Belladonna had never liked small talk. It was something she had learned to master, yes but never to enjoy. Polite conversations filled with compliments that meant nothing, laughter that never reached the eyes, and questions asked just for the sake of asking. standing beside Caleb, silence felt different. Not heavy. Not demanding. Just... calm. He hadn't filled the space with meaningless chatter. He hadn't tried to flirt or impress her. He hadn't even complimented her dress—which, oddly, made her feel more seen than anything else tonight.For a long moment, they simply watched the party unfold like spectators to a show neither of them had auditioned for.
Belladonna tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "So what brings you to a ballroom full of perfectly posed strangers?"Caleb's lips tugged—just slightly. Not a smile. Just... awareness."My sister," he replied. "She works with the event sponsor. Dragged me here so I wouldn't 'rot in my apartment.' Her words, not mine."Belladonna laughed under her breath. "Sounds like something my assistant would say."He glanced at her. "You don't seem like the type to rot." "That's because you don't know me," she said quietly, her voice losing its practiced lift. "No one really does."He didn't respond right away.Most people would have said something like 'I'd like to' or 'I want to know you,but Caleb didn't.Instead, he simply said, "That must be exhausting."She blinked.
It wasn't the response she expected. It wasn't wrapped in charm or intent. It was real. And for a woman who had spent her entire life being admired, it was... disarming. "Exhausting," she echoed. "Yes. That's the right word."They stood together again in silence, but this time, it felt like a shared silence—not two strangers beside each other, but two people carrying similar weights in different shapes."You seem..." she began, pausing as if trying to define the word. "Still."He raised an eyebrow. "Still?""Yes. Like your world doesn't move too fast. Or maybe you just don't let it." A soft exhale left his lips, almost a sigh. "Stillness is survival for me." There it was again—truth. Without effort. Without drama. Belladonna tilted her head. "Do you always speak in riddles, or am I just lucky?" His eyes met hers. "No riddles. Just... fewer layers."She smiled, but this time it didn't feel like a performance. "Must be nice."He gave her a long look—steady, unreadable. "What do you want, Belladonna?" The question hit her harder than she expected. Not what do you do, or where are you from, or what are you wearing but what do you want? And for a moment, she didn't know how to answer."I want…" she started, then faltered. "I want to feel something that doesn't require a filter. Or a smile. Or the right dress."
Her voice trembled. Not loud, but enough to make her heart race. She had never said that out loud—not to anyone. Caleb didn't flinch. He didn't pity her. He didn't try to fix it. Instead, he just nodded slowly. "That sounds like something worth wanting."The words settled in her chest like a warm blanket."Would you like to leave?" he asked softly.She looked at him, startled. "What?""Not with me," he added quickly, hands in his pockets. "Just… leave this place. Step out of the performance for a little while."She hesitated.Her mother would call. Her father would wonder. The press might notice. Her name might trend, but for once, she didn't care. "I'd like that," she said. They left through the side exit, no cameras flashing. No spotlights.Just a woman in red and a man in black, walking into the night not as personas, but as people.No one followed. And for the first time in years, Belladonna Jones didn't feel watched—she felt free.