Chapter 20 — The Founders' Gala
The night of the Gala arrived like a whisper of luxury and suspense.
Alderidge University glowed under a canopy of lights — chandeliers shimmered through glass ceilings, the scent of roses and champagne filled the air, and the courtyard buzzed with limousines and designer gowns.
Athena stood before her mirror, taking in her reflection with slow disbelief. Clara had forced her into the soft ivory dress that now hugged her figure perfectly, its satin fabric glimmering faintly whenever she moved. The off-shoulder neckline revealed her delicate collarbones, while her long, dark hair cascaded in gentle waves down her back.
She looked… breathtaking.
Even she could admit that.
"You look like royalty," Clara said with a proud smile from behind her. "Every single person tonight is going to lose their mind."
Athena laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Let's hope they don't. I'm just going for the food and speeches."
"Liar," Clara teased, eyes narrowing. "You're hoping he'll notice you."
Athena froze, her smile faltering for just a moment.
"I'm not," she said too quickly.
"Sure you aren't," Clara murmured with a grin as she picked up her clutch.
By the time they arrived, the grand hall was already filled with people. Crystal chandeliers reflected off polished marble floors; laughter and the soft notes of a violin orchestra mingled with the murmur of admiration. Athena stepped through the glass doors, her heels clicking lightly, her confidence quiet but commanding. Heads turned — not just from her beauty, but the graceful calm she carried with her.
She pretended not to notice.
Her eyes, however, instinctively scanned the crowd — until they landed on him.
Damon DeVille stood near the stage, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. The lights cast faint gold on his hair, sharpening his features into near perfection — the strong jaw, the broad shoulders, the cool confidence that made everyone keep a respectful distance. He was speaking to a few officials, calm and collected, but there was a tension in his stance, a flicker in his eyes… as if he already knew she was watching.
And maybe he did.
Because at that very moment, his gaze lifted — and their eyes met.
The world seemed to still.
She felt her heart slam against her ribs, the air tightening between them. His amber eyes softened for a fleeting second, just enough to make her chest ache. Then his lips curved, barely — not quite a smile, but something close.
Clara whispered beside her, "Is that… Damon DeVille? He's even more gorgeous in person."
Athena's fingers clenched around her clutch. "Don't remind me."
When Damon finally walked up to the podium to give his speech, the hall fell completely silent. His voice — smooth, deep, commanding — filled the space effortlessly.
"Success," he began, "isn't born from wealth or luck. It's born from persistence, from failure, and from the courage to start again."
Every girl in the room seemed to hang on to every word, their eyes dreamy, their expressions melting. Some even whispered his name in excitement, giggling softly. Athena rolled her eyes but couldn't deny the pull in her chest as she watched him.
He looked composed, powerful… untouchable.
But when his gaze met hers again mid-speech, the smallest crack appeared in that perfect composure. His words faltered — only slightly — before he recovered seamlessly.
Athena noticed.
Her lips curved faintly, a mix of pride and confusion swirling inside her.
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When the speech ended, the applause was thunderous. Damon stepped down from the stage, exchanging polite greetings and handshakes, but his eyes kept drifting — searching.
Athena turned away before he could reach her. She told Clara she needed air and slipped out toward the balcony overlooking the gardens. The cool breeze brushed against her skin, bringing relief from the crowded hall.
But she didn't have peace for long.
She sensed him before she even heard his footsteps. The quiet confidence, the faint scent of expensive cologne — it was all unmistakably him.
"Athena."
Her name rolled off his tongue like something dangerous.
She turned slowly, keeping her expression neutral even as her pulse raced. "Mr. DeVille."
He stopped a few steps away, his gaze sweeping over her with quiet intensity. "You look… different."
"People change," she replied softly, her tone even.
A muscle in his jaw flexed. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Really?" she tilted her head, her lips curving faintly. "It's my university. And you're the guest."
For a moment, silence stretched between them — charged, fragile.
He took a step closer, his voice lower now. "Athena, about that night—"
"Don't," she cut in sharply. "Let's not pretend you didn't make yourself perfectly clear back then."
Her words hung in the air like frost.
Damon's eyes darkened. "You think I don't regret—"
"Regret?" she gave a bitter little laugh. "You called me a fool for loving you, remember?"
Her voice trembled slightly, but she met his gaze without flinching.
For a moment, Damon said nothing. His hand twitched slightly at his side, as though he wanted to reach for her but couldn't. "Athena…"
She exhaled softly, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter anymore."
Then, before he could say another word, she turned and walked back into the hall — her head high, her heart aching.
Behind her, Damon stood under the soft glow of the balcony lights, his expression unreadable but his eyes heavy with something dangerously close to regret.
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