Caught Between Two Hearts

CHAPTER TWO

PATRICK

The sound of the slap echoed through the ballroom long after the woman disappeared. For the first

time that night, I wasn't bored.

From the private executive suite overlooking the gala, I watched Ella Mayfield stand frozen in

humiliation. The slap wasn't what interested me. It was the fact that someone had dared to challenge

her. People like Ella were rarely confronted. Most laughed at her cruel jokes, tolerated her behavior,

and endured her insults because of her family's influence. But the woman who slapped her didn't

hesitate; she fought back. That Interest me so much. While just excited about the moment, my phone rang; it was my dad.

“Patrick! Do something!”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean... Ella started it.”

“I don't care who started it. Cameras are everywhere tonight.”

“Then maybe she shouldn't have destroyed someone's work in front of reporters.”

“Patrick...”

“Sorry dad. I'm not doing this tonight. I can't always be cleaning up her disasters everytime.”

He hung up.

The truth was, I never wanted to attend the gala. Events like this always felt the same—fake smiles, shallow conversations, and wealthy people pretending to care about art, while secretly competing for attention.

***

Earlier that morning, Dad informed me at the dining table, that I'd be attending the fashion gala with Ella.

“You'll be attending the gala tonight with Ella.”

“Dad please send someone else.”

“Patrick this is not even debateable. We funded half of the fashion gala tonight hope you're aware.”

"Dad, is this really about the event, or you're just seizing this opportunity to have Ella and I in the same space, just like you always do?"

My father was just quiet, while he finished up his meal, and left the table, without saying a word to me. Ten minutes later, Ella arrived and immediately started talking about reporters, diamonds, and social media attention.

“Tonight is going to break the internet,” she announced dramatically while scrolling through her phone.

I kept drinking my coffee; she continued anyway...

“Also, don’t disappear tonight like you usually do because reporters are already obsessed with us appearing together.”

I gave her “the so uninterested” look. I never liked Ella for anything. My dad was just the brain behind the so called relationship, and Ella bought into it. She believed our fathers' friendship guaranteed our future; which I strongly disagreed.

"It's about time you put a ring on my finger, don't you think so?" Ella said, crossing her arms and leaning against the dining table, so into the conversation.

I barely looked up from the meal before me. "Is it?"

She frowned. "Patrick, we've been doing this for years."

"We've been doing what, exactly?" I asked lazily.

"Being together..."

I let out a short chuckle.

Her lips tightened. "You can joke all you want; but sooner or later, we're getting married."

"Funny! I don't remember proposing."

"You don't really have a choice;" she said, lifting her chin. "This is what our fathers have always wanted."

I finally looked up at her. "Last time I checked, they're the ones who wanted it. Not me."

"Well... your father expects it; Mine does too."

"Good for them..." I said and excused myself from the dining table because I was becoming irritated by the discussion.

"Patrick!"

The drive to the gala felt endless. By the time we arrived, my patience was gone. I escaped to the

executive suite while Ella chased attention downstairs. For hours, nothing happened. Executives discussed investments. Influencers posed for cameras. Designers thanked sponsors. Everything felt rehearsed.

Downstairs, Ella moved through the ballroom criticizing everything she saw. My eyes roamed the ballroom, until my attention was drawn to this cream-colored gown displayed beneath the lights. Even from upstairs, I could tell it was different. Elegant; refined, and carefully made. Beside it stood the designer. She looked nervous, but there was something steady beneath the nerves; something real.

“Who is that?” I asked Marcus, my PA.

“Probably a struggling designer hoping her designs get on the spotlight tonight.”

But I kept watching. When Ella approached her, the designer immediately straightened, like she already knew trouble was coming. Moments later, Ella ripped the dress. The designer froze; waiting to see her reaction, she now had my full attention.

The women exchanged words I couldn't hear. Then the designer grabbed Ella's wrist. The crowd fell silent.

A second later, a slap echoed through the ballroom.

“Oh! my God!” Marcus exclaimed.

For the first time all evening, I felt awake. After some minutes, the designer packed her things hurrying away, and then our eyes met through the glass. The connection lasted only seconds, but it felt longer. There was something different about her. She wasn't trying to impress anyone; she was just real unlike almost everyone else in that hall. Ella continued shouting while cameras flashed around her.

“She'll regret humiliating me!”

But I wasn't thinking about Ella anymore; I was thinking about the designer. Not long after the chaos, we were already on our way home.

“Did you see how she slapped me?” Ella complained.

“You destroyed her dress first;” I replied.

“It was ugly anyway...”

“That doesn't give you the right to ruin it.”

“You're taking her side?”

I didn't answer. There was no point arguing with Ella; She never admitted when she was wrong.

Instead, I kept thinking about the designer. The fire in her eyes, the confidence in her voice. The

courage it took to stand her ground when everyone else stayed silent. Most people backed down when powerful people attacked them. But somehow, this lady stood her ground; that made her stand out more than every celebrity at the gala combined.

The moment I arrived home, I headed upstairs and messaged Marcus; "Find the designer who slapped Ella Mayfield tonight."

Minutes later, my phone buzzed. I stared at the name on the screen; "Mae Hayes."

A slow smile spread across my face. Because deep down, I already tis wouldn't be the last time our paths crossed.