Damian Cross had an endless stream of admirers, women who would give anything for just a moment of his attention. Compared to them, Miranda felt like a flickering candle in a room full of spotlights.
She sighed, picking up the emerald earrings she had chosen to match the dress. As she fastened them, her thoughts wandered to the first time Damian had complimented her. *"You look breathtaking in green,"* he had said, his voice like a caress. It was one of those rare moments when she had felt like the only woman in the world to him.
But those moments were fleeting. Damian's world was filled with distractions—glamorous parties, powerful connections, and women who were willing to do anything to catch his eye.
Miranda brushed her hair back, her fingers shaking as she reached for the diamond bracelet she had saved up for months to buy. It sparkled in the light, but even its brilliance felt dim compared to the glow Damian seemed to radiate effortlessly.
She stared at herself in the mirror, forcing a determined smile. "This isn't about them," she told herself firmly. "This is about me."
Yet deep down, she knew that wasn't entirely true. She had bought this gown, styled her hair just so, and chosen every detail with Damian in mind. She wanted him to see her, to really see her, even if it was only for a fleeting moment.
Her thoughts spiraled as she imagined the gala. She pictured him entering the grand ballroom, every eye turning to him, every woman vying for his attention. Would he glance her way? Would he remember the nights they'd shared, the passion that had once burned so brightly between them?
Her heart clenched at the memory of his touch—the way his hands had moved over her skin, the heat of his kisses, the low timbre of his voice when he whispered her name. It was intoxicating, addictive, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't let it go.
Miranda stepped back from the mirror, her breath hitching as she took in her reflection. She looked beautiful, yes, but was it enough? Could it ever be enough?
She closed her eyes, summoning the strength to push aside her insecurities. "Even if he doesn't notice me," she whispered, "I'll still walk into that room like I own it."
But as she reached for her clutch, a flicker of doubt crept back in. Damian had countless women chasing after him, each more glamorous and confident than the last. What chance did she have of standing out?
Miranda shook her head, brushing the thought aside. Tonight, she wouldn't focus on the competition or the past. She would focus on the possibility, however slim, that Damian might see her in a way he hadn't before.
As she slipped on her heels and gave herself one final look, her resolve hardened. The gala was her chance, and she wasn't going to let it slip through her fingers.