8. Dance Party

8. Dance Party
It was a dazzling night. Guests, who looked wealthy in their luxurious suits and glamorous evening gowns, arrived in expensive cars. A ballroom inside a five-star hotel had been prepared for the banquet. Not only were invited guests present—several journalists were also seen there, capturing photos of the elegant dresses worn by politicians' wives and celebrities attending the event.

"Umm, are you sure I have to attend this party?" Amelia asked from inside a sleek black sedan as it turned toward the valet area.

"Yup! "You’re already dressed up beautifully, wearing a luxurious gown, and look at this jewel—it’s the most expensive one!" Isabella whispered into Amelia’s ear.

“Okay, but where’s Luca?”

“He’ll join you later, don’t worry,” Isabella replied.

“But… you're coming in with me, right?” Amelia asked, just to be sure.

“Oh no, Madam. Just look at my outfit—this isn’t party attire.”

“Oh my god… so I’m going in alone?” Amelia looked visibly nervous again.

“You're not alone! "There are tons of people in there—literally a lot!” Isabella said while pointing at the entrance, where indeed a crowd of reporters and guests were arriving.

“But what am I supposed to say to them?” Amelia asked.

“Just say you're Luca Devereaux’s wife. That’s it. There won’t be any problem with that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, trust me! And one more thing—keep your chin up! "It’s showtime!” Isabella added with a playful smile, clearly teasing her.

Amelia wanted to protest, but couldn’t. The car had already pulled up in front of the red carpet valet area, where an attendant was holding the door open for her.

“Please, ma’am.”

Amelia swallowed hard, exhaled sharply, and then opened the car door. She stepped out, trying her best to smile, looking straight ahead, and began walking in the expensive high heels that had been carefully prepared for her role as Luca’s wife.

“Chin up, beautiful!” Isabella quipped from inside the car.

Amelia finally stepped out, gathering her courage as she began to walk. All eyes turned to her, but just as Isabella had said—she had to hold her head high. She was no longer Amelia Carson, the neglected housewife. Tonight, she was Amelia Carson, draped in luxury as the wife of Luca Devereaux.

With her head held high, Amelia walked slowly yet confidently, like she was on a catwalk. She had taken modeling classes back in high school, and now she was finally putting them to use on the red carpet—capturing the attention of many with her graceful stride.

“Mrs. Luca?” a middle-aged woman greeted her. The woman wore a red dress adorned with equally luxurious diamond jewelry. Her face seemed familiar—perhaps a politician’s wife or a celebrity, for she certainly had the looks.

“Yes, I’m Amelia,” she replied.

“Ah, Mrs. Amelia—you look stunning! "Please, come in,” the woman said warmly.

Amelia followed her, entering a grand and spacious hall where classical ballroom music played in the background.

“I didn’t know Mr. Luca was already married. "I never heard any news of your wedding,” the woman commented as they continued walking.

“Luca prefers to keep his private life out of the spotlight,” Amelia replied calmly.

“Yes, that sounds just like him. "There—Luca is waiting for you over there!” the woman said, pointing toward the far end of the ballroom, where the VIP section was set up.

“Ah, thank you.”

The woman walked away, and Amelia made her way in the direction she’d pointed in. Still, doubt lingered in her heart—was Luca really there? Isabella had told her Luca wouldn’t be coming, so why had that woman said he was waiting?

Amelia walked slowly, the clicking of her heels on the marble floor echoing softly but tensely. She began to feel several pairs of eyes on her—some seemed to recognize her face. Perhaps they were guests from the night before, when Luca had unexpectedly announced their marriage to the public. Her chest tightened, as if an invisible pressure was slowly closing in from all directions.

But at that very moment, the tightness in her chest eased slightly as her eyes caught sight of a man approaching—Luca. With confident strides, he walked toward her, carrying a luxurious bouquet of deep crimson roses—so dark they almost looked black—radiating elegance. He wore a dark casual suit that perfectly matched Amelia’s evening gown, making them look harmonious… like a real couple.

“You’ve arrived, darling,” Luca said with a smile—warm on the surface, yet laced with a falseness that only the two of them could recognize.

Without needing any cues, Amelia slipped into her role. She smiled, gracefully reaching out with her right hand to take the bouquet.

“Yes, darling,” she replied in a tone filled with fabricated warmth.

Luca then leaned in to kiss her cheek gently, a calculated gesture—perfectly timed and flawless in the eyes of the onlookers. Amelia smiled again, suppressing the unfamiliar tension that rose from his touch.

Several guests nearby looked genuinely pleased. They nodded, smiling sincerely; some women even whispered to one another, seemingly praising Amelia’s elegant and captivating presence. Yet among those smiles, there were also veiled stares—tight-lipped smiles with eyes that told a different story. Polite smiles that carried an unspoken message: they didn’t like Amelia’s presence.

Still, Amelia held her chin high. Just as Isabella had said—this was her stage, and she had to play her part flawlessly.

That night, Amelia didn’t have to do much. Luca offered her a seat and presented her with several exquisite dishes. The guests began to dance, swaying to the rhythm of romantic classical music. Luca, meanwhile, said very little, sitting beside Amelia while sipping wine from his glass.

Amelia leaned closer and whispered, curious about how normal the party seemed.

“Don’t you want to dance with your friends?”

“I don’t like dancing,” he replied firmly.

Amelia fell silent. No wonder Isabella had said it didn’t matter if Amelia couldn’t dance—clearly, it was because Luca didn’t like dancing at all. Feeling relieved, Amelia resumed eating. The dishes at the buffet were incredibly luxurious and delicious—it would’ve been a shame to pass them up. Once her plate was empty, Amelia helped herself to more food and ate with enthusiasm.

“Can’t you stop chewing for a second?” Luca whispered.

"Does being your wife mean I’m not allowed to eat? "This is delicious! "Come on!" protested Amelia.

"I can buy you plenty of food at home! "Focus on your mission right now!" Luca whispered again.

"Mission? "What mission?" Amelia looked confused.

"You don’t need to know. "You just need to play your role well," Luca whispered, leaning close, his lips brushing against her ear.

Amelia looked annoyed, but she forced a smile, knowing that all eyes seemed to be on her in that room. Around them, Luca could be heard conversing with several officials—people who knew him as a respected, wealthy businessman. But Amelia was starting to feel more certain: not everyone knew Luca was actually a mafia boss.

Choosing not to dwell on it, Amelia enjoyed the music, swaying her body slightly as she savored the luxurious dishes served. When the event was nearing its end, Luca finally turned to her.

"Sorry, darling, I can’t take you home. "Go ahead with the driver," Luca said as he stroked Amelia’s hair.