Chapter 5— The Charity Gala❤️
1068 Words
Elena had survived weddings, corporate banquets, celebrity brunches, and even that one time a politician tried to pet her like she was a therapy animal.
None of it compared to the Charity Gala.
The Glass Towers transformed overnight into an empire of gold and glass. Streaming lights fell like waterfalls down the walls. Musicians warmed up on a suspended stage. The city sparkled beneath the open-air balconies as if trying to compete.
And Elena?
Elena was carrying a tray of champagne flutes worth more than her monthly rent.
“This is hell,” she whispered to Milo.
“This is rich people hell,” Milo corrected, adjusting his tiny bow tie with dramatic agony. “Which is somehow worse because everyone here is wearing perfume that costs more than my car.”
“You don’t have a car.”
“Exactly.”
Kara clapped sharply. “Positions! If you drop anything tonight, pretend you died.”
“Comforting,” Elena muttered.
⸻
Enter the Disaster
She hadn’t seen Adrian yet.
Not that she was looking.
She was definitely not scanning the crowd for a tall man in an unfairly perfect suit.
Nope. Not at all.
Then Milo gasped. “Incoming. Exhibit A: The Problem.”
Elena followed his gaze—and her stomach dropped.
Adrian Vale walked into the gala like he’d been poured into his suit by angels with no concept of modesty. The crowd parted around him instantly. Women stared. Men straightened their ties. People angled their bodies toward him like he was the sun.
Elena did the sensible thing.
She hid behind a column.
Milo leaned next to her. “Smooth.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re so subtle. Invisible. Like a ninja.”
“Please go away.”
But Milo didn’t get the chance—because Kara appeared behind them like a demon from the break room.
“Elena! You’re serving Adrian Vale’s table.”
Elena choked. “Why?!”
“Because he asked.” Kara smirked. “Specifically.”
Milo whispered, “I ship it.”
“Stop talking,” Elena hissed, but she was already marching toward the inevitable.
⸻
The Balcony Moment
Adrian saw her before she reached the table.
His eyes warmed instantly.
That was not allowed.
That should be illegal.
Somebody needed to call HR.
“You look… different,” he said when she arrived.
“I’m wearing the same uniform as yesterday.”
“Still different.”
“You’re imagining it.”
“Possibly.”
She hated how easily he could throw her off balance.
“Your champagne,” she said, putting down the glasses.
He didn’t look at the champagne.
He looked at her.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said.
“I am working.”
“You avoided me before you were working.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Reopened. “…No I didn’t.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You hid behind a column for twenty seconds.”
She stiffened. “You saw that?!”
“It was adorable.”
“Oh my God.”
Adrian chuckled—a low, soft sound that curled around her spine. “Take a walk with me.”
“I cannot take a walk with you in the middle of a gala.”
“You can,” he said simply, “and you will.”
She should say no.
She meant to say no.
She opened her mouth—
“Five minutes,” she muttered.
He smiled like he’d won a war.
⸻
The Garden Terrace
The gala’s private terrace overlooked the city like it belonged to him—and maybe it did.
Lights glittered below. Wind brushed her hair. A string quartet drifted faintly through the doors.
Adrian leaned against the railing. Elena stood opposite him, arms crossed, determined to keep distance.
“You look uncomfortable,” he observed.
“That’s because I am.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re… you.”
He laughed softly. “And what does that mean?”
“It means you’re rich. And powerful. And decent-smelling. And… distracting.”
She froze, eyes widening. “Forget I said that. I didn’t mean it.”
“I’m decent-smelling?” he teased.
“I SAID FORGET IT.”
He stepped closer.
Too close.
“Elena,” he murmured. “I can forget anything except the truth.”
Her pulse hammered.
This was bad.
Very, very bad.
“Why did you bring me here?” she whispered.
“Because I wanted five minutes without everyone watching me,” he said. “And you’re the only person in this building who talks to me like I’m not a headline.”
He reached out—slowly—tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
Her breath hitched.
His fingers brushed her cheek.
Everything inside her tightened.
“Adrian…” she whispered.
He leaned in.
Not touching.
Just close enough that the air between them was as thin as silk.
She felt his breath against her lips.
Her heart stumbled.
His eyes flicked down to her mouth.
And then—
⸻
The Interruption
“Elena!”
They sprang apart as Kara barreled onto the terrace like a furious wedding planner.
“There you are! The donors are asking for more champagne and we are DROWNING in rich-people complaints!”
Adrian straightened immediately—mask slipping back into place.
Elena forced a breath. “I—I have to go.”
“Of course,” he said, expression unreadable again.
But his eyes—those betrayed him.
They held all the things they hadn’t said.
And all the things they almost did.
Elena rushed past Kara, pulse racing, head spinning.
Milo intercepted her halfway inside. “WHY are you red? Did he lick your face? Blink twice if you need medical assistance—”
“MILO!”
He squealed. “Oh my GOD he did something, didn’t he?!”
“No! Nothing happened!”
But her voice cracked.
And Milo’s jaw dropped. “He almost kissed you.”
“I said NOTHING happened!”
“Yeah,” Milo said knowingly, “and my grandmother is Beyoncé.”
Elena shoved a tray at him and fled.
All night, she worked like she was outrunning her own thoughts.
But no matter where she moved, his gaze followed her.
Quiet.
Steady.
Unspoken.
Something had changed on that terrace.
Something big.
Something dangerous.
Something she couldn’t ignore anymore.
And neither could he.
- Writer
