Over the past few weeks, whispers about her had begun to grow louder—echoes of curiosity laced with envy.
Celine Rosenfield, the poised daughter of HUB's real estate empire, had once again become the city's favorite topic. A mysterious man had been spotted leaving the Rosenfield estate. She'd been seen entering a high-end hotel more than once.
And now, the elite couldn't stop speculating: the heiress and the unknown man.
Celine heard every rumor, yet tonight, she decided she wouldn't hide. If they were going to talk—she'd give them something to talk about.
The Casino Royale Gala shimmered like a night spun from gold. Cameras flashed like lightning as she and Nathan stepped out of the vintage red MG MGB. The moment the door opened, the world seemed to still. Her gown—satin red, fluid and defiant—hugged her like confidence made flesh. The sculpted bodice and cascading folds caught every glimmer of light. It wasn't just a dress; it was a declaration.
And then there was Nathan beside her—effortlessly composed in his Tom Ford suit, a quiet storm wrapped in silk and steel. Together, they looked untouchable.
She could feel eyes follow them up the marble steps. Whispers bloomed like wildfire, cameras snapping every angle. She lifted her chin slightly higher, slipping her hand into Nathan's arm. His calm, steady presence beside her was like armor.
Inside, chandeliers glittered and champagne glasses clinked beneath the hum of expensive laughter. Celine spotted Dean near the center of the ballroom—her ex, looking polished as ever, his arm draped around Denise Moran. The ring on her finger caught the light and for a fleeting second, it stung. Then Dean turned. Their eyes met.
He froze just for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable before the familiar arrogance returned. He walked toward them, Denise following in her signature, calculated grace.
"Celine! Didn't expect to see you here," Dean said smoothly, the corners of his mouth curving with mock surprise. "And you even found someone to replace me already."
Her lips twitched, steady. "Why wouldn't I be here? It's the event of the year. Plus, I'm filling in for Carl. And you seem to have replaced me quite fast, so I guess we're even."
Denise's eyes swept over Celine from head to toe, then rolled away in a pointed dismissal. The gesture was small, but sharp enough to cut. Celine's pulse quickened. Her fingers tightened around Nathan's hand without realizing it.
Nathan felt it—the subtle tremor in her grip, the tension she tried to bury under her flawless posture. Without a word, he rubbed his thumb gently against her palm, a quiet reassurance only she could feel. Then he looked at Dean, extending his hand politely. "Nathan Park," he said, calm and poised.
Dean's handshake was too firm, his smile too practiced. "So, how does it feel to be the rebound?" he asked, voice dripping with provocation.
Nathan didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled—open, effortless. "Amazing," he replied. "Been waiting for a while. Guess the universe finally gave me my chance."
He turned toward Celine, gaze softening, the warmth in his eyes melting the tension in hers. It was enough to make nearby guests sigh quietly at the sight.
Dean's smirk faltered. Before he could add another word, Nathan leaned close to Celine and murmured, just loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Bub, it's getting crowded. Want to grab a drink and some air?"
She nodded, grateful, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders as they walked away. The crowd followed them with their eyes, whispering in admiration. They looked like a couple who had known each other forever.
The air outside was cool, the city glimmering below them. Celine drew a breath, the weight of the ballroom finally falling away. "Thank you," she said softly. "If you weren't there, I probably would've broken down."
Nathan turned toward her, studying her face under the string lights. Her eyes, still shimmering with pride and hurt, met his. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then pinched her nose gently just to make her smile.
"I got you," he said in a low, steady voice. "As long as I'm here, you'll be okay. You don't have to hold everything together tonight. Just have fun. I won't let you break."
His words landed deep, grounding her. For a moment, she could breathe again. When she smiled, something warm flickered inside him—relief, maybe, or quiet satisfaction that he could make her feel safe.
When they returned inside, she no longer cared about the eyes following her. She held his hand openly now. They moved together easily, laughing, sharing glances that felt unforced and real. They even danced for quite a bit looking at each other lovingly.Every laugh that escaped her seemed to surprise her too—light, unguarded, genuine.
They met other guests, made small talk, even accepted a casual invitation to a tennis match the following weekend. When they both said yes in perfect sync, they broke into laughter. Across the room, Dean's jaw tightened. He whispered something to Denise, but his gaze stayed fixed on Celine. He couldn't look away. He'd never seen her like this—radiant, confident, free. And though he would never admit it, envy simmered in his chest.
Nathan noticed the look in Dean's eyes but brushed it off. He focused only on Celine. Later that night, someone invited them to the roulette table. Celine hesitated, smiling nervously. "I don't want to make you lose," she whispered.
He shook his head lightly. "Who cares if we win or lose? We make our own luck—and you're mine."
Her cheeks turned pink. She picked a number. "Red 25."
"Perfect," he said, handing her the chip. "Blow on it for luck."
The dealer spun the wheel. The crowd leaned in. When it stopped, the call came clear and bright—Red 25.
Cheers erupted. Nathan laughed, lifting her off her feet, spinning her once before setting her down. Her laughter rang out, free and beautiful. For a fleeting moment, it didn't feel like a show—it felt real.
Dean and Denise left soon after, Dean's expression dark and unreadable. Nathan barely noticed. The night belonged to them now.
When they finally stepped outside, the air was crisp and calm. Nathan slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It was still warm, faintly scented with him.
"This was so fun," she said softly, smiling up at him. "I've been to so many galas before, but I've never actually enjoyed one."
He smiled back, eyes lingering on her face longer than he meant to. "Well," he said gently, "starting now, you will. That's a promise."
The drive home was quiet, comfortable. The city lights blurred into soft gold outside the window. She leaned her head against the glass, a faint smile still touching her lips. For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like a rumor or a headline.
She felt seen.
Nathan glanced sideways at her, watching her reflection in the window—the faint curl of her lips, the way the red fabric pooled softly in her lap—and thought silently to himself, She's worth every rumor in the world.