By Monday, Seoul buzzed with whispers of an exclusive gala hosted by the Foreign Trade Council. It was one of those opulent, invitation-only events where business titans rubbed shoulders with dignitaries and media moguls. Drake Industries, of course, was not just attending. Alexander Drake was set to deliver the keynote.
What Evelyn hadn't expected was that she'd be attending too.
The invitation came not through her inbox, but directly from Alexander's executive assistant, delivered by hand.
"You've been assigned to coordinate visual content during Mr. Drake's speech," the assistant explained briskly. "You'll be seated near the media table. Business-formal attire required."
Evelyn's heart jumped but her face remained neutral. She knew better than to show surprise, especially when she could already picture Genevieve's smirk upon hearing the news.
The Grand Seoul Ballroom was a palace of modern luxury: floating glass staircases, veils of silk curtains lit from behind, and chandeliers like falling stardust. The moment Evelyn stepped out of the car and onto the marbled entrance, she felt exposed.
She wore a deep emerald gown with clean lines and a low back, subtle yet striking. Her hair, usually tied up for convenience, fell in soft waves, brushing her shoulders like confidence made visible.
She belonged here. Or so she told herself.
Inside, the atmosphere shimmered with influence and ambition. Photographers hovered near the entrance. Security men flanked the edges of the room. Waiters with white gloves carried silver trays of champagne and caviar.
Evelyn moved with quiet grace, following the floor plan she had memorized earlier that day. She made her way toward the AV table near the side of the main stage, clipboard in hand, careful to keep her gaze professional even when her eyes found him.
Alexander stood near the bar, dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, bowtie sharp, every angle of him carved in restraint. He was deep in conversation with the chairman of the finance committee, expression composed, hands folded behind his back.
And beside him was Genevieve.
She wore crimson silk that glimmered like molten wine in the lights, the open back of her gown held by nothing but a delicate gold chain. Her laughter curled in the air like smoke. She stood close. Too close.
Evelyn looked away.
Alexander found her before the speech.
He waited until she stepped into the AV control booth behind the stage. When she turned, he was already inside, closing the door behind him.
"You look beautiful," he said simply.
Evelyn gave a small, dry smile. "You're not supposed to say that. Not here."
He took a step closer. "I had to."
She shook her head. "They're watching. All of them."
"I don't care."
"But I do," she whispered. "Because if they connect the dots, they'll do worse than gossip. You know that."
Alexander reached into his pocket, producing something small and familiar: a velvet ring box.
"You're wearing your necklace," he said, nodding toward the chain tucked beneath the fabric near her heart. "Wear this next time."
He opened the box.
Inside was a slim, platinum wedding band. Understated. Elegant. Real.
Evelyn blinked, startled. "You carried it with you?"
"Always," he said. "One day, we won't have to hide."
She stared at the ring for a moment, then closed the box gently and handed it back. "Not yet."
"I'll wait," he said. "But don't mistake my silence for distance."
Her throat tightened. "And don't mistake mine for doubt."
They held each other's gaze. Then Alexander stepped away, the walls of professionalism snapping back into place.
He was gone before she could stop him.
The speech was flawless.
Alexander spoke with ease, his voice a commanding melody that filled the ballroom. Cameras clicked. Screens lit up with graphs and projections. His presence radiated confidence and beside him onstage, Genevieve stood like a queen consort, radiant, cold, watching the audience as if cataloging her subjects.
Evelyn remained in the shadows, watching the man she had married stand next to the woman the world assumed would be his.
The crowd didn't know the truth.
Not yet.
But Genevieve suspected. And Evelyn could feel the storm coming.
Later that night, back in her apartment, Evelyn removed her necklace and stared at the tiny gold lock resting in her palm.
The weight of the evening pressed down on her chest like armor.
In the mirror, she was just Evelyn Hart. A marketing assistant, barely noticed, occasionally useful.
But in secret, in silence, and in truth she was Evelyn Drake.
And one day, the world would have to reckon with that.