CONTRACT BRIDE

The Gala

Alara’s POV

The moment we stepped into the gala, the air changed.

Not literally—but in that way people part for power. Heads turned, conversations stalled mid-sentence, and champagne flutes nearly tilted as the crowd acknowledged our arrival.

Ace Wolfe didn’t walk into rooms. He claimed them.

And tonight, I was on his arm.

The ballroom was nothing short of majestic—high arched ceilings wrapped in gold latticework, walls shimmering with hand-painted murals, and chandeliers dripping with crystals so pure they could cut diamonds. A string quartet hummed in the corner, their instruments weaving opulence into the air.

I tightened my fingers around Ace’s arm as we moved further into the space, every inch of me aware of the stares—the speculation, the curiosity.

He wore a black tuxedo like it had been stitched onto his body. Understated but commanding. His hair was brushed back, revealing those storm-gray eyes and the clean, brutal lines of his face. He looked like a man sculpted from marble and frozen at the height of control.

I, on the other hand, wore a Wolfe-custom gown in deep emerald silk. It hugged me like a second skin, dipping low in the back and high at the slit. My collarbone shimmered with a trail of diamonds—his gift, of course.

“You’re being watched,” I murmured under my breath.

“I always am,” Ace replied coolly.

“Do you like it?”

His lips curved, barely. “I don’t care about them. I care about how you carry it.”

There was no warmth in his voice—just possession.

A chill slid down my spine.

He led me toward a group of sharply dressed men and women, the kind whose net worth could tip a country’s economy. As we approached, I adjusted my expression into one of elegant confidence.

“Gentlemen,” Ace said, voice crisp. “Allow me to introduce my fiancée. Alara Grey.”

Fiancée.

Still not used to that.

The men greeted me with respectful nods, though their eyes held the usual analysis—judging my dress, my posture, the shape of my smile. The women were colder, their interest veiled behind sculpted faces and champagne sips.

Alara Grey, the mysterious woman from nowhere, now the soon-to-be bride of one of the country’s most powerful men.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said smoothly, offering each of them my hand with a calm I didn’t quite feel.

Ace’s fingers never left the small of my back.

It wasn’t affection.

It was a claim.

As the introductions wrapped, he excused us briefly and stepped away to speak with a partner from Tokyo. I used the moment to breathe, scanning the room—just once.

And then I saw him.

Ryan.

My ex.

His camera was raised, fingers tapping over settings like muscle memory. He wore a black button-up rolled at the sleeves and faded jeans that didn’t belong in a place like this. His presence here made no sense… until I realized. He was working.

Our eyes locked.

And my stomach tightened.

He looked stunned. And maybe a little bitter. I turned away instantly.

A moment later, I felt Ace beside me again—his body heat returning like a shift in atmosphere.

“Who is he?” he asked, tone low and clipped.

I didn’t look at him. “No one.”

“You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I needed air.”

Without another word, I stepped away. I wasn’t sure what I was avoiding—Ryan’s face, or Ace’s intensity.

I moved toward a quieter part of the ballroom. Soft lighting, less crowd. And there she was.

Eve.

Leaning near a pillar, dressed in white silk that clung to her surgically enhanced curves. Her cheekbones were sharp, her nose narrow, lips too full. Beauty polished to an inch of its life.

If I looked like a fire the wind hadn’t touched, she looked like the storm after.

“Alara,” she purred, sipping champagne. “We finally meet.”

“Seems like everyone wanted us to.”

She didn’t smile. Just observed me like I was under a microscope. “You’re… interesting.”

“That’s a word for it.”

Her eyes flicked to the Wolfe necklace at my throat. “That’s new. I think I wore that collection before it hit the stores.”

“Mine didn’t come from a store.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“I was just wondering,” she continued lightly, “how someone like you ends up engaged to Ace Wolfe. You’re not… his type.”

“And you are?” I asked coolly.

She smiled—tight and venomous. “I was his first love. He used to call me the woman who made him feel again.”

“Then I guess you also taught him how to stop.”

She blinked.

I didn’t.

“Tell me, Eve,” I said softly, “do you always circle back when someone richer shows interest in your ex, or is this a special occasion?”

Her lips parted in surprise. Just then, Ace reappeared in the distance, speaking to an older man near the stage.

“I’d be careful,” she said, voice low. “Ace doesn’t love. He uses.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to be the exception.”

With that, I turned on my heels and walked away, not bothering to look back.

My heart thundered in my ears, but my spine stayed straight.

Let them whisper.

Let them wonder.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

Not until this contract ran its course.

Not until I knew what kind of man Ace Wolfe really was beneath all the marble.

And not until I decided if I wanted to stay long after the ink dried.