Ophelia stood motionless in her bedroom, the soft glow of the evening light casting long shadows across the floor.
The large matte box on her bed seemed to pulse with unspoken demands.
She slowly lifted the lid, revealing the most stunning gown she had ever seen.
It was a deep, rich crimson, crafted from layers of luxurious silk and delicate French lace.
The off-shoulder neckline elegantly framed her collarbones and shoulders, while the bodice featured intricate silver beading that sparkled like captured starlight.
The dress flowed into a graceful A-line silhouette, with a subtle train that trailed behind her with every step.
It was sophisticated, powerful, and undeniably sensual.
She ran her fingers over the fabric, feeling its smoothness.
This wasn’t just clothing, it was a statement.
Well, Tristan isn’t the type who wears a brand anyone else could just buy, so she understood why this is beautiful.
With a deep, shaky breath, Ophelia slipped out of her robe and stepped into the dress.
The silk relaxed against her bare skin as she zipped it up.
It fit like it had been sewn directly onto her body, hugging her waist and accentuating every curve.
She added the matching diamond earrings and the delicate necklace, both pieces heavy with luxury.
When she turned to the full-length mirror, her reflection stole her breath.
She looked radiant as the dress brought out the warmth in her brown eyes and made her skin glow.
But the illusion shattered quickly.
This wasn’t her dress.
It was Tristan’s choice.
She was dressing up for him, for whatever he planned after the party.
The realization sent a wave of humiliation crashing through her, hot and bitter.
Her hands clenched at her sides as she fought back the sting of tears.
“I am not this person,” she whispered to her reflection.
“I am a daughter trying to save her father. Not… whatever he wants me to be.” Yet here she was, transformed into someone elegant and fragile, ready to be displayed.
The conflicting emotions and shame, reluctant beauty twisted tightly in her chest.
At exactly 8:30 PM, the sleek black luxury car waited downstairs.
Ophelia gathered her small clutch and stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against her exposed shoulders.
The driver held the door open silently, and she slid into the leather seat.
During the ride to Aurelian Hall, her mind raced.
The Aurelian Hall shimmered beneath the night sky, its magnificent architecture and dazzling lights making it look like a jewel in the heart of the city. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Only when she got there did she decide to check what this was about, she picked up her phone to do research and she paused reading the first line that popped up.
Tonight, the Aurelian Hall hosted the annual Medical Innovation Gala, the most prestigious event in the industry.
This was far more than a glamorous celebration.
It was where revolutionary partnerships were forged, fortunes were made or lost, and the future of regenerative medicine was decided.
The world’s leading researchers, investors, and medical pioneers had gathered under one roof, each hoping to leave their mark on the industry.
She paused for some seconds.
She was supposed to know this, was it because of her scandal that is why her seniors had cast her away?
If Tristan had never introduced her she would know nothing about it, it was actually even hosted in a low profile, every single one there is prestigious so to avoid unwanted news they don’t allow the reporters to know much.
“Ma’am… we have arrived.” The driver’s voice called back her attention and she let out a smile at him as she nodded her head a bit embarrassed at how lost she was that she hadn’t noticed he had been trying to gain her attention for a long.
“Thank you..” she whispered as she alighted from the car, the moment she stepped onto the red carpet, reality hit hard but she made sure her embarrassment was well covered as she walked toward the entrance.
“Your name please?” she gulped down hard at this, her name was suddenly too hard to pronounce especially because of her father’s latest scandals.
“Ophelia Cater.” she finally let out.
“I’m sorry, Miss Cater,” the security guard said after checking his tablet.
“Your name is not on the guest list. Recent… associations with certain pharmaceutical issues have flagged your credentials.”