8; The Gala Game
920 Words
Every step Amara took through the glittering ballroom felt like walking on broken glass.
Laughter floated through the air — elegant, expensive, and false. Chandeliers cast gold light across crystal glasses, and every woman in sight wore diamonds that could buy her entire clinic twice over.
She didn’t belong here.
Not among them.
Not beside him.
Yet, there she was — Amara Velasquez, the nurse from Quezon City, wearing a designer gown and standing arm-in-arm with the most feared billionaire in Manila.
Sebastian Cruz, her husband — on paper and in every camera angle — moved with effortless grace.
He spoke to investors, shook hands with CEOs, and smiled that polite, distant smile that hid the blade behind his charm.
And every so often, he would glance down at her — a touch on her back, a brief whisper in her ear — small gestures that looked tender to the world, but felt like reminders of the deal they’d made.
“Play the part,” he had told her.
“If you look strong, they’ll never see your fear.”
She did.
But then he appeared.
⸻
Darian.
Her stomach dropped when she saw him — tall, arrogant as ever, but sharper somehow.
He’d grown leaner, his suit darker, his smile colder.
And the moment his eyes met hers across the room, she felt every scar inside her reopen.
He began to walk toward them, ignoring the polite whispers and curious looks.
Sebastian noticed instantly, his expression unreadable. “Ah,” he murmured. “The prodigal nephew.”
Amara’s pulse quickened. “Sebastian, don’t—”
But he was already turning, greeting Darian with that slow, deliberate smirk that made men twice his size rethink their pride.
“Nephew,” Sebastian said smoothly, his voice cutting through the music. “I was wondering when you’d stop sulking and come say hello.”
Darian’s jaw clenched. “You married her.”
“Yes,” Sebastian said, completely unbothered. “She’s quite the improvement over your last choice, wouldn’t you say?”
The surrounding guests fell silent.
A few gasps. A few chuckles. Everyone knew there was history — no one expected it to be this ugly.
Darian’s eyes darkened. “You did this to spite me.”
Sebastian raised a brow. “Don’t flatter yourself, boy. My reasons are rarely that small.”
“She’s using you,” Darian snapped. “She’s nothing but—”
The next moment happened so fast, Amara barely breathed.
Sebastian stepped closer, voice suddenly low and lethal.
“Choose your next words carefully,” he said. “You may insult me as you please, but you will not speak that way about my wife.”
Darian flinched. “She was mine.”
“Was,” Sebastian said coolly. “And you nearly killed her trying to make her yours.”
The entire ballroom froze.
Amara’s throat tightened. “Sebastian,” she whispered. “Stop.”
But he wasn’t finished. “You thought I didn’t know about your little ‘surgery’ scheme? About how you planned to take her kidney before your grand wedding? You disgust me, Darian. You and your father both.”
Murmurs rippled through the room like shockwaves.
Phones were already out. Journalists whispering. Investors listening.
Darian’s mask cracked — fury twisting his handsome face. “You think this makes you noble? You think marrying her redeems you?”
“I didn’t marry her to redeem myself,” Sebastian said coldly. “I married her because she deserved protection — from people like you.”
Darian’s hand twitched — almost like he wanted to strike him. But one look from Sebastian’s icy gray eyes froze him in place.
Amara felt her heart race as tension thickened. “Please,” she whispered, stepping forward. “This isn’t the place.”
Sebastian’s gaze softened for a moment — just enough for her to see the man beneath the armor. He nodded once, then turned to the crowd with a polished smile.
“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen,” he said smoothly. “Family reunions are always messy.”
A few nervous laughs followed. The tension cracked but didn’t vanish.
Sebastian took Amara’s hand, leading her toward the exit. “Come,” he murmured. “You’ve had enough entertainment for one night.”
As they left the ballroom, cameras flashed behind them — hundreds of lenses capturing the moment she walked away from her ex-fiancé, hand-in-hand with his uncle.
⸻
Outside, the night air was cold and heavy with rain.
Amara pulled her hand away the moment they were alone. “You didn’t have to humiliate him like that,” she said quietly.
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “He deserved worse.”
“Maybe. But now you’ve started something neither of us can stop.”
He turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “I told you, Mrs. Cruz. This marriage isn’t a game.”
Her eyes burned with frustration. “It feels like one.”
“Then learn to win.”
She stared at him, anger and something dangerously close to attraction swirling inside her. “You can’t keep playing god with people’s lives.”
Sebastian stepped closer — his voice calm, but his eyes dark with something that looked almost like pain.
“I don’t play god,” he said. “I just don’t bow to devils.”
Before she could reply, he brushed past her and opened the car door.
“Let’s go home,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow, the real war begins.”
- Writer
