The Ball
762 Words
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Audrey’s POV
At twenty-one and barely out of college, I found myself inheriting not just one company—but two—after losing both my parents in a tragic plane crash.
The grief was suffocating. The only family I had left was my childhood nanny, Angela, and her daughter Jennie—my best friend and constant source of chaos and comfort.
Despite their love, the reality was crushing. I would never hear Dad’s bad jokes again or watch Mom burn another meal while pretending it was gourmet. I would never get another hug, another scolding, another ounce of their presence.
Dad’s law firm had a notorious reputation—successful, wealthy clients... many of them from the mafia. Lawsuits, money laundering, and legal gymnastics were just another Tuesday in his world.
But that world? It wasn’t for me.
As his only child, the firm was mine now. But my heart had always belonged to fashion—just like Mom. Her boutique had started small and grown into a thriving business, and it was that legacy I truly wanted to preserve.
So, I planned a ball. A glamorous evening to attract new investors .
Jennie barged into my room mid-thought, chewing loudly on a slice of pizza.
“What’re you doing?” she mumbled through her mouthful.
“Working.”
“Let’s go to that party I’ve been talking about all week.”
“I can’t. I have a ball to plan.”
“Girl, that’s literally a party. You’re skipping one party to plan another. That’s a crazy thing to say. Also... I need a wingman.”
I sighed. .
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Later that night, at the party…
Jennie was already on the dancefloor, dancing with a stranger in hopes of making her new crush jealous. Classic Jennie move.
I needed air.
I made my way to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and stared at my reflection. Exhausted. Emotionally drained. Lost.
Memories hit hard—Mom’s overcooked pasta, Dad’s playful teasing, their affectionate banter that made me cringe and smile at the same time. My chest tightened. I missed them so much it physically hurt.
I bit back a sob, but the tears still came.
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Jackson’s POV
Down in my dungeon, my prisoners groaned in pain. One of them—the least cooperative—lay in a pool of regret and blood.
“You planning to live here, or are you going to walk out?” I asked, though I knew the answer.
“I-I can’t walk…” he stammered, attempting to stand, only to collapse again.
“Who are you to her?”
“We’re her uncles…”
Before I could push further, Blake walked in, a smirk on his face and a folder in hand. Saved—for now.
He passed me the file. Inside, I found her name: Audrey. Twenty-one. Hosting a ball soon the next two days
Perfect.
“I’ll be attending,” I said, to myself . Invitation or not.
Time to go suit shopping.
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Dressed to kill—quite literally—I paused before leaving. A call flashed across my screen. My mother.
Decline.
I walked into the ballroom, a world of elegance and luxury unfolding before me. Fashion giants mingled, their polite smiles masking fear as they noticed my presence. They recognized me. They always did.
And then, I saw her.
She was radiant in a form-fitting black dress with a daring slit. Her hair flowed in waves over her pale skin, and those pitch-black eyes held more mystery than the moon.
“Audrey,” I called as I approached, eyes trailing over her like a man starved.
She turned, startled. “How do you know my name?”
“The invitation had your name on it, sweetheart,” I lied smoothly, resisting the urge to say, ‘I almost got paid to kill you.’
For the first time in years, I hid my identity—not out of shame, but curiosity. I wanted to be near her. I needed to.
“So... you into fashion?” she asked, eyeing me up and down.
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I’m into you.”
She blushed, biting her lip—a nervous habit, I guessed.
“Well, I need investors, not suitors,” she quipped
“Why not both?”
“I’m not looking for a suitor right now. But… thanks.”
“If you change your mind,” I said, handing her my business card, “call me, sweetheart.”
As I turned to leave, I signaled Blake
- Writer
