Beneath the surface

Chapter 3- The Gala

The ballroom shimmered under crystal chandeliers, velvet gowns and tailored tuxedos. Silver trays with champagne flutes chiming, conversations buzzing in undertones of power and seduction.

Leyla entered quietly, her emerald satin gown hugging her curves. The slit on her leg was bold, the neckline daring, the perfect balance of elegance and allure. Her hair was styled in soft waves, lips painted a muted crimson that made her eyes gleam like amber fire under the chandeliers.

A member of the planning committee welcomed her and gestured for her to step forward.

“And here we have our new marketing executive, Ms. Leyla Tan. Though she’s just joined us, she’s already left her mark, she helped organize tonight’s event.”

Leyla smiled modestly, nodding at the small applause. A few curious eyes turned to her, some appraising, some impressed.

But only one gaze made her skin flush with heat.

Across the room, Miran stood near the drinks bar, clad in a black tux. His dark hair was pulled into a low man bun, accentuating the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. He was sipping from a crystal flute, lazily swirling the champagne as he watched her.

Their eyes locked. He didn’t blink.

He raised his glass in her direction, the corner of his mouth lifting in a flirty, knowing smile that made her heart stammer against her ribs. She looked away quickly, feeling as though her body had betrayed her with the warmth pooling between her legs.

A moment later, the photographers arrived, eager for press material. Leyla stood among partners for a few posed shots. Then came the request that made her stiffen:

“Mr. Aslan, Ms. Tan just the two of you, please.”

They stepped side by side, but she kept an instinctive gap between them. A few polite inches. Enough to breathe.

The family’s senior partner laughed. “Oh come on, it’s not a police lineup. Closer.”

A gentle nudge at her back. Suddenly, Miran’s shoulder brushed hers. His hand rested briefly against her lower back for the photo, she assumed. But it lingered.

The flash popped.

And Leyla felt every spark of it on her skin.

After making conversation and collecting a few new business cards, Leyla found herself locked in an uncomfortable dance of social manners.

A potential client, a handsome man with sharp green eyes and a little too much champagne in his veins had taken a liking to her.

“You’re too stunning to be in marketing,” he slurred charmingly, flicking a lock of her hair around his finger. “You should be on a billboard, not designing them.”

Leyla chuckled tightly. “That’s kind of you, Mr. Demir, but I assure you, I’m far more valuable behind the scenes.”

“Mmm, but that dress…” His hand grazed her bare back. “Now that deserves a campaign of its own.”

Before she could step away, a shadow loomed beside them.

Miran.

His voice was velvet, but there was steel underneath. “Is there a problem here?”

Mr. Demir straightened, his intoxicated confidence dimming. “No problem at all. Just… appreciating the company.”

“She’s here to work, not to entertain,” Miran said flatly, his arm slipping around Leyla’s waist with casual dominance. “Let’s not confuse the two.”

Leyla’s breath caught. Miran’s hand was hot, firm, and clearly not for show.

Mr. Demir blinked, nodded, and backed off with a forced grin.

Miran leaned in, his breath ghosting her ear. “You alright?”

“I was handling it,” she whispered, slightly breathless.

“I know. But watching that made me want to commit corporate manslaughter.”

The music changed, slower now, rich violins weaving a romantic melody through the room.

“Dance with me,” he said. Not a question.

Her hand slid into his, her body following like it had been waiting all night.

They moved onto the dance floor, fitting together effortlessly. One of his hands held hers gently, the other rested on her lower back, just a breath above the swell of her hips. Their bodies didn’t touch but it was close.

Every sway brought her closer to the edge of losing control.

She looked up at him. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “But I’ve stopped caring.”

Her chest rose and fell, brushing his. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

“Are we still pretending this is just a dance?” she asked.

“I stopped pretending the moment I saw you in that dress.”

She flushed. “You didn’t seem impressed when I showed initiative in the meeting.”

“That wasn’t initiative. That was war,” he said, smirking. “This”

His fingers gently squeezed her waist.

“this is something else entirely.”

When the evening ended, Miran escorted her to the front.

“Let me drive you,” he offered.

Leyla turned, lips curled into a teasing smile. “And give the entire office something to talk about? I think not.”

He raised a brow. “Afraid of gossip?”

“No. But I do like keeping people wondering.”

She winked at him. “Goodnight”

She disappeared into a taxi.

And for the first time in a long while, Miran watched a woman walk away… and wished she hadn’t.