For a moment, Elena couldn't move. The world had gone hushed except for the music swelling in the background, and Julian de Vera's hand hanging steady in front of her.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She clutched the stem of her glass so tightly she thought it might snap. Marina's stare pressed against her from one side, sharp and accusing, while Clara nudged her other arm under the table, eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief only a best friend could enjoy.
Still, Elena stayed frozen. Why me? Why now? Everyone's looking.
Julian leaned just slightly closer, voice pitched low enough for only her.
"Don't leave me hanging, Miss Santiago. One dance—then I'll let you go back to hiding."
The tone wasn't pleading. It was calm, even teasing, but threaded with something that pressed against her hesitation: certainty.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she set the glass down slowly, fingers trembling. She took a breath that barely steadied her, then lifted her hand. It hovered for a second—awkward, almost reluctant—before resting in his palm.
Julian caught every flicker: the faint tremor in her fingers, the way her shoulders tensed as though the stares in the room weighed double, the quick swallow at her throat. But he also saw that once her hand touched his, she didn't pull away.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, subtle but undeniable. He tightened his hold just enough to anchor her.
"See?" he murmured as he helped her stand. "Not so difficult."
Around them, applause rippled through the hall, and whispers bloomed like sparks catching fire.
Clara covered her grin with her hand, her eyes gleaming with delight. Marina's smile faltered, forced into place, her nails biting into her palm beneath the tablecloth.
Julian guided Elena toward the center of the room, their joined hands catching the light.
And though her every muscle was taut with nerves, she let him lead.
The music shifted, softer now, a waltz that carried the weight of tradition but left room for intimacy. The crowd parted in quiet awe, all eyes on Julian and the young woman whose hand he'd chosen.
Elena's steps at first were hesitant, her heels clicking against the polished floor with too much care, as though she feared misstepping in front of the glittering guests. Her other hand brushed at her skirt, a nervous tic, before Julian gently guided it to his shoulder.
"Relax," he said under his breath, his tone even but warm. "I won't let you trip."
Her eyes flicked up to his—briefly, like a secret stolen glance—before darting away again. Still, something in his steady grip anchored her, and she found her footing as the melody carried them forward.
Julian noticed everything. The way her breath hitched when the room clapped in rhythm. The faint furrow in her brows that smoothed only after he drew her a fraction closer. The way her pulse jumped at her neck, betraying nerves her composed face tried to mask.
To anyone watching, she was poised. To him, she was trembling and luminous all at once.
From the sidelines:
• Clara clasped her hands together like she was watching a K-drama scene unfold live, her grin almost splitting her face.
• Marina sat stiffly, her jaw clenched as she tried to mirror polite applause, though her eyes betrayed the storm inside.
• Aurelio and Celeste de Vera exchanged a look, pride flickering in their gaze—yet curiosity too, as though silently wondering who exactly Elena Santiago was to their son.
• Adrian and Gabriel nudged each other with knowing smirks, their expressions the very definition of finally, he's showing his hand.
The whispers around the hall thickened. Who is she? The caterer's daughter? She must be someone special if Julian de Vera brought her into the spotlight.
Elena heard none of it—or rather, she tried not to. Her focus was narrowed to the hand holding hers, the subtle pressure at her waist guiding her through the turns, the warmth of his voice when he leaned close enough to murmur,
"You're doing fine. Better than fine."
Her chest tightened, not from the dance, but from the realization that for the first time that night... she wasn't invisible.
As the song eased into its final notes, applause rippled through the hall. Julian gave a faint bow, but his gaze never left Elena. He guided her off the center floor with the same composure he had led her on, his hand still steady at her elbow until they were at the edge of the crowd.
"Not so bad for your first unplanned performance," he murmured, lips tilted in a half-smile.
Elena let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "That was—" She faltered, searching for a word. "—mortifying."
"Mortifying?" His brow lifted. "You didn't see the faces watching you? They were stunned."
"That's worse." She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. "I'm not used to being... noticed."
Julian's expression softened, and though his reply was light, there was weight beneath it. "Maybe it's about time you were."
Elena glanced away quickly, feigning interest in a nearby centerpiece just to avoid the intensity of his words. "Easy for you to say. You're the one everyone expects to be in the spotlight."
"True," Julian said, amusement flickering in his eyes, "but tonight, it didn't feel like I was the only one."
She blinked at him, startled by how easily he said it—like it was fact, not flattery. Before she could form a reply, the crowd shifted again, attention pulling elsewhere, giving her a moment's reprieve.
⸻
Meanwhile, back at the Santiago table, Marina was far less composed. Arms crossed, she leaned closer to her parents, her voice pitched in a low but obvious whine.
"Why her?" Marina muttered, eyes darting between Julian and Elena. "It should've been me. I'm the one who actually talks to people, I'm the one who can handle being out there."
Cely sighed, patting her younger daughter's arm. "It was just a dance, Marina."
"Just a dance?" Marina scoffed, frustration tightening her features. "With Julian de Vera, of all people? Everyone in this room is going to remember it. And Elena didn't even do anything—she just stood there."
Cardo, still watching the dance floor with a quiet pride that wasn't subtle, spoke without looking at her. "She did more than you think. She worked hard today, and maybe people see that."
Marina's mouth opened, then shut again, her indignation deflating when she realized her father wasn't going to side with her this time. She sank back into her chair, fuming silently, while the whispers around them kept circling back to Elena's name.
The music swelled into another tune, guests rising from their chairs to join the dance floor. Elena slipped back to her table, her heart still racing like the waltz hadn't quite let go of her.
Clara was waiting, practically vibrating with unspent excitement. The moment Elena sat down, Clara nudged her hard enough to nearly spill her water.
"Well?" Clara hissed, grin stretched wide. "Dancing with Julian de Vera—do you realize half the room just turned into gossip columns?"
Elena rolled her eyes, trying to sip calmly from her glass, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "It was just a dance."
"Just a dance," Clara mimicked in a sing-song, then leaned closer. "Tell that to your parents, because their faces looked like they just saw you win Miss Universe."
But when Elena glanced at her family, it wasn't quite as Clara painted it. Cardo and Cely were silent, their expressions unreadable, as though weighing something heavier than pride. Marina sat stiff in her chair, lips pressed thin, avoiding eye contact altogether.
The contrast was sharp enough to unsettle Elena, but before she could say anything, Clara caught her gaze and gave the smallest shake of her head.
"Don't," she murmured, voice low enough for only Elena to hear. "Not now. Just let them sit with it."
Elena exhaled slowly, letting the chatter of the hall wash over her instead. Clara leaned back, still smirking, clearly storing a dozen teases for later.
And for the first time since the spotlight had found her, Elena was grateful for the noise of the crowd—because at her own table, the quiet said too much.
An hour slipped by in the blur of music, chatter, and clinking glasses. When the clock neared ten, Cardo and Cely rose from their seats and made their way to the De Veras. Smiles and polite words were exchanged, hands shaken, gratitude offered for the invitation and the evening. To anyone watching, it was the usual courtesy between long-time acquaintances.
But when Cardo caught Elena's eye from across the room and gave the slightest tilt of his head, she understood—it was time to leave. Marina noticed too, her pout flickering but quickly masked as she gathered her things.
As Elena stood, Clara leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper just for her. "Whatever happens after tonight," Clara said, squeezing her friend's arm, "you did great. You deserve every bit of attention you got."
Elena blinked, caught off guard. "What are you even—"
"Shh." Clara smirked, giving her a small push toward her family. "Just accept it."
Elena only nodded, confused, before following her parents out of the glittering hall. The Santiago family stepped into the cooler night air, away from the heat of chandeliers and whispers.
The drive home was quiet. Too quiet. Marina scrolled on her phone with a sulk, pretending disinterest. Cardo kept his eyes on the road, lips pressed in a line. Cely stared out the window, her hands folded on her lap, her silence heavier than any scolding.
Elena sat in the back seat, watching their reflections blur in the dark glass. She expected someone to speak—about the dance, about Julian, about anything. But the silence stretched, thick and strange, until the hum of the van was the only sound left between them.
And that silence left Elena with a gnawing thought: whatever had shifted tonight, her parents had felt it too.
When they stepped into the house, the silence broke like glass.
Marina dropped her purse on the couch and burst into tears—ugly, unfiltered sobs that filled the living room.
Elena froze at the doorway, blinking in disbelief. "What—what's wrong with you?"
Marina spun toward her, cheeks streaked, voice cracking. "You! You took it from me! You knew I liked him!"
Before Elena could respond, Cely's voice cut in—sharp, tired, and accusing.
"Elena, why did Julian de Vera choose you? Are you two close? Did you talk before this?"
"What?" Elena's confusion deepened. "No. I don't even know him. Tonight was the first time I've ever met him."
Cely crossed her arms, disbelief flickering in her eyes. "Then why you? In a hall full of people, he went straight to our table and asked you."
"I don't know," Elena said, the edge creeping into her tone. "He just did. Maybe he thought it'd be polite since we catered the event. I didn't ask for it."
Cardo, who had been quiet the whole drive home, finally spoke—his voice low but carrying weight.
"You know your sister's interested in him, Len. You saw how she was talking to him."
"I did," Elena replied, meeting his gaze. "But that doesn't mean I can control what Julian de Vera does. What was I supposed to do—say no to the celebrant in front of everyone? That would've embarrassed all of us, including the restaurant."
Cely looked away, exhaling hard through her nose. Marina was still sniffling, half-turned from them, muttering something about how "Elena always gets the attention."
The words stung more than Elena expected. She pressed her lips together, suddenly exhausted—not from the day's work or the dance, but from defending herself against a moment she hadn't even chosen.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. The house that usually smelled of garlic and soy sauce and warmth now just felt cold.
Elena quietly took off her heels and headed upstairs, her voice soft but firm before she disappeared into her room.
"I didn't steal anything from anyone."
The door shut behind her, and the house settled into a silence too thick for anyone to break.
In her room, Elena shut the door and leaned against it, breathing out slowly. The muffled sounds of her sister's crying downstairs bled faintly through the walls, but she let them fade into background noise.
She sat on the edge of her bed, kicked off the last of her heels, and reached for her phone. The glow of the screen felt oddly comforting after all that tension.
Her fingers hovered before typing a message to Clara.
Elena: Now I get what you meant earlier.
It took a few seconds before Clara replied.
Clara: About what?
Elena smiled faintly, shaking her head as she typed back.
Elena: That maybe I deserve to be noticed, too. It's not always her.
The read receipt popped up, then three dots.
Clara: Finally. I was starting to think you'd missed your own moment.
Elena stared at the message, thumb hovering. My own moment. It sounded too dramatic, but maybe that's exactly what it was.
Elena: You saw how awkward it was. I didn't even know what to do.
Clara: Awkward? You looked like you walked straight out of a music video. The man couldn't take his eyes off you.
Elena snorted under her breath.
Elena: You exaggerate.
Clara: Nope. Ask literally anyone. Half the guests were whispering, the other half were filming. You're trending in someone's story right now, I swear.
Elena winced, burying her face in a pillow.
Elena: Great. Just what I need. Fame from a dance I didn't even sign up for.
Clara: Hey. Don't make it sound like an accident. He chose you, Len. You didn't push yourself into anything tonight. You just showed up, and people finally saw you.
For a while, Elena didn't respond. Her screen dimmed, but she kept staring at it, her reflection faint in the dark glass.
Elena: I wish my family saw it that way.
It took longer this time for Clara to reply.
Clara: They will. Maybe not now. But they will. Sometimes being seen first just makes people uncomfortable. Especially the ones used to being in the light.
Elena read that line three times. It hit too close, and she couldn't tell if it comforted her or just made her ache.
Elena: You sound like you've practiced that.
Clara: Please. I'm just wise at night. Wait till morning—I'll go back to chaos.
Elena smiled, small but genuine.
Elena: Thanks, Clara.
Clara: Always. Get some sleep, future architect-slash-socialite.
Elena: Stop.
Clara: Fine. But admit it—you're thinking about him.
Elena didn't reply this time. She just turned off her phone, rolled to her side, and stared at the faint moonlight stretching across her desk full of notes and pens.
Maybe Clara was right. Maybe something really had shifted tonight.
And for the first time in a long while, Elena didn't feel invisible anymore.
The house had gone still. Marina's muffled crying had stopped somewhere between exhaustion and pride. Her parents' footsteps had faded down the hall.
Elena lay in the dark, phone screen turned face-down beside her. But her mind refused to rest.
Bits of the night replayed behind her closed eyes—out of order, like puzzle pieces she didn't know how to fit together.
Julian de Vera, asleep on the opposite corner of that nap room. The quiet that had sat between them, oddly peaceful instead of awkward. He could have left, but he didn't.
Then later, him complimenting her dumplings. Not out of courtesy—his tone had been too specific, too sincere. The meat and vegetables mix perfectly. He'd remembered her work, even when most guests barely looked past the plating.
And then the dance. The way he'd crossed the floor, passed Marina without hesitation, and stopped right in front of her. The weight of his gaze when he offered his hand. His words—"I won't let you trip."
Elena turned on her side, eyes half-open toward the faint light spilling through the curtains.
She still didn't understand why any of it happened. Why her. Why him. Why that strange pull in her chest when he looked at her like she wasn't just another face in the crowd.
Maybe Clara was right—maybe it really was her moment.
Or maybe it was just a dance at someone else's party, and she was foolish for reading more into it.
Either way, it was the first night in a long time that she didn't feel small.
And that, she decided before sleep finally took her, was enough for now.