CALDERON'S DESIRE

PAINT, CHAMPAGNE AND FATE

MIRA

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, causing my knuckles to turn white and my palms sweaty. I try not to ruin the silky fabric i had on. Tia stares at my from the corner of her eyes, of course she notices my mood.

“Babe, stop. You’re gonna wrinkle that dress so bad people will think you ironed it with a shoe.”

My nerves didn’t ease even though i let out a laugh. The more we get close to the venue the more my stomach churns and my breath tightens.

“I really don’t get why you’re nervous,” Tia continued, pulling down the sun visor to check her make up. “You’re just painting a live backdrop. It’s not like you’re stripping.”

“I’m not nervous,” I lied.

She gave me a flat stare. “Okay. And I’m a virgin.”

I snorted. “Impossible.”

“Exactly. Tell the truth.”

I kept my eyes forward. “I just… haven’t done something this public before.”

“It’s not that public,” she said. “Rich people will be chatting and pretending to like each other while you stand on a stage and create magic. They’ll barely notice you until the end, when they realize you’re better than all of them.”

My lips twitched. “You’re not helping.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it.”

The truth was, my nerves had nothing to do with people. They came from the unknown and what they expect of me. The pressure to get this right because this gala, this commission, could change everything for me. And the last thing I needed was any distraction tonight.

“Is your mind wandering again?” Tia asked, glancing at me.

“No.”

“Yes,” she corrected. “Your eyes get that foggy look when you’re thinking about… you know.”

I blinked hard. “I am not thinking about him.”

“Uh-huh. The faceless mystery man you slept with a year ago?”

I groaned. “Stop calling him that.”

“What else am I supposed to call him? You never saw his face, you never got his name, and you don’t remember half the night. I’m giving him the most accurate description I can.”

I pressed my lips together because she wasn’t wrong. The night brought back a lot of memories but that was not what i am thinking of at the moment. I have moved on. It was nothing but a stupid mistake, a night that should have never happened if i wasn’t drugged.

“If anything,” Tia added casually, “I’m proud of you for letting a man rearrange your insides and then forgetting him like a champ.”

I choked. “TIA!”

“What? That’s progressive feminism right there.”

“I don’t even remember what he looked like,” I muttered.

“Exactly.” She winked. “Reckless. Mysterious. Shadow-man. Iconic.”

I shook my head, but a reluctant laugh slipped out. As we pulled into the gala’s valet line, the nerves came back in full force. People in gowns and tuxedos surrounded us, flashbulbs going off, and the hotel glittered like it came straight out of a fairy tale. This was the real reason I was nervous. This opportunities and networks, coupled with a chance to prove i was worthy.

“You are going to blow them away, girl. I trust you.” Tia says squeezing my hand.

I inhaled slowly. “I hope so.”

“And hey,” she added, grinning as the valet opened her door, “if your mystery man does show up — which he absolutely won’t — you won’t even recognize him, so you can ignore him like the queen you are.”

I rolled my eyes as I stepped out. Because she was right. He could walk right past me tonight… and I wouldn’t know him at all.

**********

The valet opened my door before I was fully ready. A warm gust of Ne York’s air gushed at my face. It brought with it the scents of expensive perfumes and lavender. Tia brims with confidence, striking poses as if the paparazzi was there for her alone.

“Come on,” she called over her shoulder, “we are women of purpose tonight.”

Purpose. Right. I exhaled and got out of the car, adjusting the strap of my small art bag against my side. The hotel entrance sparkled like a scene from a fairy tale—grand chandeliers through glass, a marble staircase, gold-leaf accents, and people everywhere. So many people. Elegant dresses, tuxedos, laughter that sounded rich and effortless.

Tia let out a low whistle. “If wealth had a smell, it would be…this.”

My throat tightened. “Stop. You’re making me more nervous.”

She linked her arm through mine. “I’m making sure you don’t faint and get trampled by a man named Theodore the Third.”

I snorted, but the nerves lingered. This was it. My biggest opportunity yet. A live painting commission for an elite tech gala—exposure people like me dreamed of. I wasn’t meant to be in places like this. Not the girl who worked two jobs. Not the girl who patched bills together with hope and duct tape. Not the girl who had rebuilt herself piece by piece after…everything.

I inhaled, squared my shoulders, and followed Tia up the steps. Inside, the lobby opened up like a cathedral of glass and gold. A string quartet played somewhere to the left. Waiters glided by with champagne flutes. Every guest looked like they’d stepped out of a luxury magazine. And me? I was the hired artist—nobody knew my name...yet.

Tia nudged me. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” I whispered.

“You’re not. Your chest isn’t even moving. You look like one of those Greek statues of dead heroes.”

I sucked in a breath. “Okay. Better?”

“Much. Now, when we get inside—”

“I know,” I interrupted. “Find my setup, stay calm, and don’t spill paint on anyone worth more than my apartment building.”

“Well…yes,” she admitted, “but also—enjoy this. You earned it.”

My stomach fluttered at that. We followed the signs toward the main ballroom. The double doors were open, revealing light, movement, and what felt like a thousand sparkling eyes. My pulse quickened as we stepped in.

I didn’t know what I expected—maybe something intimidating and corporate. But it was…beautiful. Tall crystal center pieces, white orchids spilling like waterfalls, soft gold lighting that made everyone glow. A stage at the far end. And front-right, near the massive arched windows—my station. A raised platform with my easel, brushes, fresh canvases, and an elegant plaque with my name:

MIRA ROSE, LIVE ARTIST

My heart squeezed. That was me. I was here. I belonged here tonight.

Tia clapped softly. “Oh my God, look at you. A whole celebrity.”

“Please stop,” I whispered, feeling my cheeks warm.

“You stop,” she shot back. “You better stand on that stage like the queen you are.”

I stepped closer to the platform, my fingers brushing the edge of the canvas for grounding. I wasn’t thinking about the past. Not about mistakes. Not about faceless strangers from a year ago. Not even about the man I once loved but no longer had the right to care about.

Tonight was about my work. My future. A burst of laughter echoed from the opposite side of the ballroom. Guests entered in waves, staff moved quickly, cameras flashed—and I felt it. A strange, sharp prickling at the back of my neck. Like someone’s eyes were on me.

I lifted my head. But there were dozens of people around. No one looking my way. No one paying me any mind at all. Just nerves. Just the weight of the night settling over me.

Tia squeezed my shoulder. “Ready?”

I nodded. But something deep inside me whispered—nothing about tonight will go the way you expect.