The gala was a whirlwind of crystal chandeliers and power players, held in a sleek Manhattan ballroom. Lila wore a midnight-blue gown that hugged her curves, her nerves masked by a practiced smile. Ethan, in a tailored tux, looked like he belonged, but his hand on her lower back felt like an anchor.
"You're stealing the show," he whispered as they danced, his breath warm against her ear.
She laughed, letting him spin her. "You're not so bad yourself."
But as the night wore on, Lila noticed the whispers. Colleagues approached Ethan, their eyes flicking to her with curiosity—or judgment. A woman in a red dress, introduced as Claire, Ethan's ex, gave Lila a once-over that felt like a challenge.
"Ethan's always had a type," Claire said coolly. "Ambitious, but… fleeting."
Lila's smile didn't waver, but doubt crept in. Did she belong here? Did she belong with him?