The grand banquet hall of the Athena Palace glittered beneath a constellation of crystal chandeliers. Athena's elite swirled in tuxedos and shimmering gowns, their laughter rising and falling with the delicate clink of champagne flutes and the low hum of orchestral strings in the distance.
At the center table, Seraphina Hale sat radiant in her custom Hale Lumina creation: a gown of midnight silk woven with silver threads and studded with tiny gems that flickered like captured stars with every breath she took. The fabric clung to her frame with deliberate elegance, the neckline plunging just enough to command attention without surrendering mystery.
Tonight was meant to celebrate the Hale family's triumphs—their sprawling ventures, their towering empires, and most of all, Hale Lumina Design, the jewelry brand Seraphina had forged from nothing but vision and relentless will.
The host's voice boomed through the speakers, warm and reverent. "At just twenty, Seraphina turned her mother's generous birthday investment into a revolution. She single-handedly founded Hale Lumina, transforming it into the leading name in modern everyday luxury jewelry—bold, wearable pieces designed for real life, not locked vaults. Under her fierce leadership, it's not merely a brand. It's an empire."
Seraphina rose gracefully as the applause swelled. The midnight silk whispered against the floor as she crossed the stage. She accepted the crystal trophy—Best Rising Entrepreneur—with a radiant smile honed over years of flashing cameras and unforgiving expectations. Her fingers closed around its cool weight; she leaned forward to kiss the host lightly on both cheeks, the gesture effortless, gracious, exactly what the room demanded from a Hale.
Flashes burst in staccato rhythm, immortalizing the moment. She lifted the award in quiet acknowledgment, chin high, letting the spotlight catch the delicate diamond choker at her throat—one of her own designs, a silent declaration of independence.
The Hale name had always felt like a double-edged crown—heavy with expectation, sharp with division.
Her childhood had shattered early. At four, her parents' divorce tore through headlines and courtrooms like a storm. Victoria—brilliant, unforgiving, beautiful in her fury—took Evelyn, the younger daughter, into a sleek penthouse world of strategy sessions and society lunches. Seraphina remained with Edmund in the old family mansion with her step-family, surrounded by oil portraits of ancestors and family members whose eyes seemed to judge her every ambition.
Victoria fought bitterly for more time with both daughters, but the courts ruled decisively. Visits became scheduled, almost ceremonial. Still, Seraphina cherished those weekends—the three of them curled on Victoria's sofa, whispering secrets, feeling briefly like a complete family against the world.
She returned to her seat amid lingering applause. Derek King watched her descent with that familiar possessive gleam in his dark eyes, his hand already waiting beneath the tablecloth. As she settled into the chair, his palm slid onto her thigh—lightly, but firmly. A claim disguised as affection.
She didn't flinch. Instead, she reached for her champagne flute, taking a measured sip while her gaze swept the room. Near the far archway stood her mother, Victoria, resplendent in emerald silk, expression unreadable from this distance. Beside her, Evelyn—arms crossed, posture rigid—stared at Seraphina.
Derek leaned in, breath warm against her ear. "You were perfect up there, darling. As always."
"Thank you, Derek," she answered, voice smooth as glass.
His thumb traced a slow circle on her thigh. "But you don't need to keep proving yourself. Not anymore."
The words carried the weight of countless prior conversations or so she thought. She remembered the limousine earlier that evening—tinted windows shielding them from the city lights. His hand had slid higher, fingers pressing just hard enough to leave faint marks beneath the silk, marks she loved. His lips had grazed her neck, not tender but deliberate, branding small hidden bruises that would bloom like secrets. When he cupped her cheek, his thumb had pressed her jaw a fraction too firmly.
"You're the most brilliant woman I've ever known, Seraphina," he'd murmured. "That's exactly why you shouldn't waste that brilliance on boardrooms and deadlines. You were made for better things."
Derek's vision for their future had always been crystal clear, delivered with velvet concern rather than demand. A wife who stayed home and took care for family, who raised their children lovingly, who greeted him each evening with dinner warming and a smile ready. No "desperate middle-class women chasing validation and working all the time" as he'd once phrased it, voice laced with pity. He painted idyllic scenes: lazy mornings in bed until noon, afternoons lounging poolside, evenings wrapped in his arms while invisible staff managed the rest. A life of luxury where her only duty was to be beautiful, devoted, and entirely his.
"Let me take care of you," he would say, eyes earnest. "You'll never have to worry again. No stress, no late nights, no decisions that aren't about us. I'll handle everything. You just have to trust me—completely."
When she hesitated, he reminded her—gently, always gently—how fortunate she was. Most women would kill for a man willing to provide so generously. Ambition, left unchecked, might one day make her unhappy, ungrateful, distant. Not every woman had a King who knew what was best for her, even when she hadn't yet realized it herself.
Tonight, his hand squeezed once more—a silent reinforcement. Seraphina returned his smile, the decision settling deeper into her bones like a vow she believed she had chosen freely: she would step away from Hale Lumina. Let him carry the weight. Let someone else fight the battles.
What she failed to notice was how his smile faltered for a split second when he thought she wasn't looking. How his hand withdrew from her thigh only to drift sideways, giving a brief, secret squeeze to the woman seated on his other side—Evelyn.
The host yielded the stage. Derek rose with effortless confidence, buttoning his tuxedo jacket as he strode forward. He flashed that trademark smile—the one that still sent delicious tingles racing through Seraphina's stomach, even after years.
She caught his eye across the lights. The tingles intensified. He's going to propose. Her heart pounded erratically against her ribs. She had waited for this moment forever, dreamed of it since their engagement was first whispered about in boarding-school corridors. A smile stretched across her lips; she nodded almost imperceptibly—her answer already a resounding, breathless yes.
He stepped down from the stage, hand slipping into his pocket. The room hushed in anticipation; conversations faded to murmurs. He walked toward their table with purpose.
Stopped directly in front of it.
And lowered himself to one knee…
…before Evelyn.
"Evelyn," he said, voice ringing clear and steady through the stunned hall, "please marry me."
The diamond ring caught the chandelier light, scattering prisms across Evelyn's shocked, then radiant face.The ring, one of her own creations, a fan favourite for engagements these days.
Gasps rippled outward like waves. Cameras flashed frantically.
Seraphina's mind went blank.
The champagne flute slipped from her fingers, crystal shattering against the marble floor in a delicate explosion no one seemed to notice over the rising applause for the new couple. Derek slid the ring onto Evelyn's trembling hand. Evelyn's eyes—wide, shining—lifted to meet Seraphina's across the table for one fleeting second. Triumph flickered there, sharp and unmistakable.
Victoria stepped forward from the archway, tears already glistening as she embraced the pair, murmuring blessings loud enough for nearby tables to hear.
Seraphina rushed from the hall, tears pouring down from her eyes. Something a Hale would never show in public.