Ava's POV
Warm lamplight spilled across the bedroom, softening the edges of everything it touched. The faint scent of Lena's vanilla-scented hairspray lingered in the air as she fussed with the last loose strand of Ava's hair, her fingers deft but gentle.
The forest green sleeveless dress clung in all the right places, the hem brushing just above her knees. It wasn't a gown — Ava hated gowns — but it was elegant enough to fit the night's demands. She caught her reflection in the mirror, momentarily startled by the confident woman staring back.
Her phone buzzed on the vanity table, breaking the quiet. She picked it up, thumb hovering for a moment before reading the message.
> Monica: The driver's on his way to pick you up. Don't keep him waiting.
Ava set the phone down slowly, her fingers tracing the smooth wood of the vanity. The words felt like both a summons and a warning.
"Showtime," she whispered, barely louder than her own breath.
Lena grinned from behind her, eyes shining with pride. "You're going to turn heads tonight, Ava Queen."
Ava's lips curved into a small smile, though her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn't quite name — anticipation tangled with unease.
---
Nathan's POV
The evening air outside the grand venue carried a bite, but Nathan barely noticed. His mind was already shifting into mission mode.
He stood with his team — Agent Callum Hayes, calm and efficient as always; Agent Dana Voss, her eyes sharp and assessing; Agent Javier Ross, his easy confidence masking razor focus; and Agent Mira Lang, silent but ever observant. The five of them were dressed for the part, every detail of their disguises in place, every movement rehearsed.
They had done the gadget checks the night before. Tonight was about execution. The earpieces were in, their encrypted channel open. Nathan scanned the entrance of the gala venue, noting the security patterns, the guests already beginning to arrive.
"Two minutes to entry," Director Keene's voice came through the comm, low and steady.
Nathan adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit jacket, his expression unreadable. "Copy that," he replied, eyes still moving, cataloging every detail.
Somewhere inside, Monica Queen was already mingling with the city's elite. And tonight, under the glittering chandeliers, Nathan intended to get closer — without drawing the wrong kind of attention.
Ava's POV
The low hum of an engine filtered through the open window before a muted honk broke the silence. The driver was here.
Lena gave her a quick once-over, nodding with approval. "Go knock them dead," she said, though Ava could hear the faint thread of concern beneath the playful tone.
Ava slipped her phone into her small clutch, but her steps carried her toward the bathroom instead of the door. The mirror's reflection caught her again, sharper this time. She stared — not at the makeup or the dress, but at her own eyes.
Her stomach twisted. It wasn't fear exactly, but a tense awareness, like walking into a stage play where every line mattered and one wrong word could set the scene aflame. She gripped the edge of the sink, steadying her breath.
Tonight wasn't about her. She was just a shadow on the wall, a Queen by name but not by choice. Yet the moment she stepped into that ballroom, people would look. They always did.
She straightened, smoothing the invisible wrinkles from her dress. Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she left the apartment, Lena's voice calling a final goodbye behind her.
The cool night air brushed against her skin when she stepped outside. The driver was already out of the car, holding the door open. Ava slid inside, the leather seats warm from the day's heat.
As the city lights blurred past the tinted windows, she made her decision. She wouldn't drift in like an anonymous guest. She'd walk through the entrance reserved for the Queen family — the one that reminded everyone exactly where she belonged, even if she wished she didn't.
If they were going to watch her, she might as well give them something worth watching.
---