4 The Gala
1887 Words
Sera made it back to Aethelred Industries with exactly three minutes to spare.
She slipped into her office just as Maya rounded the corner, her heels clicking against the polished floor in a rhythm that spelled trouble. Sera was already at her desk, her tablet open, her expression the picture of professional composure.
Maya paused in the doorway, one eyebrow arched like a question mark. "Where did you sneak off to?"
Sera gestured vaguely with her hand. "Had to grab something. Quick errand."
"Something?" Maya's eyes narrowed. "You were gone for almost three hours. I came back from my meeting and your office was empty. Your car was gone from the garage. I was about to file a missing person report."
Sera's stomach twisted. "You checked the garage?"
"I was worried! You disappeared without telling anyone. No note. No text. Nothing." Maya crossed her arms, her expression a mixture of hurt and suspicion. "What kind of 'quick errand' takes three hours?"
Sera forced a smile, the expression feeling brittle on her face. "I had to pick up some documents. Personal documents. It took longer than expected."
"Personal documents."
"Yes."
"Documents that required you to drive somewhere. For three hours."
"Maya—"
"You know what? Never mind." Maya held up her hands in surrender, but her eyes told a different story. "You clearly don't want to tell me, and I'm not going to force you. But if you ever disappear like that again without telling me, I'm going to assume you've been kidn*pped and call the police."
Sera's smile softened into something genuine. "I appreciate the concern. Really. I'm sorry I worried you."
"Just... don't do it again." Maya's expression softened. "Okay?"
"Okay."
Maya nodded, then turned to leave. She paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. "Oh, by the way, I saw something interesting in the elevator. A flyer for that corporate gala at Blackwood's penthouse. Apparently it's happening in a few days. Top-tier event. Only the elite are invited."
Sera's heart skipped a beat. "A gala?"
"Yep. Business owners, corporate officials, the ultra-wealthy. The kind of people who have more money than they know what to do with." Maya sighed dreamily. "Can you imagine being invited to something like that? I'd probably faint."
"I'm sure it's not that impressive."
"You clearly haven't seen the photos of Blackwood's penthouse. It's insane. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a private pool, a wine cellar that probably costs more than my entire apartment. The man lives like a king."
Sera forced a laugh. "He's just rich. That's all."
"Is that what you really think?" Maya's eyes were sharp, knowing. "Or do you think there's something more?"
Sera's blood chilled. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's just..." Maya shrugged. "He's so mysterious, you know? No one knows anything about him. Where he came from. How he made his money. Whether he's even human."
"He's human, Maya. He's just... wealthy."
"Sure. If you say so."
Maya disappeared down the corridor, and Sera was left alone with her thoughts. Her mind was racing, turning over the implications of Maya's words. The gala. The penthouse. The opportunity to get close to Dorian in a setting where no one would think twice about her presence.
She needed to be there.
She just had to figure out how.
The drive home was a blur of traffic and anxiety. Sera's mind was churning with possibilities, turning over the logistics of the gala, the risks, the potential rewards. She needed an invitation. She needed a reason to be there. She needed—
Her phone buzzed.
Sera glanced at the screen. A message from Marcus.
New directive. Attend the corporate gala at Blackwood's penthouse. Tomorrow night. 8:00 PM. Intelligence suggests key players will be in attendance. Observe and report. —Marcus
Sera's heart stopped. Tomorrow night?. I thought I still had a few days to plan.
She pulled over to the side of the road, her hands trembling as she typed her reply.
I wasn't invited. I don't have a pass. How am I supposed to get in?
The response came within seconds.
Check your email.
Sera's fingers flew across the screen, pulling up her inbox. There it was. A digital invitation, embossed with the Aethelred Industries logo, addressed to "Ms. Sera Vance."
She stared at it, her mind reeling.
Marcus had gotten her an invitation. He had the connections, the resources, the ability to make things happen that no one else could. And now she had a way in.
But there was a problem.
If she went to the gala, she risked being recognized. Risked being seen by someone who knew her true position. Risked bumping into Dorian Blackwood himself.
The thought made her stomach churn.
I know what you're thinking, Sera.
She shoved the thought away and started driving again.
—--
The hours before the gala passed in a blur of preparation. Sera stood in front of her mirror, carefully applying makeup designed to transform her appearance. A darker foundation. More pronounced cheekbones. A shade of lipstick she never wore. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant style that made her look older, more sophisticated.
It was the face of a woman who belonged at a gala.
The face of a woman who had nothing to hide.
Sera studied her reflection, searching for any trace of the person she actually was. The hunter. The auditor. The woman who lived a double life and carried silver bullets in her bag.
She looked like a stranger.
Good.
The dress was a deep emerald green that hugged her curves and flowed to the floor in a waterfall of silk. It was elegant, expensive-looking, the kind of dress that screamed old money. She'd bought it years ago for a different purpose—a mission that had required her to pose as a wealthy socialite—but it had never let her down.
Now it was time for its second performance.
Sera slipped on her heels, grabbed her clutch, and headed for the door.
—
The Blackwood Penthouse was everything Maya had described and more.
Sera stepped out of the elevator into a world of opulence and excess. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the floors polished marble, the ceilings soaring above her head like a cathedral. Chandeliers dripped with crystals that caught the light and scattered it in a thousand directions. Art hung on the walls—originals, Sera realized with a start, worth more than she'd make in a lifetime.
And everywhere, everywhere, there were people.
Beautiful people. Wealthy people. People who moved through the world with the casual confidence of those who had never known a day of struggle. They smiled and laughed and sipped champagne from crystal flutes, their conversations a symphony of privilege and power.
Sera blended in perfectly.
She smiled at the right people. Made small talk about the right topics. Nodded along to discussions about investments and acquisitions and the latest trends in luxury real estate. Her voice was steady, her posture relaxed, her expression the picture of effortless grace.
No one looked at her twice.
Observe, she reminded herself. Marcus said observe. That's all I'm doing. Just observing.
But another voice—the voice of the hunter, the voice that had kept her alive for five years—whispered something different.
Observe. And gather evidence.
Sera slipped away from the crowd, her heels silent against the marble floor. She moved through the penthouse with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to be invisible, her eyes scanning for anything unusual. Anything that might prove what she already suspected.
The corridors were quieter here, away from the main ballroom. Servants passed her with trays of champagne and canapés, their eyes averted, their expressions carefully blank. Sera smiled at them, nodded, and kept walking.
And then she saw it.
A door. Slightly ajar. Leading to what looked like a private study.
Sera glanced around. No one was watching. The corridor was empty.
She slipped inside.
The study was a sanctuary of dark wood and leather. Books lined the walls, their spines gleaming in the dim light. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, covered in papers and documents that Sera itched to examine. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
But it wasn't the desk or the books or the fire that caught her attention.
It was the symbol.
Carved into the wall behind the desk, hidden in the shadows, was an ancient sigil. Sera recognized it immediately. It was a mark of power, of authority, of something far older and darker than anything she'd ever encountered in her years with the Order.
Her fingers traced the lines of the carving, her heart pounding in her chest. This was proof. Real, tangible proof that Dorian Blackwood was something other than human. Something dangerous. Something—
"Miss Sera?"
The voice came from behind her.
Sera spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. A servant was standing in the doorway, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. She recognized him as the guard who had checked her pass.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
Sera's mind raced. She needed an excuse. Something plausible. Something that wouldn't raise suspicion.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice dripping with practiced embarrassment. "I was just looking for something to pass the time. A book, maybe? I'm terribly bored with the party, and I thought I might find something interesting in here."
The servant's expression softened. "I understand, madam. But this room is private. The owner doesn't allow visitors."
"Of course. My apologies." Sera smiled, the expression warm and disarming. "I'll just return to the party."
"Thank you, madam."
Sera swept past him, her heart still pounding, her mind still racing. She'd been caught. Almost. The symbol was there, carved into the wall, waiting to be discovered. She just needed another chance to get back in. Another opportunity to gather evidence.
She rejoined the crowd, her smile firmly in place, her eyes scanning the room. And then she saw him.
Dorian Blackwood.
He was standing across the room, surrounded by admirers, his perfect smile fixed in place. His eyes swept over the crowd, pausing for just a moment on her face.
And then he looked away.
Sera's heart stopped.
Had he recognized her? Had he seen her slipping out of the study? Had he—
I know what you're thinking, Sera.
The voice whispered through her mind, soft and intimate, like a lover's caress.
You just can't prove it. Even if you tried.
Sera's blood turned to ice.
She forced herself to breathe. Forced herself to smile. Forced herself to pretend that everything was normal, that she hadn't just been caught snooping through the private study of a man who might very well be a monster.
But inside, she was screaming.
Because the voice in her head was real. It was real, and it was his, and he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Observe, she reminded herself. Marcus said observe. That's all I'm doing.
But the hunter in her whispered something different.
He knows. He knows what you are. He knows why you are here. He's playing with you.
And Sera realized, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that the hunter was right.
- Writer
