Chapter 10

"Oh god, this is even worse than I imagined," I muttered under my breath, resisting the urge to turn around and walk straight back to the car.

"Just fake it till you make it, Lopez," Kia whispered beside me, giving my arm a not-so-subtle nudge, almost making me trip.

We had been standing outside the venue for five whole minutes, but neither of us had worked up the nerve to actually step inside. Through the grand arched doorway, the ballroom stretched before us in all its overwhelming opulence.

The ceiling soared high above, adorned with elaborate gold moldings, while enormous crystal chandeliers hung like upside-down bouquets of frozen light. The polished marble floors reflected the warm glow, and the walls, painted in soft pastels were lined with gilded mirrors and delicate frescoes depicting aristocrats doing whatever it was that aristocrats did back in the day. The whole place screamed rococo excess, like someone had taken an 18th-century European palace and cranked the fancy up to eleven.

Kia let out a low whistle. "I feel like we just walked into the set of a period drama. Any second now, some guy in a powdered wig is going to challenge me to a duel."

I let out a long sigh. "I'd accept, but I left my crossbow at home."

Kia blinked at me. "Why do you even own a crossbow?"

I shrugged. "Why don't you own a crossbow?"

She ignored me. "And anyway, even if this was the 1700s, duels were fought with pistols, not crossbows."

I gave her a pointed look. "Which is exactly why I also brought a dagger."

Kia groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Okay, first of all, I was joking. And second, what did we say about you carrying weapons to fancy events?"

"That it makes me extra prepared?" I offered innocently.

"No," she deadpanned. "We said that after last time, you were officially banned from carrying anything sharper than your wit."

I scoffed. "Well, that's just unfair. My wit is far more dangerous."

Kia rolled her eyes, muttering something about how she was too young for this level of stress. Meanwhile, I adjusted my dress, mentally preparing for whatever's he awaited us inside. This was either going to be a disaster or a fashionable disaster.

As soon as we stepped through the grand double doors, the entire room seemed to shift. The hum of conversation slowed, eyes subtly or not so subtly, turning in our direction. A ripple of awareness spread through the crowd, like someone had just thrown a stone into a perfectly still pond.

I felt Kia tense slightly beside me before she

relaxes once she comes to term with the new crowd.

I smirked, adjusting the strap of my dress with deliberate ease while winking at an old man. "Relax. They're staring because we look good."

And we did. The warm glow of the chandeliers hit just right, casting a soft shimmer over our outfits.

A group of sharply dressed men near the bar straightened up, their murmured conversation pausing. A few women side-eyed us with barely concealed curiosity, while others subtly adjusted their own gowns, as if our presence had suddenly turned this into a silent competition.

"Lopez," Kia whispered, her lips barely moving. "I think I just heard a guy gasp."

I fought back a grin. "Well, at least we're making an impression."

A waiter passing by nearly tripped over his own feet as he glanced at us, barely managing to keep his tray balanced. Kia let out a small, amused exhale. "We should probably tone it down before someone faints."

I tilted my head, scanning the room. "Or we could just enjoy it."

A man nearby easily in his late twenties, tall, with sharp features and an expensive-looking suit, raised his glass in our direction, a slow, intrigued smirk playing on his lips.

I love whatever this is.

With that, we stepped further into the ballroom, the air around us buzzing with unspoken curiosity and admiration. If they wanted to stare, let them.

A few hours later, the initial wave of attention had settled, and I found myself in a quieter corner of the ballroom, deep in conversation with an elderly couple who, to my surprise, were far more entertaining than half the people here.

Now, technically, Kia had warned me to stay away from old people, something about me misbehaving, but in my defense, they were the ones who approached me. And their first words? How I must have broken a lot of hearts tonight.

I mean...maybe

"Mr. Harold, you just need to pay a small amount for the procedure," I said, making my case with an encouraging smile.

He eyed me warily, swirling his whiskey. "I don't know... sounds like a scam."

I placed a hand over my heart, feigning deep offense. "Sir, please. You have to trust me on this. Liposuction by—"

"Oh my god, Ana."

I turned to see Kia striding toward us, arms crossed, looking both exasperated and resigned.

"Tell me you're not trying to sell plastic surgery to this poor man," she said, rubbing her temples like she already had a headache.

I scoffed. "I am not selling anything. I am simply educating him on his options."

Mrs. Harold, who had been watching the exchange with an amused smile, leaned in. "Personally, I'd love to hear what she has to say. Do you offer Botox as well?"

"Oh, absolutely," I said smoothly. "In fact, I'd recommend a combination package—"

"She's not a surgeon!" Kia cut in, exhaling like she'd given up on life. "She's not even remotely near a doctor! She just loves saying it."

Mr. Harold chuckled like he knows I was lying. "You know, I like this one. She's got a real business mindset."

I mean I hope I do. I didn't create a successful business just like that.

Mrs. Harold nodded approvingly. "And excellent taste. Now, tell me, dear, if I get the Botox, do I get a discount on the liposuction?"

Kia looked at me in horror. "No, because she's not a real doctor!"

"Kia don't be jealous of my success for god sakes!" I turned to Mrs. Harold with a professional smile. "For you? First consultation free."

Before Mrs. Harold could eagerly accept my very reasonable offer, a sudden shift in the atmosphere cut our conversation short.

The low hum of conversation in the ballroom faded into murmurs, gasps escaping from the lips of more than a few women. The air practically crackled with a newfound tension. Around the room, the men straightened, subtly—or not so subtly placing protective hands on their partners' waists, as if claiming them. Meanwhile, the women leaned in, whispering, wide-eyed, clutching their champagne glasses like they had just witnessed something divine descend upon the mortal realm.

My brows furrowed. "What's going on?"

Kia, who had just been lecturing me about my lack of medical credentials, suddenly grabbed my wrist in a death grip. "Oh. Shit."

There was a crowd gathering at the entrance, bodies shifting and stepping aside as though some invisible force demanded it. And then like the parting of the Red Sea—they moved, clearing a path.

For two men.

Not just any two men.

Two godly men.

And not just that—it was Zander and Adrian.

I inhaled sharply, feeling the weight of their presence even from across the room.

Zander walked in first, exuding a quiet power, his every step deliberate, precise. His tailored black suit fit like a second skin, his expression unreadable, his sharp jawline accentuated by the golden glow of the chandeliers. He carried himself like he owned the very air around him, like the world bowed at his feet and he found it utterly unimpressive.

And then there was Adrian.

The complete opposite.

While Zander moved with an air of cold detachment, Adrian strode in beside him like he was here to enjoy the attention like he welcomed it. His lips curled into a smirk, his dark eyes glinting as he scanned the room. And the worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing. He winked at one girl. Then another. Then a third. Each time, they blushed, fanning themselves as if their very souls had been set on fire.

I was still pretty mad at Zander till yesterday.

Well... not mad mad, because, technically, it wasn't his fault that he didn't like our coffee breakfast enough. But still. I had taken it personally. Because, at the end of the day, I am very fucking hot.

His loss.

So what if he's so ridiculously pretty that I feel like dying every time I see him? That's a him problem. Not mine.

But now, standing here, watching him walk in like he owned the damn world—dashing, effortlessly beautiful, his suit fitting him too well—I suddenly couldn't remember why I was even upset in the first place.

Something about coffee?

Yeah... definitely not important anymore.

Just as Kia and I turned back to face the old couple, I felt it, that unmistakable sensation of being watched.

Adrian's gaze caught mine across the room, and the moment our eyes met, his smirk widened like he had just discovered his favorite game.

Oh, just great.

Before I could even process the incoming chaos, Adrian leaned closer to Zander, saying something low in his ear. Whatever it was, it made Zander's head snap in our direction, his sharp eyes locking onto me with an intensity that sent a jolt through my spine.

And just like that—without hesitation, without a single wasted second—they both started walking straight toward us.

Oh. Shit.