Chapter 13 The Gala
The lights were bright, the cameras steady, and the backdrop shimmered with logos from top fashion houses and global media sponsors. Elena Montclair sat poised on the velvet armchair, elegance wrapped in an emerald green off-shoulder gown that hugged her silhouette perfectly. Her hair was styled into a sleek bun with soft curls framing her face, and the diamond earrings she wore glittered every time she moved.
Across from her sat the poised interviewer—stylish, confident, and clearly ready to get the scoop the world was buzzing about.
"Elena Montclair, it’s such a pleasure to have you here," the interviewer began with a bright smile. "You’ve made waves this season—not just on the runway, but in the headlines. The engagement, the collaborations, this Fashion Expo... how are you handling it all?"
Elena gave a small smile, her voice calm but warm. "It's been a whirlwind, honestly. But I'm taking it one step at a time. Fashion is my world, so being here feels like home."
The interviewer leaned in just slightly. "Speaking of headlines… your engagement to Jaxon Wentworth—arguably one of the most talked-about alliances this year—how has that impacted your career and public life?"
Elena's smile tightened a little, but she kept her composure. "It's definitely drawn more eyes, but I've always believed in separating personal life from professional spaces. That said, I'm proud of where I stand in both."
The interviewer chuckled lightly. "You two have such a powerful image—some are calling you the new royalty of the fashion and business world. But a lot of people are wondering... was it love at first sight? How did it all begin between you and Jaxon?"
Elena hesitated for a split second, just long enough for the interviewer to notice. She adjusted her gown and offered a diplomatic response. "Our families have known each other for years, and things just aligned. We met, talked... and the rest, well, it unfolded."
The interviewer’s brows lifted slightly at that. "So it wasn’t exactly a whirlwind romance?"
Elena let out a quiet laugh, more out of grace than humor. "I wouldn’t say that. Let’s just say... sometimes connections form in unexpected ways."
"You two haven’t exactly been inseparable at the event so far. Is everything alright?"
That question lingered. Elena shifted slightly in her seat, then met the camera head-on.
"We’re both incredibly busy people. This week especially. But there’s respect, there’s understanding... and that’s the foundation we’re building on."
The interviewer nodded, sensing that was as much as she’d get. "And the dress you wore last night? Everyone is still talking about the bidding war."
Elena’s eyes flickered with amusement. "It was a surprise, honestly. But I’m flattered. Fashion is meant to create moments. That was definitely one."
The interviewer leaned back. "Well, thank you, Elena. You always carry yourself with such grace under pressure. We can’t wait to see what’s next."
Elena gave one last poised smile, her posture relaxed but regal. "Thank you for having me."
The camera cut, but Elena held her breath for a second longer, then quietly exhaled.
The bright lights faded behind her as Elena stepped down from the platform, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor. Her face still held that collected smile she wore on camera, but as soon as she turned the corner and spotted Brielle at the bar, her shoulders dropped in visible relief.
Brielle was perched on one of the high stools, sipping a golden cocktail with a slice of orange hanging off the rim. She spotted Elena instantly and waved her over.
“Look who just walked out of a live minefield,” Brielle teased with a smirk, shifting to make space beside her.
Elena slid onto the stool, giving an exaggerated sigh. “God, that was intense.”
“They went in on the engagement, didn’t they?”
Elena nodded, lifting the glass of water Brielle had already ordered for her. “They tried to make it sound polite, but the way she said, ‘So it wasn’t exactly a whirlwind romance,’ I wanted to disappear into the floor.”
Brielle chuckled, swirling her drink. “And what did you say?”
“I said connections form in unexpected ways,” Elena said, rolling her eyes. “Which basically means nothing, but also everything.”
“That’s your specialty,” Brielle said, nudging her. “Making vague sound poetic.”
Elena took another sip, then set the glass down. “I hate how public this has all become. One minute it’s business. The next, my entire life is being dissected in front of cameras.”
“Welcome to the club,” Brielle muttered. “At least you handled it like a queen. And the part about the dress? That was pure grace.”
Elena gave a tired smile. “Do you know how weird it feels to watch two grown men bid over the dress you’re literally standing in?”
“They weren’t bidding on the dress,” Brielle said, arching a brow. “They were bidding on who could outdo the other. And you just happened to be the battlefield.”
That made Elena laugh—dry and quick. “That makes it sound even worse.”
“Well, the world’s watching, Elle. And you’re right in the center of it.”
Elena glanced down at her hands, absently tracing the rim of her glass. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m ready for all of this.”
“You are,” Brielle said firmly, then softened her voice. “But it’s okay to admit it’s hard.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, letting the background music and hum of voices fill the air between them. Finally, Elena tilted her head.
“You think Jaxon’s going to be asked the same questions?”
“Oh, definitely,” Brielle said with a sly grin. “And I’d pay to see how he answers.”
A sleek velvet backdrop bore the shimmering logo of the Fashion World Gala. Lights cast a warm glow across the stage where top designers, business moguls, and fashion elites were being interviewed live by international press.
Jaxon Wentworth stood tall under the spotlight, sharply dressed in a midnight-blue suit tailored to perfection. His expression was unreadable—composed, confident, but with a flicker of intensity behind his eyes.
Across from him stood Serena Moore, a striking media correspondent with StyleCentral TV.
SERENA MOORE (smiling, mic raised):
“Mr. Wentworth, always a pleasure. You’ve been making waves both in the boardroom and now in the fashion scene. We’re dying to know—what brings a tech and real estate mogul like you here tonight?”
JAXON (half-smiling):
“Fashion and business are more alike than people think. It’s about vision, influence, and setting the tone for the future. Tonight’s expo is a bridge between industries… and I don’t miss opportunities to build bridges.”
SERENA (leaning in):
“Speaking of bridges—or maybe burns—rumor has it Caleb Donovan is also in attendance. We all know there’s history there. Any chance of seeing you two on speaking terms tonight?”
Jaxon’s jaw flexed just slightly, the flicker in his eyes darkening for a heartbeat.
JAXON (coolly):
“Business isn’t personal. I don’t waste energy on distractions.”
SERENA (raising a brow):
“Even when those distractions are bidding on the same luxury fashion items as you in public?”
A sharp gleam passed through Jaxon’s gaze, but his smile remained professional.
JAXON:
“Let’s just say… I don’t lose.”
Serena chuckled, clearly enjoying the tension.
SERENA:
“Alright then, let’s talk about something the world is obsessing over—your engagement to Elena Montclair. Social media practically collapsed when the news broke. How did this come to be?”
There was a beat of silence. Jaxon adjusted his cuffs slightly.
JAXON (measured):
“Two families. One partnership. Elena and I… we both understand the weight of legacy.”
SERENA:
“So it’s business?”
JAXON (pausing, then softly):
“It's… complicated. But Elena is brilliant, poised, and has more depth than people know. We respect each other.”
SERENA:
“Respect... but do you love her?”
That question hung in the air like perfume—sweet, heavy, and hard to escape.
Jaxon looked right at Serena, and then into the camera, his expression unreadable.
JAXON:
“I don’t think love needs to be defined on anyone else’s terms.”
There was a moment of silence. Serena, clearly impressed, nodded slowly.
SERENA:
“Well, you certainly know how to keep the world guessing. Any hints on what’s next for Jaxon Wentworth? In love or in business?”
JAXON (leaning slightly forward):
“I never reveal my next move until it's already done.”
The audience watching on screens across the venue let out a soft cheer. Serena smiled and wrapped it up.
SERENA:
“Ladies and gentlemen, the ever-enigmatic Jaxon Wentworth. Thank you, Mr. Wentworth.”
JAXON (nodding):
“Thank you.”
As he stepped off the stage, Damon approached with a tablet in hand, whispering updates about scheduled meetings, but Jaxon’s mind was elsewhere—locked somewhere between Elena’s sharp eyes, and Caleb’s smug smile from earlier.
____________________________________________________
The band transitioned into a new melody—smooth, slow, the kind that seemed to wrap itself around your spine and sway your body without permission.
Elena stood near the refreshment bar with Brielle, sipping from a crystal flute of citrus-infused water, when Caleb Donovan approached from across the ballroom. He was striking in his black tuxedo, bow tie perfectly in place, posture confident yet unreadable. There was a half-smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Miss Montclair,” he greeted smoothly, extending a hand, “would you honor me with a dance?”
Brielle blinked at the sudden appearance but quickly stepped aside, muttering something about grabbing a refill. Elena hesitated, eyes flicking from Caleb’s hand to his unreadable gaze.
Before she could answer, another voice cut in, firm and unmistakably territorial.
“She’s engaged,” Jaxon said coolly, stepping into the space between them, his gaze locked onto Caleb. “And I believe her fiancé gets the first dance.”
The air around them shifted.
Elena’s heart skipped. Caleb didn’t move, but his hand slowly dropped. His smirk faltered, replaced by something sharper… colder.
Jaxon turned to her—his expression softened just a fraction. “May I have this dance?”
Elena blinked, stunned by the rising tension between the two men. Caleb’s jaw tensed, but he gave a short, calculated nod, then stepped back into the crowd, melting away like mist into shadow.
Elena slipped her hand into Jaxon’s as the music swelled, and he guided her gently onto the marbled floor. The golden chandeliers overhead reflected against her diamond drop earrings, and her silk gown shimmered as she moved. Cameras flashed from a distance, capturing the perfectly poised couple—glamour, mystery, elegance.
They began to move in sync, the rhythm smooth, effortless, practiced.
For a few seconds, they danced in silence.
Then Elena looked up at him, her tone low but direct.
“What was that back there?” she asked, referring to Caleb.
Jaxon’s jaw clenched, eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder.
“Nothing worth talking about in public,” he said.
She gave a small, scoffing laugh, not amused.
“You really didn’t like seeing him ask me to dance, did you?”
Jaxon’s gaze met hers—briefly.
“It wasn’t about liking or not liking. He’s a manipulative bastard. You don’t know him like I do.”
Elena arched a brow.
“And you think you know me?” she asked, coolly.
He didn’t respond.
A few beats passed before she sighed and added,
“You need to remember something, Jaxon… all of this—” she gestured subtly to their closeness, to the dance, to the glittering onlookers watching—“it’s for the cameras. For the story. For the alliance. After one year, it all ends. So don’t make it personal.”
His grip on her waist tightened slightly, but he said nothing.
They kept dancing, a beautiful pair in a spotlight made of obligation and buried emotions.
The music slowly faded as couples returned to their seats, laughter and hushed murmurs filling the lavish ballroom. Elena stepped back from Jaxon, giving him a brief, unreadable look before turning away. He didn’t follow. Instead, he stood rooted, eyes on the stage ahead, his jaw locked, thoughts far from over.
Elena returned to Brielle, who was already clapping her hands, her eyes wide with excitement.
“You were amazing!” Brielle whispered, leaning in.
Elena managed a soft smile, still thinking of the conversation she’d just had.
The ballroom lights dimmed slightly, and the host, a tall man with a velvet voice and a presence that commanded attention, strode to the center stage. A large screen lit up behind him, shimmering gold with the logo of the International Fashion Expo.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “what a spectacular night it’s been. We’ve witnessed some of the most stunning showcases from fashion houses across the globe, talents that left the judges floored and the audience mesmerized.”
Applause thundered across the room.
“It is now time to announce the winners and recognize the innovators who made this year’s Fashion Expo unforgettable.”
A drumroll began to sound—dramatic, thrilling.
“The Grand Recognition Award,” he said, “goes to none other than… Caleb Donovan, CEO of Donovan Global!”
The ballroom erupted in applause and polite gasps. Caleb stood from his seat at the VIP table, dressed in a dark navy suit with a subtle diamond pin on his lapel. He walked confidently to the stage, flashing a charming but calculated smile.
There was a flicker of something darker beneath his expression—victory not earned but bought.
In the crowd, Jaxon sat quietly at his table, his face unreadable. Damon leaned in.
“It’s rigged,” he murmured.
Jaxon didn’t answer. He already knew.
Caleb accepted the plaque and posed for the cameras, thanking the sponsors, the panel, and his “brilliant creative team.”
“And for the First Runner-Up,” the host continued, “a familiar name—Jaxon Wentworth of Wentworth Industries!”
Polite applause followed again. Jaxon stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked with poise to receive his trophy. No words, just a nod and a shake of the host’s hand. He didn’t need to speak. His presence said everything.
More categories rolled in: Best Sustainable Design, Most Innovative Concept, Breakthrough Brand of the Year. Then the screen flashed with bold lettering.
“Special Recognition Awards.”
“Tonight,” the host said, “we celebrate not just fashion leaders, but muses—those who turned heads, inspired creativity, and embodied the spirit of modern elegance.”
Elena tilted her head slightly, not expecting what came next.
“And the Global Muse Award goes to… Elena Montclair!”
Gasps filled the room—real this time. Even Brielle turned in shock.
“Girl, what?” she whispered.
Elena’s brows shot up, stunned. She slowly rose to her feet. The screen behind the host now showed a replay of Elena’s walk on the carpet, her interviews, her dance—her elegance, poise, and strength captured in fleeting, shining moments.
She made her way to the stage, draped in silver and confidence, as the applause swelled.
The host smiled.
“Elena Montclair—you didn’t just wear fashion tonight. You became the story.”
As he handed her the award, he added,
“And speaking of stories—one of the top luxury houses in Paris, Maison Marvelle, has just extended a brand partnership offer to you. Congratulations!”
The applause became deafening. Cameras flashed wildly. Brielle was on her feet, clapping like a proud sister.
Elena blinked through the shock, managed a graceful nod, and thanked the committee with a breathless, humbled smile. She descended the stage, her heart still racing.
Then the host grinned again.
“And lastly, for the award of Outstanding Digital Influence in Modern Style—Brielle Monroe!”
Brielle screamed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she laughed as she rushed to the stage in disbelief. The crowd welcomed her with joy. She gave a quick, witty speech that made everyone laugh, and a few more pictures were snapped.
As the lights dimmed again and the awards drew to a close, the energy in the room shifted. Some whispered with envy, some with admiration.
Jaxon watched Elena from across the ballroom. She had returned to her table, her award clutched in one hand, her phone buzzing with messages and calls she didn’t answer.
Across the room, Caleb narrowed his eyes, his fingers tapping slowly against his champagne glass. For all his scheming, he hadn’t seen this coming.
Elena Montclair wasn’t just a pawn anymore—she was the center of attention.
The music began again—slower now, the mood richer. Couples swayed, awards in hand, egos slightly bruised or egos newly inflated.
And in the haze of lights, luxury, and tension, the night came to its glittering, heavy close.