As Miranda exited the office, closing the door with her usual quiet efficiency, Richard leaned back in his chair. The hum of the city stretched far beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a constant reminder that the world never stopped moving and neither did he.
As the Zenith deal was done. The gala was a formality. Press would be there, Investors,Politicians and other people who matter in Montelucia city. The usual cycle of congratulations and veiled ambition. He knew how to play the game; he'd mastered it long ago.
He unlocked his phone, scanning the flood of congratulatory messages. CEOs. Board members. Even a few rivals pretending to be polite. It was noise, useful, necessary,but noise nonetheless.
Then his gaze hovered over her contact.
Pearl Grey.
A name that hadn't belonged in his world until barely a week ago. Now it was entangled in press statements, whispered speculations, and strategic maneuvering.
He dialed.
The line rang twice before her voice came through, soft and uncertain. "Hello?"
"It's Richard," he said.
"I know."
"There's a gala tomorrow night," he continued, cutting to the point. "A celebration for the Zenith deal. Media presence is expected. You'll be coming with me."
There was a pause on her end. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.
"A gala?" she asked, her voice barely above a breath.
He didn't indulge her hesitation. "I've arranged everything. Sorelle's will send dresses and a stylist. The car will pick you up at seven. You just have to show up."
Silence again.
"I don't…" she hesitated. "I don't know how to act at something like that."
"You don't need to," he said simply. "Stand beside me. Smile when it makes sense. I'll handle the rest."
Another pause.
"I'm not cut out for this."
His fingers drummed lightly on the desk. "Neither was I, once."
She didn't respond.
"Pearl," he said more quietly, "just show up."
After a long beat, she murmured, "Alright."
He didn't say goodbye. He didn't need to.
The line went dead, and he dropped the phone onto the desk.
He wasn't worried about the gala. Not the crowd. Not the press. Not the investors. Those were all predictable.
But her? She was unpredictable.
Not in a reckless way, but in the way a gust of wind could suddenly shift the course of a flight plan. A little unsteady. A little unsure. But real.
And that was what made her dangerous.
He stood, heading toward the private lounge attached to his office. His mind was already shifting to the press questions, the guest list, the potential partnerships that could spring from tomorrow's event. But in the background, she lingered.
Pearl Grey.
A variable.
One he wasn't sure how to manage yet.
But he would.
He always did.
Pearl tossed her phone onto the couch and sank beside it, wrapping her arms around her knees.
A gala?
She'd seen pictures of those events, glistening gowns, perfect hair, elegant conversations. None of which described her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she stared at her reflection in the dark TV screen. Could she really pull this off?
I'm just a freelancer. A girl trying to keep her life from falling apart.
Pearl's mind raced with doubts. What if I mess this up? What if I say something wrong? What if I make a fool of myself? The thought was suffocating.
She buried her face in her hands. Ever since the photo, her world had spun faster than she could keep up with. The fake engagement. The whispers. The curious glances. And now this gala… another stage in this strange play she never auditioned for.
She inhaled deeply.
"Get a grip, Pearl," she whispered to herself. "It's just one night. Pretend. Smile. Survive."
But a part of her feared that pretending might start to feel real, and that was the most dangerous part of all.
Her eyelids grew heavy despite the chaos in her head. Exhaustion pulled her down, deeper and deeper, until finally, she slipped into restless sleep on the couch, the city lights blinking softly outside the window.