The Ball Party
1176 Words
Lena’s POV
The engagement happened faster than I expected. One minute Griffin was staring at me like I’d just suggested he swallow poison, and the next, he said, “Fine. Let’s give them something to choke on.”
That was his yes.
He didn’t propose with flowers or a ring. He just slid a small velvet box across the café table like it was another business deal. Inside was a diamond so bright it almost mocked me.
Two days later, his assistant sent me a designer gown and a card that said: Be ready by eight. Nadia’s birthday ball.
So, that’s how I found myself in front of a mirror in a hotel suite, wearing a silver dress that fit like second skin, wondering if I’d sold my soul twice.
When Griffin arrived to pick me up, he looked unfairly calm — black suit, hair slicked back, a watch that probably cost more than my old apartment.
We arrived at the ball, and truth be told, it was everything I remembered about that world — gold chandeliers, champagne fountains, people pretending their smiles weren’t knives. Cameras everywhere. Nadia’s family loved a spectacle, and this one was supposed to be her big comeback — a way to make everyone forget she’d once been my husband’s mistress.
Too bad Griffin had other plans.
When we walked in hand in hand, the entire room froze. Every head turned. Whispers buzzed like flies.
“Is that—?”
“Lena Vitale?”
“With Griffin Whitmore?”
The photographers went wild. Nadia’s smile wavered for half a second before she forced it back into place. Gideon stiffened beside her. That was all the reaction I needed.
Griffin leaned close, his breath brushing my ear. “Smile for the vultures, Mrs. Whitmore.”
The words sent a shiver down my spine. I smiled. I smiled like a woman who wasn’t dying inside.
We made our rounds — handshakes, fake laughter, champagne glasses clinking. Every time Griffin touched my lower back or leaned in to whisper, the room buzzed louder. It was a performance, but a perfect one.
Then, just when I thought the night couldn’t get more theatrical, the lights dimmed. The big screen above the stage flickered on.
At first, it was a slideshow — photos of Nadia through the years, set to soft piano music. People clapped politely. And then the music cut.
Static filled the speakers.
The next clip wasn’t part of the slideshow.
It was grainy, shaky — like security footage. But there was no mistaking the voices. Nadia’s. Gideon’s. Whispering in a hotel suite. Words no one could misinterpret. Promises. Moans.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The video cut off abruptly, leaving a silence so thick it rang in my ears.
My champagne glass slipped slightly in my hand. Even I hadn’t expected him to be that ruthless.
Nadia’s face went white, then red. Gideon froze. The press cameras were already flashing again — this time for blood.
Griffin stood still, calm as a glacier. I realized then that he had orchestrated everything down to the last second.
And I was part of it.
Within minutes, Nadia crumpled. Literally.
The whispers shifted from scandal to sympathy. Poor Nadia. Poor woman. Betrayed and pregnant.
Gideon knelt beside her, shouting for someone to call an ambulance, playing the part of the heroic husband.
The cameras caught every second of it — Nadia’s trembling hand clutching his, his anguished face hovering over hers. They’d rewritten the story in real time.
And suddenly, I wasn’t the woman exposing their lies. I was the bitter ex who crashed a pregnant woman’s party.
Griffin didn’t flinch, but I could feel his jaw tighten beside me. We left quietly while everyone crowded around the fallen princess.
In the car, I stared out the window, furious tears burning behind my eyes. “You didn’t know she was pregnant, did you?”
“No,” he said simply.
“You ruined her at her own party.”
“She deserved worse.”
“She still won,” I muttered.
He glanced at me. “You sound disappointed.”
“I am,” I snapped. “I thought I’d finally have a win. Instead, she gets sympathy, Gideon gets to look like a savior, and I look like a jealous disaster.”
Griffin was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. “Revenge is rarely clean, Lena. You don’t win it in one night.”
The car pulled into his penthouse building. The city lights glimmered below, mocking me.
Inside, I kicked off my heels and sank into the nearest chair. Griffin loosened his tie and poured himself a drink. He poured one for me, too, sliding the glass across the table.
“To bad timing,” he said.
I gave a small laugh despite myself. “To terrible luck.”
We clinked glasses. For a moment, the air between us shifted — less hostile, more… charged.
He studied me over the rim of his glass. “You handled yourself well tonight. Most people would’ve crumbled.”
“I’ve been crumbling for years,” I said quietly. “I just got good at hiding it.”
Something flickered in his eyes — not pity, but recognition.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could see the faint scar on his jaw. “You wanted power back, Lena. This was the first step. Don’t lose focus.”
I nodded, though my chest ached. “And what do you get out of this alliance?”
He smirked. “Leverage. You, mostly.”
His words shouldn’t have felt like a compliment, but they did.
For a long time, neither of us moved. The city lights poured in through the glass windows, catching the reflection of two people who looked like they could destroy the world if they wanted to.
Eventually, he said, “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start cleaning up the mess.”
I wanted to ask if he ever slept — if revenge had left him hollow too — but I didn’t. I just nodded and left for the guest room.
Hours later, I woke to the sound of voices.
I crept to the hallway, bare feet silent on the marble floor. The door to Griffin’s study was half open.
Familiar voice.
“You promised this wouldn’t get messy,” he hissed.
“It won’t,” another man replied — I couldn’t tell if it was Griffin or someone else.
“Keep the agreement,” the familiar voice said sharply. “She doesn’t know yet. And she can’t.”
A pause. Then the sound of glasses clinking.
My blood ran cold.
I stepped back before they could see me, retreating into the dark hallway, my heart pounding in my ears.
Whatever I thought I knew about this game — about alliances and enemies — I was wrong.
They weren’t just playing each other.
They were playing me.
And this time, I wasn’t sure who was on my side.
- Writer
