The Investor Gala

Growing Up i have never understood why rich people like mirrors as much as they do.

Every room, every corridor that exists in everywhere you turn, there’s another polished surface waiting to remind you what you look like when you’re pretending not to care about your looks and just want to focus on enjoying the moment.

Tonight, I’m pretending pretty hard.

The gown Adrian picked for me surprisingly it fits perfectly well, which would have annoyed the few weeks ago me more than ever, but I am not as pissed as I would have been. Silver, smooth, and sharp enough that people stare for half a second too long than they should. I tell myself that’s good. Let them stare. Maybe they’ll look at me instead of him.

Adrian looks like the embodiment of precious diamond that is rarely in stock and that only goes up. Crisp black suit. No tie. Confidence that fills the space before he opens his mouth to speaks.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod, though I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to, but I nodded my head regardless.

The elevator ride down is quiet. You can hear the hum of nerves under everything around, mine, his, maybe both. He glances sideways once, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Typical.

When the doors open, the noise hits a different strings, spreading across the room, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly. The kind of sound that feels kind of expensive.

Adrian puts a hand at the small of my back. Gentle, firm. Guiding, not asking.

And suddenly, we’re on.

People swarmed around him the way bees go for honey investors, socialites, the predictable mix of men with strong opinions and women with stronger perfume. I stand there, smile locked in place, the “supportive wife” they all expected me to be.

It’s weird. I used to dream about being in rooms like this where deals happen and futures get written and rewritten.

But standing next to Adrian, I can’t tell if I’m part of the equation or just the decoration which makes me uncomfortable.

One woman sleek red dress, voice like champagne bubbles leans in too close to him. Laughs at something he says. Touches his arm in a way that seems too friendly.

I sip my water, smile politely, and think about stabbing my lemon wedge with the straw.

He catches my eye across the circle, and something flickers there. Maybe guilt. Maybe amusement. Maybe nothing. With Adrian, you can never tell.

Half an hour in, I’ve smiled more than I did in the last month. My cheeks hurt. My shoes, too.

I find a quiet corner near the balcony doors, breathing space between me and everyone else. I can still see him across the room, charming a cluster of investors like it’s a sport he was born to win.

The man could sell ice to Antarctica.

And yet, sometimes, he looks… tired.

That thought surprises me. I don’t know why I even care.

“Lia?”

I turn, startled. It’s Evan, one of the few people here whose voice doesn’t make me want to run away.

We used to work together, before… all this.

He looks good. Not billion-dollar kind of good looks like Adrian, but real. Grounded. “Wow,” he says, eyes widening a little. “You clean up well.”

“Thanks. You too.”

We fall into easy conversation work gossip, mutual friends, the usual. It’s normal. Normal feels like oxygen.

Then his gaze shifts over my shoulder. His smile changes. “Speak of the devil.”

I don’t even have to look. I can feel Adrian approaching, the way you feel thunder before lightning.

“Evan,” Adrian says, cool and polite. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Blake,” Evan replies, the same careful tone people use around open flames.

I sigh inwardly. Great. Testosterone at ten paces.

Adrian slides an arm around my waist light, possessive, deliberate. “Enjoying the evening?”

“Actually, we were just talking about”

“Good,” Adrian cuts in. “You always did have good taste in conversation partners.”

Translation was she is mine, back off.

Evan’s jaw tightens. “Right. Well, I should go say hello to the Whitmans. Lia, good seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

He walks away.

I turn on Adrian the second he’s gone. “What was that?” Giving a stern look.

“What?”

“That little territorial display. The arm. The tone. The whatever that was.”

He looks at me, unbothered. “It’s called maintaining appearances.”

“For who? Them or you?” I asked a bit pissed.

He doesn’t answer.

Later, after a round of speeches that could put even a caffeine to sleep, Adrian disappears into a cluster of older men with cigars and offshore accounts. I use the chance to escape outside.

The night air is cool. The city makes light sound below like a living thing. I lean on the railing, finally breathing again.

Inside, through the glass, Adrian’s reflection shifts among the crowd confident, contained. Like he was built for this world.

I used to think maybe I could be, too.

“Running away already?” His voice comes from behind me, softer now.

“I needed air,” I say. “And silence. Preferably both.”

He steps beside me, hands in his pockets. “You handled tonight well.”

“Did I?”

He nods. “Better than I expected.”

“Wow. High praise.”

He glances at me, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You’re still angry.”

“Of course I’m angry,” I say. “You keep treating me like a PR accessory.”

“Because that’s what this arrangement is,” he says evenly. “Temporary. Strategic.”

Something twists in my chest. “Right. How could I forget?”

He studies me for a long moment. “You really think that’s all it is?”

“I’d rather not think about what it is or what it is not.”

“Lia”

“Don’t.” My voice cracks. “Please, not here.” I said with a shaking voice.

We stood in silence for a while. The music from inside seeps through the doors, distant and muffled.

Finally, he says, almost to himself, “You looked beautiful tonight.”

I laugh softly. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” he says. “Just… reminded.”

“Of what?”

He hesitates. “That I don’t get to have everything I want which is shameful.”

Something in the way he says it quiet, matter of fact makes my throat go dry.

“You already have everything,” I whisper.

He shakes his head once. “You really don’t know me too well then.”

Someone opens the doors behind us, light and noise spill out. We step apart automatically. A waiter brings fresh drinks; Adrian takes two, hands me one. The gesture feels practiced, but his fingers brush mine, and for a split second, it doesn’t.

I take a sip. “You ever get tired of pretending?”

He considers. “Pretending what?”

“That this doesn’t bother you. That any of this means nothing.”

His gaze meets mine steady, unreadable. “I don’t pretend, Lia. I will survive.”

It’s such an Adrian thing to say cold on the surface, raw underneath.

“Must be exhausting,” I murmur.

He almost smiles. “Only when you’re around.”

I should roll my eyes. Instead, I look away, because if I look too long, I might forget every reason I’m supposed to hate him.

Inside, the speeches end. Applause. Cameras flashing. Someone calls his name.

He looks toward the sound, then back at me. “Duty calls.”

I nod, not trusting my own voice to speak.

He takes a step closer. For a moment, I think he’s going to say something or apologize, maybe. Instead, he just touches my wrist, brief and light.

“I’ll find you after,” he says, and then he’s gone.

I watch him disappear into the crowd.

The city skyline glows behind him through the glass, and for a second, he looks almost human. Not the headline, not the CEO, not the man who wrecked my trust but the boy who once believed in something more than money.

Maybe I’m imagining it. Probably.

Still, as I stand there alone, I catch myself thinking that if this is what surviving looks like for him, maybe we’re both just doing the same thing. Pretending we’re fine.

The night stretches on. The stars don’t care. And somewhere between the applause and the music, I start to realize I don’t either at least not in the way I used to.