The gala party was in full swing, a whirlwind of color, sound, and joy. Laughter rang through the grand hall as people of all races and ages mingled, their faces glowing under the shimmering crystal chandeliers. Waiters in crisp uniforms glided effortlessly through the crowd, balancing trays of champagne flutes. Every corner of the room buzzed with life—children giggled near the dessert table, while adults clinked glasses and exchanged pleasantries.
Miranda sat quietly amidst the revelry, her striking features framed by a cascade of chestnut curls. Her emerald-green dress hugged her figure, exuding elegance and charm. But her serenity was an illusion; her sharp gaze discreetly observed the cluster of women seated nearby. They were dressed to captivate, their outfits strategically designed to highlight every curve. Their conversation revolved around one man—Damian Cross.
"Do you think he'll notice me?" one of them giggled, adjusting her neckline to reveal a daring amount of cleavage.
"Why wouldn't he? Look at you!" another chimed in, standing to spin and flaunt her hourglass figure. The others burst into laughter, their camaraderie a mix of competition and anticipation. It was a rehearsal of seduction, and they were determined to outshine one another.
Miranda's lips curved into a knowing smile. She had no intention of joining their theatrics, but she couldn't deny the magnetic pull Damian Cross held over everyone in the room, herself included.
The booming voice of the MC silenced the chatter, commanding attention with an air of authority. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's time to welcome a man whose name needs no introduction. A man of valor, whose presence speaks louder than words—Damian Cross!"
The crowd erupted in applause as Damian entered. His tailored suit was a masterpiece of understated luxury, perfectly accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. Every step he took was deliberate, calculated, as if he were fully aware of the gravity he carried. His security detail moved in sync, clearing a path through the sea of admirers.
As Damian approached the high table, the room seemed to hold its breath. He exuded a confidence that was both commanding and enigmatic, and when he finally took his seat, two guards flanked him, their expressions stoic and unyielding.
The ceremony unfolded with flair, the atmosphere electric. When Damian stood to deliver his speech, his deep, resonant voice captivated the room. "I am deeply honored to be here tonight," he began, his words weaving a spell over the audience. Every sentence was met with murmurs of admiration, particularly from the women, whose gazes lingered on him with unrestrained adoration.
But as Damian spoke, his attention was momentarily drawn to a figure seated near the back. She was stunning in her simplicity, her black shades adding an air of mystery. Unlike the others, she wasn't vying for his attention—her focus was elsewhere, her beauty effortless. A strange sensation stirred within him, unfamiliar yet undeniable.
Concluding his speech with a charming smile, Damian raised his glass. "Enjoy the rest of your evening," he said, signaling the start of the dancing. The music swelled, and the crowd responded with enthusiasm, yet Damian's thoughts were elsewhere. The woman in black had ignited a curiosity that refused to be ignored.
As he sipped his whiskey, the inevitable happened—women swarmed around him. Some begged for selfies, their phones already poised for a shot. Others sought his autograph or shared flattering remarks, their eyes gleaming with hope. He indulged them with practiced ease, but his mind was elsewhere. Scanning the room discreetly, he motioned for a waiter. "Find her," he murmured, his tone firm.
Amidst the chaos, Miranda approached him, her presence demanding attention. "Hey," she greeted, her voice tinged with an edge.
"What are you doing here?" Damian asked brusquely, his gaze still darting around the room.
Before she could respond, his eyes caught sight of the mysterious woman slipping through the crowd. Without thinking, he moved to follow her, but Miranda grabbed his arm, her grip unrelenting.
"You don't get to sleep with me for years and then ignore me," she hissed, her voice low but fierce.
Damian's jaw tightened, anger flickering across his face. "What's your problem, Miranda?" he snapped. "Let go."
Her eyes blazed with hurt and defiance, but he pulled away, determined to reach the woman who had already vanished into the night. Frustration gnawed at him, but he quickly composed himself, masking his turmoil with a practiced smile as he continued to greet fans.
As the evening wound down, Damian's frustration reached its peak. Outside, his sleek black car awaited, and his bodyguard leaned in with a sly grin. "Not taking a souvenir tonight?" he teased, nodding toward a pair of giggling women by the reception.
Damian, exasperated and yearning for distraction, signaled the women. "You coming with me?" he asked coolly. They exchanged excited glances and climbed into the car without hesitation.
As the vehicle roared to life, Damian's thoughts were a tangled mess. The mysterious woman haunted him, her image seared into his mind. Meanwhile, a shadowy figure stood in the exact spot where his car had been moments ago. Ava Sinclair watched the taillights fade into the distance, her lips curling into a sly smile.
"Just a little more time, Bingo," she murmured, turning to face her brother Liam. Her eyes gleamed with a purpose that promised more than met the eye.