Mirrors and masks: In each other’s place.

The event venue was heavily and awesomely decorated. Brandon Hughes stood in the center of the hall admiring every detail of the decoration and poster of CEOs including him. He stood tall in the middle of the hall. People who walked past him admired his beauty but he was used to it and the gazes and flirtatious looks didn’t budge him. Brandon was satisfied with himself and what he had accomplished by himself without his father’s help and how he manages both his and his father’s company. He is a NARCISSIST. Brandon’s gaze lingered on his reflection in the mirrored wall. He adjusted his turquoise-blue suit, smoothing the lapels with deliberate care. Murmurs swirled around him like incense; he absorbed each glance like a thirsty plant soaking sun. Little did he know that there was a bigger one who would capture him soon. A waiter passed by then he grabbed a glass of drink. He took a sip and continue his eye feast. Not knowing there was someone far behind admiring him from afar. Catherine Wilson stood at the entrance of the event center admiring the details from the entrance. She landed her eyes on a guy wearing a turquoise blue suit with a purple shirt and a combination of a blue and purple tie. She eyed him and admired his rare fashion sense. Catherine’s fingers drummed against her clutch as she studied Brandon’s outfit. The purple shirt danced with the blue tie like night embracing twilight – a harmony she herself had struggled to craft in her wardrobe. Her eyes narrowed slightly; his effortless pairing felt like a quiet rebuke. She loved his elegance as he took a drink from the waiter carrying drinks around. Her eyes went all around and over him. Her eyes suddenly stopped at his face, not like she hadn’t seen her fair share of handsome guys but Catherine’s gaze anchored on Brandon’s throat. His Adam’s apple shifted subtly as he swallowed; her breath caught like a skipped heartbeat. Unblinking, she tracked the movement – an involuntary study – as if memorizing the rhythm might grant her a secret. She smirked and took his details into her heart. He was six feet plus tall with a broad chest she wished she could lay on and stuff on like a teddy bear. She imagined him in jogger pants without a shirt on and she blushed at her thought. People were moving around chattering and greeting each other. Catherine looked around to see who might know the handsome guy that made her feel giddy and luckily one of the shareholders from her company seemed to have a good relationship with him. ‘Nice catch’ she smiled to herself. Abruptly she stopped. She noticed that peopling were cooing around him and he seemed pretty popular which meant that he might be an arrogant pretty face ,’ no way’. She turned back and found a seat which had her name on it since it was a ‘who’s who’ party (for the proud and arrogant). Catherine saw that she was two rows to the front row and she wished she knew his name so she’d know what row he was. “Calm down Cathy, someone you know knows him.” She spoke to herself, taking a deep breath and her right hand on her chest. She quickly adjusted herself before people started thinking she was weird. The hosts of the event took their seats on the podium and everyone else took their seats. Her eyes darted around looking for the guy with cute Adam apple. Unfortunately for Catherine, her cute Adam apple was sitting in the front row. She felt a knife stab in her heart. The event was boring to Catherine Wilson she wasn’t digesting anything the people who were speaking on the podium were saying until the cute Adam apple stepped up and her heart leaped for joy. “Good day everyone, my name is Brandon Hughes…….” . People were cooing as he climbed the stage (obviously women and the men who felt inferior were jealous.) . One corner of Catherine’s mouth curved upward as Brandon’s voice rolled over the crowd like warm honey. Women leaned forward, their smiles calibrated to his every syllable. Catherine’s fingers tightened around her wine glass – a small, involuntary clench. “His name is Brandon.” She noticed she felt bitter by the way the women in the auditorium were smiling at every word he said and every move he made She stared at him intently not knowing why she loved to see him or the reason why she always does what would make him come to her. ‘I can’t be falling in love with this pervert right?’ She shook her head vigorously, dismissing the thought. She looked at him again, focusing on his Adam apple. ‘I’d love to see what that looks like in his throat, but I don’t want to be a murderer.’ And coincidentally his Adam apple moved again. She got furious ‘ I dare you to swallow some saliva again you fool’ she exclaimed(In her mind). Brandon was surrounded by people, of course. He always was. It was the kind of presence that announced itself even before he entered a room—like expensive cologne or a whispered scandal. She approached him with the measured grace of someone who had never known rejection. “You wear that suit like you think it’s doing you a favor,” she said, sipping from a glass of something French and overpriced. Brandon turned to her, smirk already in place. “And you wear that dress like you knew I’d notice.” They both smiled at each other like predators and complimented like knives Touché. Catherine expected admiration, Brandon gave her something else, a spark of challenge. As they danced around each other’s polished exteriors, the air thickened with unspoken gamesmanship. Their banter crackled. It was fast, flirtatious, sharp-edged. They spoke in compliments disguised as insults and insults disguised as curiosity. Beneath it all, neither could ignore the pull. But Catherine knew better than to fall for charisma. She had too often watched girls like her become trophies in someone else's story. That would never be her. Not even for Brandon Hughes. She walked to the balcony while he followed suit not wanting to end their banter yet. Catherine’s eyes narrowed slightly as she assessed Brandon’s tailored sleeves, the way his cufflinks echoed the sharpness of his gaze. Brandon’s low laugh carries a hint of condescension as he responds to Catherine’s jab about his suit. Catherine’s fingers grazed the cool balcony railing as she leaned in, her posture exuding practiced elegance. The scent of Brandon’s cologne mingles with night-blooming flowers—both potent, both calculated. Catherine tilted her head, the diamonds at her ear refracting light like tiny provocations. “Noticed? I think you’ve been cataloging everyone’s wardrobe all night, Brandon.” Brandon’s smile didn’t waver. “Only the ones worth competing with, Catherine. And you’re clearly in a league I haven’t decided to conquer… yet.” Catherine’s laugh was a precise, polished thing. “Conquer? Darling, I don’t think you’ve grasped the rules of our game. In my world, people like you are accessories.” Brandon’s gaze lingered on her lips before rising to meet her eyes. “Ah, but accessories can be sharp enough to cut the right person.” Catherine leaned slightly closer, her voice dropping to a pitch only Brandon might perceive as intimate. “You think you’re a player, Brandon. But in circles like mine, pedigree matters.” Brandon didn’t step back. Instead, his eyes dropped to the pulse point on her neck—where a subtle flutter betrayed something beneath her poise. “Pedigree? Mine’s forged in places yours probably wouldn’t dare tread, Catherine.” Without looking away, Brandon reached out. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair off Catherine’s shoulder. The touch was brief, calibrated like a precision instrument. “You’re curious about me. Admit it.” Catherine didn’t flinch. Her lids lowered, gaze lingering on his mouth. “I’m intrigued by what you think you can take.” Her breath shortened little by little . “But touching me like that… suggests you misunderstand the rules.” Brandon’s smile tightened in a daring way. He didn’t remove his hand; instead, his thumb grazed her collarbone—slowly enough to be a challenge. “I think I understand perfectly. You want to be the one doing the talking and dominating.” Catherine’s eyes flashed something primal as Brandon’s thumb lingered on her skin. “You assume too much, Brandon. I don’t play games I don’t control.” Brandon’s smirk tightened; a crack appeared—ego bruised. _He doesn’t like being pushed back._ “Control? You’re used to puppets, Catherine. I’m not one.” Catherine wrestled with herself internally—Who does he think he is? No one challenges me like this.. Yet her fascination grew—dangerous, like admiring a well-cut blade. Brandon inwardly seethed. She thinks she’s untouchable. I’ll show her. — Simultaneously—Why does her disdain ignite this way? Their breathing sharpened. Air between them seemed combustible. “You’re afraid,” Catherine said suddenly, voice low, taunting. “Afraid I’ll show you what real power looks like.” Brandon’s jaw clenched—a millisecond tell “Afraid? Of you? Hardly.” But his mind raced: She’s got me reacting. “I dare you, Catherine.” “Dare me what?” Her tone was silk over steel. Brandon’s gaze locked on hers, voice dropping. “A date in Shanghai . Tomorrow night. Let’s see whose world burns brighter.” Catherine agreed with Conditions. Catherine’s smile was a slow unveiling. “ Shanghai is not for the timid. Alright, Brandon. I accept… if you can keep up.” He smirked. “Keep up?”. Brandon’s voice was low gravel. “I’ll set the pace, Catherine. You just try not to break.” Both knew, This wasn’t just a date. It was a battleground.