Grace looks up quickly and forces a little smile.
"Yeah. Of course. Um… Can you excuse me for a second? I need to find the restroom."
Harry nods, gesturing toward the far end of the hall. "Sure, sure. It's just over there, past the bar and the second fountain."
"Thanks."
Without waiting for more, Grace slips her arm free and heads off in a quick pace, her black flats silent against the polished floor. She's one of the few here not towering in heels, and she's thankful for that now—able to glide swiftly between guests without stumbling.
Back near the entrance, the conversation wraps up.
"All right, have a great time, Julian and Lena," Robert says warmly, guiding his wife away toward another familiar couple.
As they leave, Julian remains motionless. His hands are in his pockets now, expression unreadable, but his gaze is headed somewhere else.
Lena notices.
She follows the line of his eyes, her head tilting slightly. Her eyes land on a figure disappearing into the crowd—a woman in a modest black dress, moving briskly toward the far end of the hall.
"Come, let's talk to my friends who work as designers at Harrison," Lena says, her voice smooth and warm, though there's a slight edge to it as she gently guides Julian by pushing her arm further into his.
Julian nods, but the motion feels mechanical. He allows Lena to lead him, but his mind remains elsewhere, lingering on the face he can still see so clearly in his thoughts—Grace's face, her eyes sparkling in the light as they briefly locked earlier.
He moves with Lena through the crowd, but his steps feel distant, the murmur of voices around him fading into a dull hum. They pass groups of elegantly dressed guests, all engaged in their own conversations, their laughter and chatter swirling around them like a soft breeze. But for Julian, everything seems muted.
Meanwhile, Grace walks into the ladies' room, her heels barely making a sound against the marble floor as she moves toward the mirror. She stops in front of it, and her reflection takes her by surprise. Even to her own eyes, she looks radiant.
Her round and wide eyes gleam with a natural sparkle, her lips soft and plump with a gloss that catches the light just right. There's no makeup to speak of, yet her skin glows with the kind of effortless beauty that others often envy.
Her dress, simple and elegant, hugs her in all the right places—not too tight, not too revealing—but just enough to show the hint of her graceful figure. The black fabric, sleek and modest, reaches down to her knees, with a neckline that's neither too low nor too high. It's a timeless look, understated and chic, effortlessly beautiful in its simplicity.
I look great…
The thought lingers in her mind as she smiles at herself in the mirror, allowing the rare moment of self-appreciation to settle in. But even as she stands there, her reflection suddenly seems distant, her thoughts shifting once again—this time to Julian.
Why is he here?
The question arises from nowhere, and as soon as it does, a flicker of realization hits her.
Right, this is Harrison Group hosting the fashion party...
She feels a sharp pang of understanding.
Of course. No wonder a well-known professional like Professor Julian would be here.
Her mind drifts to the woman beside him—his companion for the evening.
I guess they're close…
The thought makes something tighten in her chest. She pushes it down, determined not to give in to the sudden rush of unease.
Why should I care? she tells herself, trying to shake the feeling. It's none of my business.
But despite her best efforts, the image of their locked eyes earlier is inescapable.
I can't forget it…
She closes her eyes for a moment, the memory replaying in her mind. The connection, however fleeting, was enough to leave an imprint.
She can still picture him in her mind—Julian, in his simple yet stunning black tuxedo, the white shirt beneath it sharp against the dark fabric. The silhouette of his frame, the precise lines of the suit, all making him look like he stepped out of a different era.
And the 1920s-inspired theater with its gleaming chandeliers, the soft hum of music in the background—it all framed him perfectly, as though he belonged there, as though the space and time itself had been designed for him.
"He looked gorgeous." The thought slips past her lips in a soft whisper, almost to herself.
It's impossible to deny, though she's reluctant to admit it.
Her smile fades just a little as she continues to stare at her reflection.
That's when a sharp sound of high heels clicking against the polished floor echoes through the room.
Grace turns her gaze toward the mirror, already knowing who it is.
It's that woman again—the one with Julian.
Grace immediately feels the awkwardness creeping up her spine, her instinct telling her to turn and leave the room, to escape the tension. Grace gives a quick nod and turns around but before she can move any further, Lena's voice stops her.
"Hi, I think we've met before?" Lena's tone is sweet, but there's an underlying sharpness to it, like she's digging for something.
Grace feels her chest tighten and turns slowly to face Lena. She offers a polite nod, her lips curving into a neutral smile.
"Hi. And yes, I remember you. I'm Grace Silver. Nice to meet you," she says, her voice steady, even though she can feel the disparity between them.
Lena's eyes linger on Grace a moment longer than necessary, scanning her from head to toe with an assessing gaze that makes Grace feel exposed. It's not the first time someone's looked at her like that, but it still makes her uncomfortable.
"Well, have a great night," Grace says quickly, eager to escape the conversation, and she steps toward the door.
But just as she reaches for the handle, Lena's voice halts her.
"How did you come here?"
The question hangs in the air, and Grace can feel the weight of it pressing against her.
Grace turns back, trying to keep her composure. They're facing each other now, and the gap between them feels far too wide for Grace's comfort.
"Oh…" Grace pauses, the silence stretching for a moment as she considers how to respond. The tension in the room thickens, but she forces her voice to remain calm. "My friend had an invitation and brought me over."
Lena's smile doesn't falter, but something about the way she's looking at Grace feels off. She nods slowly, as if processing the answer, but the smile lingers longer than necessary.
"Oh, I see," she says, her voice smooth, but the edge in it is impossible to miss. "It was just surprising that anyone can literally come to this party."
Anyone...?
The word strikes Grace like a cold wind, and she feels her stomach twist.
What does that supposed to mean...?
Lena's gaze flickers up and down Grace's form again, her lips curling into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"I mean, this party is meant for high-class, prestigious people, not for ordinary students like you. I was just wondering how you got in. I guess you have a nice friend who happens to have an invitation here."
The words drip with a condescension that Grace can't quite shake. She feels a flush rise to her cheeks, the awkwardness now giving way to a cold sense of tension. She can't quite place it, but something about Lena's tone, the way she's examining her, leaves a sour taste in her mouth.
"Well, yeah, I guess," Grace says with a faint, polite smile. She quickly adds, "Well, have a great night," before turning on her heels and stepping out of the restroom.
As soon as she exits, the air of the grand hall feels lighter—less stifling. The tension of the past moments seems to dissipate, but the weight of Lena's words still lingers in her mind.
What was that… Grace thinks, her pulse still quickened from the exchange.
There's something about the encounter that feels off, deeply uncomfortable, yet she can't entirely dismiss what Lena said.
She pauses for a moment, looking around the hall. The extravagant décor, the polished marble floors, the glinting chandeliers above—it all suddenly feels dizzying, overwhelming.
Why am I here, really…?
A wave of self-doubt hits her, and she feels almost foolish standing in the midst of all this luxury, a stark contrast to the simpler world she's used to. Grace shakes her head slightly, trying to shake off the feeling.
I shouldn't even care about any of this, she tells herself.
Her eyes find Julian again, standing at the far end of the hall, talking with a group of well-dressed individuals. He looks every bit the part of the professional, the fashionable professor, commanding attention even in the midst of the crowd. And yet, something about it makes Grace's chest tighten.
It's not the guy who helped her when she was stranded in Mellany, riding her behind him on the motorcycle, making her feel safe. That feels like a distant memory now—like a dream she's trying to hold onto.
What she sees across the hall now is a man living in a world that's completely different from her own.
Grace lets out a small, almost bitter laugh, the absurdity of it all finally hitting her.
It's just so stupid, she thinks.