Chapter 37 Masks of Motive
Valenticias POV~
I stood in front of the mirror, my breath shallow, the sapphire ring he’d sent flashing on my finger. My heart pounded as I pulled the gown on, the silk encasing my body, the off-the-shoulder beautifying my collarbone, the train falling against the ground. I pulled my hair into a loose chignon, letting loose tendrils frame my face, and applied my makeup with care — a smoky eyeshadow to sharpen my gaze, a bold red lip to mask my nerves. What the mirror cast back was a woman ready, but inside I was a mess filled with dread and anticipation.
I slipped on gold heels with dainty straps and started to descend the grand staircase of the estate. The doorbell rang, and the maid, Lena, went to the door as the driver—Stefan’s man, with his black suit, his cap worn with humble respect—stepped in and nodded. "Miss Clawford," said he, "Mr. Myles sent me."
We didn't speak with each other during the whole drive to the gala. Music and power pulsed through the glass-walled, high-ceiling ballroom on the water. I got out of the car, my dress shimmering, and ascended the marble staircase, my heartbeat beat like a drum. The ballroom gleamed inside—crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, and a sea of Seryne’s upper crust. My eyes landed on Stefan from across the room, the black tuxedo he wore perfectly fitted to his broad shoulders, his eyes searing into mine with an intensity that took my breath away.
His smile broke through his perpetual frown as he stepped forward. “Valenticia,” he said under his breath, “You are beautiful. He guided my hand up, his lips placing the back in a kiss that touched me to my core, his palm resting there for too long as the room whispered. The paparazzi descended upon us, their cameras flashing, their shouts—“The power couple of Seryne! —feeding the spectacle. Their enthusiasm was a barrier, and it magnified our alliance, I smiled, finding refuge against Stefan.
He locked his fingers through mine and guided me through the crowd, his hand planting at the small of my back, and came to a halt at the sight of a cluster of business associates— men in fine suits, their eyes sizing me up. “Come on, guys,” Stefan said, his tone authoritarian, “this is Valenticia Clawford, my fiancée.” Their heads and faces bowed with respect, a contrast with the curious twist, while their eyes locked on my ring. I stood tall, my smile ready, wearing the title proudly but uncomfortably.
A woman came forward, fresh-faced and impeccably beautiful, her emerald dress hugging her figure, her golden hair spilling in curls. She smiled. A toxic smile and hugged Stefan, her embrace entirely too personal. “You’re over it, Stefan,” she said, glaring at me with the top of her eyes, and sneering her lips. I got tensed, my heart pounding.
“Who is she?” I murmured, my voice low as I gripped Stefan’s arm.
He pressed his lips together, clearing his throat. “Haisley Vorne, an… old friend, Valenticia.” He said to her, “Haisley, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Valenticia Clawford.”
Haisley burst out in a sharp laugh, and her eyes went cold. “Fiancée? Charming.” She spoke in a whisper, looking at Stefan. “We need to talk. Now.”
Stefan hesitated, his eyes darting back to me, then said okay. “Wait here,” he muttered after her, leaving me by myself in the hum of the crowd. I felt isolated as I sipped a champagne, when a man appeared — tall, charming, his smile friendly. “Miss Clawford,” he said offering his hand, “I’m Julian, from Lovtan Industries. Your work at Clawford is—”
He stopped speaking as Stefan arrived, eyes filled with dark possessive fury. “She is with me,” he growled, taking my hand and pulling me away, his fingers tight but gentle. The masses parted as we walked by, Julian's grin slipping, and Stefan led me toward a private balcony, the night air cold against my hot face, the sprawling lights of the city below.
“You’re beautiful tonight,” he said, his voice quieter, his thumb skimming my knuckles, the compliment making me warmer. “I’m sorry about Haisley. She’s… complicated.”
I moved in closer, the silk of the gown rustling. “Who is she, Stefan? Really?”
He sighed, his voice hoarse. “Haisley was my fiancée, some years ago. She’d gone against me—given New Dream’s secrets to a competitor, betrayed my trust.”
“I'm sorry about that,” I said, feeling pathetic.
“It’s fine. I mean without that happening I wouldn't be here. Valenticia, I promised myself never to let anyone get close again.” He looked into my eyes, “Until you.”
There was a glow when he admitted it, as I found my hand reaching out for his, our fingers lacing together. I drew closer and our breaths met, his lips a few inches from mine, and then we kissed. A kiss charged with desire. The sharp kiss left my heart leaping, but the moment was interrupted when we heard—a man’s cry, hoarse, coming from the ballroom. We ran in to find a crowd that formed around a security team that had taken down a thug, his bloody face screaming, “Galden’s coming for you all!” Chaos mounted, and suddenly a projector sprang to life and an image was projected on the wall — Stefan and me on the balcony, my hand in his, with a caption in bold red letters, The heiress’s lie.
A collective gasp rippled across the crowd.