Chapter 125 – Dorian POV
Getting the ticket was expensive.
Worth every cent.
I wasn't invited—of course I wasn't. They only send those little white-gold invitations to old money royals and generational elites. Not to the nouveau riche. Not to self-made men like me.
But I couldn't miss this.
Not tonight.
The moment I heard Ivan would be attending—despite the headlines, despite the scandal—I knew I had to be there. And, as always, money talks. I bought a ticket at three times its value from some desperate tech heir who didn't even blink twice.
And it seems I'm not the only one eager to see blood.
Someone powerful clearly has it out for Ivan. Probably his wannabe in-laws or some other snake in the Vale nest. All that chaos online? That wasn't just petty gossip. That was war.
Serves him right.
Ivan always played at being untouchable. Cold. Beautiful. Perfect. But I knew him before the designer clothing, before the magazine covers and award-show interviews. I knew him when he was still begging for shows, for relevance, for me.
And now?
He walks around like a goddamn crown prince. Like he never once begged for my attention. Like he didn't used to show up outside my place at two a.m., shivering and sorry and so, so obedient.
I want to see that Ivan tonight.
The one who cried when I ignored him.
The one who whispered my name like it hurt.
Let's see if that icy mask of his cracks under pressure. Let's see if he still tastes like desperation.
They say the higher you rise, the steeper the fall.
And Ivan? He climbed too fast. Too far. On the back of another man.
For the humiliation he caused me,I wish him this and more. I didn't even get the chance to retaliate properly. Every time I tried, Zander Vale would appear like a wall of steel, cutting me off. Protecting him.
Shielding him.
But let's see how Mr. Shining Armor handles this now that the poison is coming from his own family. From people he can't control. Can't silence.
He'll break.
He'll buckle.
He'll dump Ivan like last season's accessory, and when that happens—I'll be there. Waiting. Because no one else will want him. Not after this. Not when the whole world sees what he really is.
And I?
I'll be the one to remind him what happens to little boys who bite the hand that fed them.
When I finish the glass, I hear it—paparazzi outside. The familiar chaos of clicking shutters and shouted names. They're loud, desperate. Hungry.
Guess who's finally here.
The room shifts. A collective breath, barely concealed curiosity rippling through the crowd like electricity. Most people pretend to be above it, swirling drinks and whispering behind fans, but I see the way necks crane, how eyes flicker toward the entrance.
No one wants to miss the show.
And then—there they are.
Ivan and Zander.
Walking in side by side, picture-perfect, like the scandal doesn't cling to their heels like smoke.
They seem unbothered.
Confident. Bored, even.
Please.
I know Ivan. That's a mask, and I was the one who taught him how to wear it.
Inside, he's probably unraveling. They both are. All of this is just for show, a temporary illusion before the cracks begin to spread.
And I'll be here when they do.
I lean back against the marble-topped bar, drink in hand, and let the bitterness settle under my tongue like ash.
Let them play pretend. Let the cameras adore them for one more night.
The fall always comes after the flashbulbs fade.