Chapter 7 Games of Power
340 Words
The charity gala was held at the prestigious Aurora Hotel—crystal chandeliers, a red carpet, and media lined up like sharks ready to feast. Amara wore a sleek red gown with a plunging neckline. She didn’t choose it—Ethan’s stylist did—but she had to admit, it made a statement.
Ethan stood tall beside her in a classic black tux, his hand resting lightly on her waist as they posed for the cameras.
“You clean up well,” he whispered.
“Too bad your attitude doesn’t match the suit,” she whispered back, her smile still camera-ready.
Inside the ballroom, champagne flowed freely, and laughter echoed off high ceilings. Amara quickly realized this wasn’t a party. It was a battlefield.
People approached Ethan with fake smiles and sharper words. She saw it now—the power plays, the veiled threats disguised as compliments.
“You must be Ethan’s... latest investment,” one woman said, her lips curled in mock politeness.
Amara smiled. “And who are you? His expired stock?”
The woman blinked, speechless, and walked away. Ethan stifled a laugh.
“You’re enjoying this,” Amara hissed.
“I didn’t know you had claws.”
She took a sip of champagne. “I’m full of surprises.”
Later, as they danced, she asked, “Why all this? Why do you care so much about appearances?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then, “Because one crack in the armor, and they’ll rip everything apart.”
Amara stared at him. “That’s exhausting.”
“It is. But it’s necessary.”
They danced in silence after that. But something had shifted—like a truce, tentative and delicate.
Back at the estate, Amara removed her heels and flopped onto the bed.
“You did well tonight,” Ethan said, loosening his tie.
She yawned. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
She glanced at him. For the first time, he looked... almost human. Not the CEO. Not the cold strategist. Just Ethan.
- Writer
