Chapter 1 — The Night of Betrayal

Ivy

The room pulsed with the hum of chatter and the clinking of crystal glasses, a symphony of opulence that set Ivy Laurent’s nerves on edge. Gilded gold accents shimmered in the warm glow of chandeliers, while sprawling floral arrangements sprawled across the ballroom like decadent declarations of wealth. The annual Veronique Gala, a celebration of the city’s creative elite, was more than just a glittering event—it was Ivy’s battleground tonight.

Her dress, a daring column of crimson silk with geometric cutouts, was her own design. Every line, every stitch was a testament to her ambition, a blend of bold artistry and confidence. It fit her like armor, the fiery hue a reflection of her determination—her phoenix pendant glinting faintly beneath the light, a quiet emblem of her resilience. But beneath the glossy exterior, a tremor of unease flickered.

This night had to be perfect. Maison Veronique’s creative director was somewhere in the crowd, and a commission from them would be a career-making moment. Ivy had spent years clawing her way into the upper echelons of the fashion world—this was her chance to cement her place. And yet, Alexander’s presence clung to her like a shadow, tethering her aspirations to his calculated charm.

Her hazel eyes scanned the room, searching for him. She found him near the bar, surrounded by a cluster of industry elites. Alexander Reed, her fiancé—or at least, the man she had thought he was. His blond hair was perfectly styled, his tailored tuxedo a flawless extension of his meticulously crafted persona. His easy smile drew laughter from the group around him, but something in his demeanor—too smug, too unbothered—made Ivy’s stomach tighten.

For months, she’d ignored the signs. The late nights, the vague excuses—she had chalked it up to the demands of their careers, clinging to the belief that their love was unshakable. There had been a time when his ambition mirrored her own, when their partnership felt like an unstoppable force. But now, watching him laugh so easily, so detached, her faith wavered.

She took a step closer, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The sound of his voice reached her—a low, confident murmur that seemed to cut through the crowd like a knife. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but something in his tone caught her, sharp and dangerous.

“Well,” Alexander said, his champagne flute tilted just so, catching the light, “what can I say? Ivy has her talents, of course, but she’s always been… emotional. A bit reckless. You know how creatives can be.”

The group chuckled, their laughter polite but tinged with complicity. Ivy froze, her fingers brushing the phoenix pendant at her throat.

“And honestly,” he continued, his words sliding out with practiced ease, “she’s been so caught up in her little projects lately, I almost didn’t have the heart to tell her. But, well, we all have our needs, don’t we?”

The laughter sharpened, each note slicing through Ivy’s chest.

“Claudia’s been a refreshing change of pace,” Alexander added with a smirk, “and she understands the importance of discretion. But don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.”

Claudia. The name landed like a stone in the pit of her stomach, heavy and cold. Ivy’s mind reeled, splintered fragments of memory flashing like jagged shards of glass—a willowy blonde with an overly sweet smile, lingering touches on Alexander’s arm, the way his gaze flickered back to her at events. She had dismissed it all, trusting him. Trusting them.

The air grew stifling, the distant hum of the gala melting into a muffled blur. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as her grip on the pendant tightened. She wanted to look away, to retreat, but her feet refused to move.

How could she have been so blind? How could she have let him reduce her to this?

For a moment, humiliation and disbelief threatened to consume her. She felt the weight of every eye in the room, imagined their whispers, their judgment. But then, amidst the haze of shock, a spark flickered.

Her nails bit into her palm as anger surged, hotter and brighter than the humiliation. The memory of late nights at her sewing machine, pouring herself into her designs, fueled her resolve. Alexander Reed would not define her. He would not take this night from her.

Her heels clicked sharply as she strode toward him, her spine straight, her head held high. The din of the crowd seemed to hush with each step, her focus narrowing to the man at the center of her fury.

Alexander turned just as she reached him. His smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, his polished charm sliding into place. “Ivy,” he said smoothly, raising his glass. “I was just singing your praises.”

“Is that what you call it?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like the edge of a scalpel.

Conversations around them quieted, the curious weight of onlookers’ gazes settling on them.

Alexander’s expression tightened, his eyes darting toward the crowd. “Darling,” he said, his tone low and placating, “is something the matter?”

“Darling?” Ivy repeated, her tone dripping with venom. She stepped closer, her hazel eyes burning with fury. “Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare call me that.”

A hush fell over the group, their laughter now a brittle, uneasy silence.

Ivy’s voice trembled slightly as she continued, a mixture of betrayal and fury bubbling to the surface. “How long did you think you could humiliate me behind my back and I’d just… go along with it?”

Alexander’s jaw tightened, a flicker of panic breaking through his polished facade. “Ivy,” he said sharply, his voice a low hiss. “This is neither the time nor the place.”

“Oh, I think it’s the perfect time and place,” Ivy shot back, her voice rising. “You want to talk about discretion? About control? Let’s talk about how you bragged about your affair at a public event—as if I wouldn’t hear you.”

A collective gasp rippled through the room, whispers spreading like wildfire.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Alexander said, his tone frantic as he reached for her arm. “Let’s not make a scene—”

Ivy wrenched her arm free, her glare fierce enough to stop him in his tracks. “Ridiculous? You’re the one who made a scene, Alexander. You just didn’t expect me to be in it.”

Her voice rang out, clear and sharp, silencing even the faintest murmurs. The weight of judgment shifted, pressing down on Alexander as his carefully constructed facade began to crack.

Ivy took a step back, her crimson dress sweeping behind her like the tail of a comet. Her voice turned icy, her tone final. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

She turned on her heel, her footsteps steady as she strode toward the exit.

The cool night air hit her like a wave as she stepped outside, the city’s lights glittering beyond the marble steps. She paused, her hands trembling as they gripped the phoenix pendant. Her breath hitched, the weight of the confrontation crashing over her.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly as a new thought took root. This wasn’t the end of her story. It was merely the beginning.

With purposeful steps, she descended into the night, leaving the golden glow of the gala behind. She didn’t yet know what came next, but one thing was certain: she would rise. She would rise, no matter the cost.