NIGHT OF STARS AND MASKS

Chapter 3

The night of the Henson’s Group 10th Anniversary Gala finally arrived, and the city seemed to glitter in celebration. The venue was the Grand Sapphire Hall, located in the heart of the business district—a magnificent building with glass walls that reflected the city lights like diamonds. Red carpets were rolled out from the entrance, and paparazzi and guests alike lined up, creating a buzz of excitement that could be felt blocks away.

For Megan, however, the journey to the venue felt more like a march toward a battlefield.

Earlier that evening, she had stood in front of the cracked mirror in her small room, staring at the reflection she barely recognized. She was wearing the dress Clara had forced upon her—a bright, blood-red gown that was too tight around the waist and too revealing at the neckline. The fabric was cheap and scratchy, and the sequins sewn onto it were gaudy and flashy. It was the complete opposite of the elegant blue dress she had poured her heart into making, which now lay hidden safely in her bag. Clara had inspected her before she left, satisfied that Megan looked "attention-grabbing," completely unaware that the attention this dress drew was exactly what Megan feared.

"You better make this worth my while," Clara had warned at the door, her eyes cold. "Don't come home empty-handed."

Now, standing at the entrance of the Grand Sapphire Hall, Megan felt small and exposed. The air conditioning inside was cool, but she felt hot and flushed, uncomfortable in the heavy fabric. As she walked in, she saw her colleagues dressed in their finest, looking elegant and professional. She saw the confused glances they threw her way—the dress made her stick out like a sore thumb, and not in a good way. She felt their whispers cutting through the music.

“Is that Megan?”

“Why is she dressed like that? It looks so cheap…”

“Trying too hard, isn’t she?”

Megan hugged her arms around herself, trying to make herself invisible. She retreated to the far corner of the ballroom, near the towering potted plants and away from the main dance floor. She held a glass of sparkling water, her knuckles white as she gripped it, watching the crowd swirl around her. Laughter, clinking glasses, and soft jazz music filled the air, but she felt completely alone.

Meanwhile, on the upper level of the hall, behind the scenes, Dylan Henson stood looking down at the gathering. He was dressed in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo that fit his tall frame perfectly, looking every bit the powerful billionaire he was. But his expression wasn't one of triumph or celebration; it was one of intense focus. His eyes scanned the crowd below, moving past the faces of dignitaries, celebrities, and employees.

"Still looking, Sir?" his assistant, Mr. Gomez, asked softly beside him.

"Always," Dylan replied, his voice low. "I know she’s out there. I feel it. Tonight… tonight feels different."

He took a deep breath and straightened his cuffs. "Let’s go down."

As Dylan Henson made his grand entrance into the main hall, the atmosphere shifted instantly. Conversations died down, and all heads turned toward the staircase. The applause erupted, loud and thunderous. Cameras flashed rapidly. People craned their necks to get a glimpse of the elusive CEO. He moved with grace and authority, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, and smiling that charming but distant smile.

But as he moved through the crowd, his eyes never stopped searching.

Megan watched him from her corner, just like everyone else. Even from a distance, he radiated an aura that commanded respect. She couldn't believe this was the man who owned the company where she worked. He looked so different from the blurry memory of the boy she saved years ago, yet there was something familiar in the way he held himself—something resilient. She quickly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. She knew people like Dylan Henson lived in a world far removed from hers; their paths were never meant to cross.

Or so she thought.

As the night went on and the speeches and formalities concluded, the music shifted to a softer, slower melody. The dance floor filled up, but Megan stayed in her safe corner. Feeling a slight itch on her neck caused by the rough fabric of the dress, she shifted uncomfortably. In her haste to adjust the strap, she accidentally bumped her elbow against the large potted plant beside her.

Crash!

The sound of the ceramic pot shattering against the marble floor cut through the music and chatter. Soil and leaves scattered everywhere. The room went quiet for a split second, and hundreds of eyes turned toward the noise. Megan froze, her face burning with humiliation. She crouched down, frantically trying to pick up the broken pieces and gather the soil, tears stinging her eyes.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she whispered repeatedly, her voice trembling.

She felt the heat of the stares, the judgment, the embarrassment washing over her. She just wanted to disappear. But as she was scrambling, a pair of polished black leather shoes stopped right in front of her.

She looked up, her vision blurry with tears. Standing there was Dylan Henson himself.

The crowd held its breath. The CEO of the company, the most powerful man in the room, was standing right in front of the "clumsy" employee everyone was laughing at.

Megan expected anger. She expected him to call security or scold her for ruining the event. She braced herself for the worst. But instead, Dylan bent down. He didn't look at the mess on the floor; he looked straight at her face.

His eyes, which had been cold and guarded all night, suddenly widened. The familiar curve of her cheek, the way her eyebrows furrowed in distress, the specific shade of her eyes—even framed by the ridiculous red dress—matched the image he had held in his mind for over a decade.

The noise of the party faded away completely for him.

Slowly, carefully, ignoring the broken pottery and the dirt, Dylan reached out his hand toward her.

"It's you," he said, his voice barely a whisper but loud enough for her to hear. "I finally found you."

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