In a quieter corner of the ballroom, where the soft light from the tall arched windows spilled across polished marble and reflected faintly on crystal glassware, Karl approached Allan Walker. The garden beyond glimmered under evening lights, but Karl's eyes were locked on the man beside him. He carried a glass of champagne, the bubbles rising lazily, untouched.
"Allan," he began, his voice casual, almost breezy, "you won't mind if I start chasing Sarah now that you broke up with her, right?"
His lips curled into a grin, not waiting for an answer before adding, "After all, you're with Lara now. Your future is brighter than ever." He raised his glass in a mock toast, the crystal catching the chandeliers' gold.
Allan didn't look at him. His gaze remained fixed on the dance floor, where couples moved with polished grace to the soft strains of the quartet. He lifted his glass of red wine and took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the silence stretch just a second too long.
When he finally spoke, it was with a calm edge, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "What are you, Karl? A homewrecker chasing married women?" His tone was dry, sarcasm laced through each word. "Or are you just pretending not to know that Sarah's married now?"
Karl scoffed, brushing his fingers through his perfectly styled hair. "Oh, please," he said, chuckling with a dismissive shake of his head. "Everyone knows Sarah just picked up a new hobby—playing with homeless men."
He stepped a little closer, his voice dropping. "She's not serious about that guy. It's just some twisted thrill. A little drama to keep herself entertained before she throws him back onto the street."
He leaned in, his breath laced with champagne. "Or maybe she's just hungry to be back in the spotlight. That's probably why she pulled a stunt like that—to get all eyes back on her."
Allan's smirk faded.
He turned slightly toward Karl, and though his posture remained relaxed, there was a shift in his presence—something colder beneath the surface. His voice was lower now, firmer.
"Sarah, the most beautiful woman in our circle, doesn't need to marry a beggar for attention."
Karl raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. "You better be careful with that tongue, my friend," he said, half-laughing. "If Lara hears you calling Sarah the most beautiful, you'll be sleeping in the doghouse tonight."
Allan shrugged, unbothered. "I'm just stating facts," he replied coolly, sipping his wine once more. "Whether Lara likes it or not."
Karl tilted his head. "Then why did you break up with her if you believe she's the most beautiful?" he asked, the amusement fading slightly from his tone. "Doesn't make sense."
Allan finally turned his head fully to look at him, his eyes sharp.
"Are you stupid?" he asked flatly.
Karl blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness, his mouth parting slightly—just as a third voice cut in behind them.
"Well, that's a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear, was it?"
The words floated in like silk, cool and perfectly timed.
Lara had arrived.
She stepped forward with elegance, her gown trailing behind her like liquid midnight. The crystal detailing on her neckline caught the light with every movement. She held a glass of champagne delicately between two fingers, the smile on her lips polished but laced with something colder underneath.
Karl straightened, offering a nervous chuckle. "We were just talking about tonight's surprises. That's all."
Allan turned to her with a familiar smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You always walk in at the most interesting moments."
Lara's gaze flicked between them, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she said nothing. Just let the silence hang, as if listening for the name she knew had been whispered before her arrival.
Without breaking stride, she walked confidently to Allan, her heels echoing softly. With practiced ease, she lowered herself onto his lap, her arms draping around his neck with the grace of a woman who knew exactly how to claim what was hers.
"Babe," she purred, her voice velvet-smooth, "I really missed the Maldives. Can we go there this week?"
Allan leaned back a little, adjusting to her presence. His expression remained composed. "No, we can't," he said plainly. "Things are hectic at the company right now. Your father wouldn't allow it."
Lara gave a knowing smile, unbothered. "Don't worry about Dad," she whispered. "I'll handle him."
She leaned in, brushing her lips gently over his—first teasing, a feather-light caress, then deeper, more assertive. Her kiss was slow but purposeful, as if marking territory. She parted his lips with ease, slipping her tongue in, tasting, pressing closer. Her fingers tightened around his neck, nails skimming against his skin in a deliberate trail that sent a subtle tension through his jaw.
Their breathing deepened in rhythm, a quiet intimacy that neither of them made any attempt to hide.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were slightly flushed. She slid off his lap with feline grace, settling beside him with her legs crossed, her posture flawless, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes.
Karl, still standing nearby, placed a hand dramatically over his chest.
"Oh! You startled me," he exclaimed, mock horror dripping from every word. "I was about to run for my life."
Lara gave him a sideways glance, amused. "Go find yourself a girlfriend and stop acting pitiful."
"Poor me," Karl muttered with exaggerated sorrow, though the grin betraying him tugged at his lips.
There was a lull, a brief pause before Lara's tone shifted again—lighter, but sharpened with intent.
"Are you guys also curious to see Sarah's husband?" she asked suddenly, tilting her head, her eyes sliding over to Allan with a seemingly innocent smile.
Allan didn't so much as blink. He reached for his wine glass again, lifted it with grace, and took another slow sip. No reaction. No flinch. His composure was infuriating.
"I thought I was the only curious one," Karl jumped in, sensing the tension and feeding off it. He leaned back on the sofa with a grin. "Turns out everyone wants a glimpse of the infamous beggar who somehow made it into our glamorous little circle."
Lara kept her gaze on Allan, letting her next words hang with precision. "What about you, babe?" she asked sweetly. "Aren't you curious?"
It was a test. A gentle prod—masked in affection, laced with thorns. She watched him, closely, as if his very breath might betray him.
Allan lowered his glass and placed it gently on the side table. He turned to her, smiled coolly.
"Of course I'm curious," he said, voice smooth as silk. "I mean… who wouldn't want to see the beggar who's apparently so good in bed he got Sarah Whitmore to marry him?"
A quiet hush settled over their corner.
For a beat, no one said a word.
Then Lara laughed—bright, theatrical, tipping her head back slightly. "Hahaha! Well said, babe," she said, her hand sliding down his arm in a show of affection.
Karl raised both eyebrows, shaking his head. "Damn," he muttered, still grinning. "Cold."
But there was something else flickering behind his expression. Something intrigued. Amused. Maybe even impressed.
And Allan, once again, just sat there—silent, composed, untouched.
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