"Yes! That's the one!" Petra, who had followed me shopping for a new dress, now jumped in excitement as I came out with my third choice of dress. Of course I needed a dress for the funeral, a lot of rich folk were going to be there and I wasn't ready to be the anomaly. "Now you need matching shoes and a bag" she said, exploring through the options of heels and bags that were placed on the shelf. "Nothing too much petra" I called out from the dressing room where I was now taking off the dress I had finally chosen. "You're so boring Vivi" Petra said with a groan, definitely already about to pick the most dramatic pencil heels ever.
Petra Reynolds was the type of friend every girl needed. —The influence, but in a somewhat good way. The type of girl that wanted everyone to have fun and be happy. She was an irish Redhead with messy curly hair that she had always embraced and barely styled. She had deep emerald green eyes that were clutched by her upturned eyes, a snubby nose and plump even pink lips that graced her heart shaped face. Most people called her Merida the Disney princess. But she always said "Merida is scottish! I'm irish!!"
I paused as my phone buzzed wondering who it was. I glanced at the screen. : <<<"Dress up, and come to The Plaza tomorrow. That's where the funeral is being held.">>> I silently stared at the message Lucas Devereux sent, almost not believing my eyes.
The Plaza Hotel—an establishment I'd only ever imagined in the realm of kings, celebrities, presidents, and millionaires. To step through its doors meant more than just mingling with the wealthy; it demanded that I look absolutely stunning.
Walking into The Plaza Hotel for the first time felt like stepping straight into a movie—one where I wasn't sure who the main character was. The grand entrance alone was enough to make me pause.
The revolving doors gave way to a lobby so extravagant it almost didn't seem real. High, gilded ceilings stretched above me, catching the glow of massive chandeliers that looked like they belonged in a palace. The floors gleamed with polished marble, and every detail—ornate moldings, gold accents, the faint scent of fresh flowers—felt meticulously designed to remind you that this wasn't just a hotel; it was The Plaza.
Guests glided through the space like they owned the world, draped in designer suits and couture dresses, some deep in conversation, others sipping champagne like it was just another Tuesday. To my left, The Palm Court sat beneath a stunning stained-glass ceiling, where impeccably dressed people lingered over tea and pastries. To my right, luxury boutiques lined the hall, displaying items I could probably never afford in my lifetime.
It was overwhelming, yet strangely intoxicating—the kind of place that made you want to stand up straighter, speak a little softer, and pretend you belonged, even if you knew deep down you didn't.
As I took it all in, my eyes landed on a set of towering double doors at the end of the hall—ornate, gold-trimmed, and slightly ajar. From inside, I could hear the soft hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the distant notes of a live band. That had to be the ballroom. The Funeral party. My destination.
I squared my shoulders and made my way toward it, trying to exude the kind of confidence this place demanded. But just as I reached the entrance, a woman stepped directly into my path, like she had been waiting for someone exactly like me.
She looked like she was in about her early thirties, she had sharp features, piercing brown eyes, and straight brunette hair pulled into a sleek, no-nonsense ponytail. Dressed in a fitted black dress that had a high slit revealing her toned thighs, she looked like she belonged here—unlike me, apparently. Her gaze flickered over me, taking in my white kitten heels, my black flared dress that had a white off shoulder and a tiny rose attached to it to complete the perfect classy and modest vibe I was trying to give off, a seventy dollar dress Petra and I picked out yesterday with a black kitten heel and a white marble purse to match my pearl necklace that accessorized my neck. But, I couldn't tell if she was impressed or not.
"Your name miss?" she asked, with a tight smile her voice clipped and polite.
"I'm Navina Sinclair. I was invited by Lucas Devereux" I started hoping my name was on the invitation list which she was already navigating through. "The CEO of Devexon Ventures." I concluded.
That was when she gave me a stern look.
"Your name isn't on the list ma'am" she said,Then, without another word, she turned her back to me and greeted the next set of guests with a dazzling smile.
I couldn't believe that Lucas didn't remember to add my name to the list of invitations for the funeral.
I frowned, shifting slightly to get a better look inside the ballroom, but she stepped closer, deliberately blocking my view. "Ma'am please step aside" she said now looking at me like I was a lunatic trying to enter the party.
I stood there for a moment, stunned, my grip tightening around my purse. So this was how it was going to be.
"Excuse me," I said again, my patience running dangerously thin. I already felt embarrassed, all the light makeup that Petra forced on my face and the heat that was forced on my hair by River to be styled in light curls, couldn't just go to waste.
She barely spared me a glance before stating . "Ma'am, please. I'll call the security if you don't leave quietly without causing any trouble."
I stared at her, stunned. —Seriously? I was going to be carried away like some lunatic? Just because my name wasn't on the list?
I felt tears prick at my eyes—not from sadness, but from sheer frustration and humiliation. I wasn't some random nobody crashing an event. I had been invited but not added to the list—-apparently!.
"She's with me," a voice said from behind me.
It was light yet firm, smooth yet commanding, with a slight depth that carried an air of maturity. I turned around, and the moment my eyes landed on him, my breath caught in my throat.
"Mateo?"
I couldn't hide the disbelief in my voice. Of all the people in the world, the last person I expected to see here—saving me, no less—
Memories from two nights ago flashed in my mind: the darkened club, the way I had ditched Petra without hesitation, the heat of his touch as he led me out and into his 1970 Dodge Hemi Challenger R/T Convertible. The way his Hublot Big Bang watch gleamed under the dim luxury hotel lighting as his hands roamed over me. The scent of his cologne—rich, bold, intoxicating—like money, power, and something dangerously alluring.
And now, here he was, standing in front of me like some kind of savior. Looking even better in the warm nightlights, exuding the effortless confidence of a man who belonged in places like this.
"Mi Reina." he said smoothly, extending his arm toward me, a teasing grin playing on his lips. His confidence was effortless, almost intoxicating, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on people.
Mateo was tall, with dark curls that framed his sharp features just right. His thin, flirtatious dark eyes held a knowing glint, and his Grecian nose and sculpted jawline were complemented by a well-groomed Balbo beard that only added to his rugged charm.
That night, I had the privilege of appreciating the definition of his abs and the strength of his thick, well-carved biceps up close. Now, those same muscles were hidden beneath a perfectly tailored black Tom Ford tuxedo, though the slightly undone buttons of his crisp shirt offered a tempting glimpse of his defined chest—and just enough chest hair to make the look effortlessly seductive. It was clear the open buttons were intentional, a deliberate choice to add to his allure. And judging by the way my pulse quickened, it was working.
Mateo didn't wait for my answer—he simply stepped forward, his confidence unwavering, and I instinctively slipped my arm through his. As if on cue, the snobby woman at the entrance straightened, her demeanor shifting in an instant, almost nervous as she stepped aside without another word.
With Mateo leading the way, we walked into the ballroom, and for a moment, I almost forgot to breathe.
The space was breathtaking—ornate gold-trimmed walls stretched high toward a ceiling painted with detailed murals, each stroke of color illuminated by the glow of crystal chandeliers. The room was alive with movement, filled with elegantly dressed men and women who looked like they had walked straight out of a luxury magazine. Tuxedos, designer gowns, diamonds catching the light with every graceful turn of the head.
The scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey lingered in the air, mixing with the soft, mellow tunes of a live jazz band stationed in the corner. Their music—smooth, rich, effortlessly cool—set the perfect tone, adding to the undeniable elegance of the evening. It was the kind of sound that made you want to sway, to sip something strong, to lose yourself in the atmosphere.
Servants moved gracefully through the crowd, dressed in crisp black and white uniforms, balancing trays of glasses of champagne and hors d'oeuvres— culinary masterpieces that looked almost too pretty to eat. Every now and then, a burst of laughter or the clinking of glasses punctuated the low hum of conversations, spoken in voices that carried the weight of wealth and power.
Mateo led me deeper into the crowd, his grip on my arm firm yet easy, like he belonged here. Like we belonged here. And for the first time that night, I wasn't so sure I didnt.
As we moved deeper into the room, I could feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Eyes turned in our direction—full of curiosity. Mateo carried an effortless power, the kind that naturally commanded attention, and with my arm looped through his, it felt like I did too.
Then, the energy in the room changed.
Lucas Devereux had spotted us.
Even among the sea of power players, he stood out. His sharp, assessing gaze locked onto me from across the room, and without hesitation, he excused himself from a conversation and started making his way over. He moved with the kind of authority that made people instinctively step aside, his presence undeniable.
Mateo noticed him too, but unlike most men, he didn't tense. He didn't waver. If anything, there was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes, like he had been expecting this.
"Mateo," Lucas acknowledged smoothly, but his focus was solely on me. "I'll take it from here."
It wasn't a statement. It was an order.
But Mateo wasn't the kind of man to be dismissed. Instead of stepping aside immediately, he leaned in, bringing his lips close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
"Try not to miss me too much, mi reina," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. Then, with that signature cocky smirk, he let go of my arm and disappeared effortlessly into the crowd, leaving me standing there with Lucas Devereux —who had just claimed me, whether I was ready for it or not.
For a moment, I just stood there, still feeling the aura of Mateo's words against my skin, the warmth of his teasing whisper lingering in my ear "mi reina". But the second I turned my attention back to Lucas, the atmosphere shifted entirely.
His gaze was unwavering, sharp, and unreadable. Up close, Lucas Devereux was even more handsome —towering, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored Armani black suit that did nothing to soften his commanding presence. Unlike Mateo's easy, flirtatious confidence, Lucas carried himself with an edge of control, like a man who expected absolute obedience.
"You shouldn't be associating with someone like Mateo, Navi ," he said, his voice calm as his eyes softened looking down at me, now staring at me like a priceless item.
"You forgot to add me to the list, Mateo was the one that brought me in" I argued Now remembering what had just occurred outside the ballroom.
"I'm sorry Navi, it will never happen again" he said Now staring sincerely into my eyes. "Come on, my family is just up front, you should meet them." He gestured a hand to me, I held his soft warm hand as he led me through the crowd.
"Navina, dear," Jane exclaimed as she pulled me into a hug. We stopped near the memorial area where people were paying their respects to Lucas's father, Mr. Liam Devereux—a man whose power and influence still persisted even in death. In his 60s, he looked like an older version of Lucas. I glanced at his photo, feeling like his calm eyes were staring right back at me. The gentle wrinkles around his eyes followed by a polite smile that he gave with his full lips and a classic Grecian nose, gave him a unique charm. He'd aged gracefully, just like Jane, Lucas' mom. They were definitely the IT couple of their days.
"You look so elegant!" Jane said, now admiring me.
"White to a funeral? She's supposed to wear a pure black dress". A voice said— revealing a young girl, maybe 18 or 19 or probably in her early 20's? She had striking dark wavy hair and delicate features, her thin eyes now glaring at me like I did something wrong.
"I love it, it makes her stand out…." Lucas began, his gaze lingering on me like he was just seeing me for the first time. I paused in place now feeling like I was being examined more than admired. " Like an Angel". He continued his eyes not leaving mine.
Just then his eyes left mine now going up the stage where the band were stuck in a musical void. "Attention everyone." Lucas started taking the microphone from the jazz singer who was previously singing smoothly. I moved closer assuming it was going to be his speech to pay respect to the deceased.
"I would like to announce—" he paused now smiling at me which gave me a knowing feeling that sent shivers down my spine.
"This fine young woman here, Navina Sinclair," —he said, his voice smooth and unwavering. "Is now my fiancée."
I felt my entire body go rigid, my breath catching in my throat. The word hung in the air like a bomb that had just been dropped, and suddenly, the noise in the room seemed to fade. Conversations slowed. Eyes turned. I could feel the weight of every gaze, every questioning look burning into me as my pulse skyrocketed.
And then, across the room, my eyes met Mateo's.
He stood at the other end of the ballroom. His expression was unreadable— his dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.
Lucas had just announced to the whole world that I was his fiancée. The press, the gossipy family friends, the snobby relatives and the fake well wishers. Everyone.
I had thought this was going to be a private affair, but this was more than I could handle.