[Editing]

The rooftop ballroom of the Mein Lux Hotel was nothing short of breathtaking. Its iconic shimmering dome offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

The vaulted ceiling soared high above, adorned with cascading crystal chandeliers that refracted light like stars caught in motion. The walls, paneled in polished mahogany, gleamed under the warm glow of sconces, each one shaped like a blooming rose.

At the far end of the room, a grand stage stood framed by velvet drapes, with the massive screen at the center. Its high-definition display showcasing the words "Dream Catcher Entertainment's 40th Anniversary Gala" in bold lettering.

Beneath it was a grand, multi-tiered cake adorned with intricate designs and gilded accents. The phrase "Forty Years of Leadership: Uniting and Empowering Emerging Creative Voices" was elegantly inscribed across its middle tier, adding to the evening's air of prestige and purpose.

Every detail of the gala was a testament to Mother's obsession with perfection.

Towering floral arrangements of rare orchids and roses flanked the entrance, their fragrance mingling with the crisp notes of champagne.

Immaculate servers glided through the crowd, offering trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres, while a live string quartet performed on an elevated platform, their music weaving an atmosphere of understated elegance and refinement.

A live string quartet performed on an elevated platform, their music weaving an atmosphere of understated elegance and refinement.

The room teemed with the world's elite.

Renowned actors mingled with tech moguls, chart-topping singers sipped champagne with international influencers, and CEOs swapped stories with directors whose films shaped global culture.

Each conversation felt like a game of chess, every glance and gesture a calculated move.

These people could change the trajectory of careers with a single nod—the powerful, the ambitious, and those desperate to cling to relevance.

At the center of it all was my mother, Eveline Hart.

Draped in a deep emerald gown that seemed to glow in the chandelier light, she was a portrait of elegance and authority.

A glass of champagne in hand, she floated between clusters of dignitaries and celebrities, her smile sharp enough to cut diamonds.

Watching her was like watching a conductor lead a symphony.

This was not just a party.

It was a statement. An empire displaying its benevolence to the world while subtly reminding everyone of its dominance.

I stood near the stage with a glass of champagne in hand that I barely sipped.

For hours, I drifted through the crowd, my smile as polished as the marble beneath my feet. I didn't allow it to falter, even as a familiar emptiness gnawed at me.

I felt like a doll on display. Admired, scrutinized, but never truly seen.

Everywhere I turned, someone sought my attention. Their words heavy with subtext and smiles often insincere.

My feet ached in my heels, and the weight of the evening pressed down on me like an invisible cloak.

I wasn't alone though. My so-called friends clustered around me, their voices and laughter cutting through the ambient hum of the orchestra.

Lia had the photographers eating out of her hand. Paloma gestured grandly, her pearl earrings glimmering with every movement. Dixie thrived in the spotlight like it was made for her. And Stella, ever-poised, a quiet storm of old-money confidence.

Tonight, their focus was on Jacklyn, the member of our circle who wasn't here.

"She's not here tonight, is she?"

"You mean Jacklyn?" Stella raised her brow.

Lia nodded. "Do you think she'll show up after what she pulled?"

"Not a chance." Paloma said, smirking. "She's probably at home, wallowing in regret. Can you imagine facing us after that?"

Dixie nodded in agreement. "Clearly. Picking a fight with Desiree in the middle of the hallway? Honestly, what was she thinking?"

Stella tilted her head, her dark hair brushing against her shoulder. "Do you think she regrets it?"

Before I could respond, Cece Rose suddenly appeared, her sequined gown catching the light like liquid gold. The global pop sensation had a way of turning every head in the room, and tonight was no exception.

"Desiree, darling!" Cece's voice rang out like a bell, immediately pulling our attention. She flashed a dazzling smile as she paused before our group, her gaze sweeping over everyone. "You girls look divine. Truly. Those dresses, the way they complement your figures... pure perfection."

The compliments were expected, but they still made each of the girls smile.

"You, my dear," she continued, turning toward me with a sly grin, "are glowing in that dress. Valentino, right?"

I offered her a smile and a small nod. "Good eye. Thank you, Cece. You look stunning yourself."

She laughed lightly, leaning in just a little closer. "You're too kind. Truly. You know, Desiree, I've been thinking... you and I, we could do something extraordinary together. Something that would make everyone sit up and take notice. I can already picture it—Dream Catcher backing a new project with someone like me at the helm. It's all about timing, isn't it?"

I didn't miss the meaning beneath the surface. Her words, although subtle, had that same calculated tone, one that felt almost like an offer wrapped in a compliment. The kind that wasn't easily dismissed, but wasn't outright demanding either.

"An interesting idea." I responded, choosing my words carefully. "You should bring it up with my mother. I'm sure she'd be interested."

Cece's smile faltered just a fraction, though it was gone almost immediately.

"Of course. But you know, a little nudge from you would make all the difference." Her eyes locked with mine for a brief moment, heavy with unspoken understanding.

Before I could respond, another voice interrupted the tension that hung in the air.

"Miss Hart! Always a pleasure."

I turned to find Zayd Bennett, a streaming executive with a reputation as polished as his gold cufflinks, approaching with his usual confident stride.

He extended his hand to greet me, his grin wide and easy. "What a night your mother has orchestrated! Truly remarkable. And you—" He paused, looking me over appreciatively, "You're following in her footsteps so perfectly and it's clear you're already becoming a formidable part of it. It must be quite the experience, stepping into such a legacy."

Yeah, like wearing a crown of thorns while everyone cheered.

"Thank you, Mr. Bennett. It's certainly... a unique experience. My mother's legacy is a big shoe to fill, but I've learned to do so with grace."

Zayd's smile deepened, clearly satisfied with my answer. "You're doing an excellent job. I'm sure your mother's proud."

I nodded, though I knew it wasn't pride that made her eyes glint the way they did when she looked at me.

As he continued speaking, I found my attention slipping away, my mind already on other matters. The suffocating weight of the evening settled back on my shoulders.

Everywhere I looked, I felt the weight of my mother's presence—an invisible hand guiding every detail and interaction.

She loomed even when she wasn't visible.

As if on cue, the crowd's hum softened as Mother ascended the stage.

"Good evening everyone!" Mother began. "Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate the achievements of Dream Catcher Entertainment but to support a cause close to our hearts. Art has the power to change lives, to lift spirits, and to create futures. We aim to provide opportunities for young talents to rise, to dream, to achieve..."

The applause was thunderous at the end of her speech, but I couldn't shake the hollow feeling it left in my chest. I knew better than most what lay beneath the surface of mother's words.

The need for air seized me suddenly, the weight of the room pressing harder against my chest. My fingers itched to claw at the pristine image I was forced to wear.

With polite nods and murmured excuses, I slipped toward the nearest exit and headed down to the sprawling garden.

The cool night air hit me like a balm, washing over my skin and easing the tension in my shoulders.

I let out a slow breath, the kind that tasted of stolen freedom.

But my moment of reprieve didn't last.

The soft crunch of footsteps on gravel drew my attention.

An older man, tall and wiry, with sharp features that seemed incongruous against the opulence of the evening, approached.

His tailored suit might have masked him as just another guest, but the calculated edge in his movements spoke volumes.

Even before he opened his mouth, I knew he wasn't like the others upstairs, who swirled their wine and spoke with feigned sincerity, eager to ingratiate themselves with me or my mother.

No, this man didn't even belong to the party.

His demeanor had the subtle sharpness of someone who enjoyed the thrill of seeking secrets, like a traveler savoring dangerous journeys for elusive treasures.

My instincts whispered to tread carefully, but curiosity tethered me to the encounter.

"Miss Hart." he greeted, his voice warm but his eyes calculating. "A pleasure to finally meet you. Do you mind if I join you?"

I inclined my head with practiced ease, my polite smile perfectly in place. "Not at all."

He moved closer, stopping just at the edge of my personal space, his stance too measured to be casual.

"Quite the event your mother has put together. It's impressive, truly. She has such a... distinctive way of ensuring her presence is felt."

I studied him, letting my gaze sweep over his posture, the subtle tension in his shoulders, and the way his fingers tapped lightly against his leg. His words were smooth, yet his delivery held a rhythm—the kind that suggested he was assessing my responses.

"She's very passionate about what she does." I replied, my tone neutral but layered with a faint edge of intrigue.

"Oh, undoubtedly." he said with a soft chuckle. "Dream Catcher is a marvel, isn't it? The kind of empire most can only dream of."

His casual words carried a deliberate undertone, weaving between admiration and implication.

But I knew better that it wasn't flattery. It was bait, veiled behind harmless pleasantries.

"Indeed." I said smoothly.

He gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering just long enough to suggest he was sizing me up.

"Oh, forgive me. Marcus Finn, Strategic Development at EchoStream Media."

"An honor to meet you, Mr. Finn." I replied, my smile polite yet distant.

The name struck a chord—EchoStream had been circling Dream Catcher's ventures for months.

A harmless introduction? Hardly.

"The honor is mine." he said, his tone light but his words layered. "You're the talk of the evening, you know. Everyone's curious about the future of Dream Catcher under your leadership."

I tilted my head, feigning modesty.

"That's very kind, but my mother's guidance remains the cornerstone of the company's success."

"Of course, of course." he replied smoothly, though a flicker in his expression betrayed his intent. "Still, you must have thoughts of your own. A vision, perhaps, for where things might go."

I kept my smile steady, but my mind pieced together the nuances of his approach.

He wasn't here to discuss vision. He was testing boundaries.

"I believe the best visions are built on a foundation of trust and understanding. Wouldn't you agree?"

He chuckled softly.

"Trust, yes. Vital in any great endeavor. Though, of course, trust is often tested by... circumstances."

His words were subtle, but the weight of them hit like a warning shot.

"Circumstances?" I asked, my tone light yet curious, inviting him to reveal his hand.

"Oh, just the usual whispers." he said, his smile faintly conspiratorial. "Every empire has its shadows, doesn't it? And some... are darker than others."

I let my gaze hold his, maintaining an air of mild curiosity.

He was circling something—something he wanted me to confront. But instead of biting, I decided to keep the mask of naivety firmly in place.

"Rumors often lack substance, Mr. Finn. They rarely survive under scrutiny."

"True." he agreed, inclining his head. "But some whispers carry a kernel of truth. It's simply a matter of looking closely enough. For instance," he continued, his tone deceptively casual, "one might find... interesting details in unexpected places. Say, behind closed doors."

A chill crept into my veins, though I masked it with a soft laugh.

"Closed doors often hold mundane secrets, like forgotten paperwork or poorly hidden snacks."

His smile deepened, as though amused by my response.

"Perhaps. But sometimes, they hide something more significant. Something... transformative."

He leaned ever so slightly closer, his voice dropping a fraction.

"It's always wise to be aware of what lies within your own house, Miss Hart. After all, clarity is a powerful thing."

I studied him carefully, the flicker of challenge in his tone unmistakable.

I returned his gaze, my smile unwavering.

"Clarity is indeed powerful. Thank you for the insight, Mr. Finn."

His chuckle was low, almost indulgent.

"Just a habit of mine, offering perspectives. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Hart."

He turned and walked away, the crunch of gravel under his shoes fading into the distance.

As his figure disappeared into the shadows, the storm he'd planted within me grew.

Each word he'd spoken replayed in my mind, the subtlety of his implications and the precision of his intent leaving no doubt—Marcus Finn wasn't here to mingle at all. He was probing, delivering a message, wrapped in pleasantries and sealed with a challenge.

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The reflection staring back at me felt like a stranger.

My hair was perfectly styled, my makeup flawless—every detail tailored to perfection.

Yet, behind the polished exterior, unease rippled through me.

I adjusted the hem of my dress, the motion as futile as trying to smooth the thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind.

What was I searching for in my own reflection? Validation? Reassurance? Neither seemed to come.

Instead, there was only the nagging echo of Marcus Finn's words.

They had burrowed deep into my thoughts, their insinuations weaving into my consciousness like a persistent thread.

Secrets behind closed doors, he had hinted.

Hidden truths buried under layers of façades.

I told myself I should forget it. After all, my mother's achievements spoke for themselves.

But his cryptic tone and the weight of his gaze lingered.

I wanted to prove him and everyone who doubted my mother wrong, but that would mean confronting the whispers in my own mind—the ones I had ignored for far too long.

My gaze hardened as I turned from the mirror and grabbed my phone. I needed something to ground me, to shift my focus.

As I scrolled through the latest news, an article featuring my mother caught my eye.

There she was, poised and radiant, accepting a trophy at the Olden Gold, her speech captivating the audience. She spoke of resilience, innovation, and the unwavering pursuit of dreams—all while standing on the stage of one of the most prestigious annual events in the world.

Even after the hectic gala the night before, she had gone straight to the airport, flown halfway across the world, and delivered a flawless performance.

She was unstoppable, a force that demanded admiration. And yet, as the applause in the video faded, the whispers of doubt Marcus had planted returned, louder this time.

What was the cost of her brilliance? What truths lay behind her polished exterior?

I clicked off the phone, my reflection in the dark screen catching my eye. My expression mirrored the conflict twisting inside me—a mix of pride, uncertainty, and an unsettling curiosity.

Then, an idea began to form, sharp and clear.

My mother wasn't here.

This was the chance to find answers, to explore the one place in the mansion that was both sacrosanct and shrouded in mystery: her office.

If there was truth to Marcus's insinuations, it would be hidden there. Though I doubted there would be...

...

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