By six in the evening, Danica was already doing her makeup. Her movements were careful and precise, just a light matte base to even out her complexion, a hint of contour to enhance her cheekbones, a soft rose blush that looked like a natural flush, and a champagne shimmer on her eyelids to bring life to her gaze. No eyeliner, just curled lashes touched with a light coat of mascara. Her brows followed their natural shape, groomed neatly without being overdrawn. Finally, she applied a matte red lipstick—not too bold, but just enough. Her hair was styled in a sleek low bun, with not a strand out of place.
"I'm not going full glam tonight," Danica said as she dabbed powder on her cheek. "I don't want to look like I tried too hard. I'm aiming for effortlessness."
"Effortlessness?" She asked her with a soft smile. "Are you saying I look like I didn't put any effort in?"
Danica smirked. "You look tired but still gorgeous. It's annoying."
She closed her eyes as Danica dusted setting powder beneath them. "Here we go again."
"I'm serious," Danica said, her voice sincere. "Max, even if I left your face bare, you'd still walk into that gala as the most beautiful woman. No question on that. Did you forget you were the reigning queen back in college?"
She chuckled. Danica was the only one she ever trusted with her makeup and somehow, she always got it right.
Danica paused and looked at her through the mirror. "Are you sure about tonight? No more headaches?"
"Yeah. I got some rest earlier after the charity event," She replied softly. "And I want to be there. I poured so much into planning this. I just want to see how it all turned out."
Danica studied her for a moment before nodding. "Then I'll make sure you look like a goddess."
And she did.
The moment she stepped out of the car at the hotel entrance, the camera flashes lit up like thunder. The media was everywhere. Employees stood on either side of the red carpet—some smiling, others talking excitedly, while a few simply watched her walk by.
Her red gown fit her perfectly. It was silk, backless, and cinched at the waist like it had been tailored just for her. She entered the hall with quiet confidence. There was no announcement, yet the atmosphere shifted the moment she arrived. Heads turned. In that instant, she silently thanked Danica.
She scanned the venue. The hall was grand and elegant. Gold was the motif, soft chandeliers cast a gentle glow, and displays of the company's milestones lined the walls. A small stage stood at the front.
She hadn't been sitting long when she saw a familiar pair enter the room—Troy and Trina. Trina clung to Troy like someone afraid he'd slip away. She wore a flowing blue gown that looked expensive. Her smile was radiant as she greeted people, the perfect image of a proud girlfriend.
She looked away.
On the other side of the hall, she spotted Seymour speaking with a group of investors. As if sensing her gaze, he turned and caught her eye. He walked over almost immediately, dressed in a black tuxedo and looking as charming as ever.
"Hey, beautiful. Nice event, huh?"
"Thanks," she replied with a small smile.
"You're amazing at planning. Want to come work for me? I could use someone as efficient as you," he teased.
She was about to respond when an intern called her. The party was about to begin, and her go signal was needed. She gave Seymour a polite nod and excused herself.
The program moved quickly. There were speeches from executives, awards for employees of the year, and recognition for long-time service. Even Troy promised new bonuses.
She stayed behind the scenes, guiding the flow with the coordination team. Occasionally, people approached her to compliment the event or thank her—and she acknowledged them with simple nods.
Later that night, the music changed. The lights dimmed slightly as the band began playing smooth jazz.
"And now, the happiest part begins," the emcee announced. "We're inviting everyone to the dance floor."
She was about to step away when someone appeared beside her.
"Care to dance?"
It was Seymour.
Before she could respond, she noticed someone approaching—Troy. He was walking straight toward her, eyes fixed on her. Trina trailed behind him.
She turned to Seymour with a smile. "I'd love to."
She took Seymour's hand before Troy could reach her. She didn't even glance back. Maybe she was imagining things. Why would Troy want to talk to her? He came with Trina, after all.
They moved to the center of the dance floor, surrounded by other employees who were also starting to dance. The golden lights shimmered off the fabric of her gown.
They danced, Seymour's hand resting lightly on her waist, hers on his shoulder.
"Hey... thank you," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"The delivery from a few days ago."
Seymour frowned which confirmed something. Judging from his expression, she realized she was wrong.
"Yeah," she nodded, keeping her tone casual. "I thought it was from you."
He looked genuinely confused. "A delivery? That wasn't me, Maxine. I'd rather invite you in person than send something. That's such a lame move."
She nearly rolled her eyes at his arrogance. A part of her wanted to kick him right now.
She nodded slowly. "I see. I'm sorry, it was probably my mom. I just assumed..." She looked away, watching the lights.
If it wasn't Seymour, then who?
After their dance, she decided it was time to leave. Most guests had already gone home, while a few employees lingered, drinking and chatting. It was only 11 p.m.—early for others, but she was exhausted. She just wanted to rest. Her nose had been itchy for hours.
While calling Elmo, who was waiting in the parking lot, she sat on a bench near the garden. It was quiet there. The only thing moving was the cold breeze and the rustling leaves brushing against her gown. She sighed and gently slipped off her heels. Her legs ached from the long day.
Before she could lean back, a shadow fell across her.
A pair of shoes stood in front of her.
Her hand froze mid-call. Slowly, she looked up. Her brows furrowed, her lips parted. She didn't expect to see him.
Troy.
"Max," he said, his voice soft.
But instead of comfort, it stung. His presence reminded her of every tear she had shed because of him.
"Can we talk?"
She didn't answer right away. She stared at him, her gaze cold.
"Talk," she said flatly. She didn't even know why she gave him a chance. Maybe she just wanted to hear what lies he would tell this time.
"I'm not here to argue—"
"Then don't," she cut him off, standing up with her heels still in her hand. "If you came all the way here just to question me, then it was a wasted trip. We have nothing to talk about. I thought I made that clear. Goodnight, Mr. Martinez. I hate to say this, but please stop wasting my time."
Troy's jaw tensed. "We'll never resolve anything if you keep acting like this, Maxine."
She scoffed and gave a short, dry laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Martinez. Sorry to burst your bubble, but who told you I had any plans to fix this?"
"It's your birthday tomorrow," he said, his voice softer now, as if he was already surrendering. "Let me make it up to you. Just tomorrow. Let me prove myself."
"What is it this time, Troy? Wanted to get laid? Is Trina not satisfying you enough?"
"I just wanted to talk," he said firmly, holding her gaze.
She was the first to look away. His stare made her feel like she was about to melt. Her knees trembled—not from the cold, but something else.
She turned and walked away. Because she knew, if she stayed one second longer, she might fall for him all over again.