The golden hues of the evening sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the high-rise suite, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. Alice leaned against the balcony railing, gazing at the city below. The streets of Paris pulsed with life, a distant hum of traffic blending with bursts of laughter from pedestrians.

  Tonight was important. Not as Alice, but as Amala Basu.

  She turned away from the view, her eyes landing on the scattered papers atop the sleek glass table—event schedules, finalized guest lists, and last-minute arrangements. No matter how much she tried to keep a low profile, there were things she couldn’t ignore.

  And Alice had preparations to make.

  The Special Night

  The private venue exuded elegance, bathed in the golden glow of chandeliers, the soft hum of conversation blending with the gentle notes of a grand piano. The air carried the rich aroma of fine wine and delicate floral arrangements, creating an atmosphere of warmth and exclusivity.

  Amala stood near a marble pillar, her poised demeanor effortlessly commanding attention. The soft curls of her hair framed her face, accentuating the sharp elegance of her features, the delicate glow of her skin under the dim lights making her look almost untouchable. Though she was used to lavish gatherings, tonight wasn’t about her. It was Victoria Hayes Basu's night—a celebration of grace, beauty, and a legacy built in the world of fashion.

  A smile ghosted her lips as she made her way through the crowd. The instant she neared, Victoria turned, as if sensing her presence before even laying eyes on her.

  The room seemed to slow for a moment as mother and daughter faced each other.

  Now, under the golden glow of the chandelier, the true brilliance of Victoria Hayes was revealed.

  She was a vision of timeless beauty—draped in a champagne-colored silk gown that cascaded like liquid gold. Soft waves framed her delicate yet striking features, each movement exuding grace honed over years in the fashion world. Her dawn-colored eyes, the very ones Amala had inherited, shimmered.

  A knowing smile graced her lips, "Amala." Victoria greeted, her voice smooth, warm, carrying that effortless charm that once mesmerized audiences.

  "Happy Birthday, Mom," Amala said, leaning in to kiss her mother’s cheek.

  Before more words could be exchanged, a rich, deep voice cut in.

  "And here I thought I was your favorite person in the world," Karan Basu teased as he stepped into view, his presence instantly commanding attention.

  Where Victoria was elegance, Karan was charisma—a man whose sharp wit and confident air made him as formidable in conversation as he was in business. Dressed in a tailored black suit, the salt-and-pepper strands in his dark hair only added to the charm of a man who had aged with dignity.

  "You know very well you lost that title to me the day I was born," Amala quipped, crossing her arms playfully.

  Karan let out a mock sigh. "Vicky, our daughter is too sharp-tongued. She definitely takes after you."

  Victoria smirked, arching a brow. "Oh? I seem to recall it was your words that once swept me off my feet."

  A knowing chuckle passed between them, as if they were the only ones in the room for a brief moment. Karan shook his head, motioning for them to move to their reserved table.

  As they settled into their seats, the conversation drifted into warm nostalgia. Karan, swirling his whiskey lazily, leaned back in his chair with a distant look in his eyes. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at Victoria.

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  "You know, Vicky, it feels like just yesterday when we first met," he mused. "You were this untouchable star, walking down that runway like you owned the world. I thought to myself, 'That woman would never look twice at a man like me.'"

  Victoria smirked, her gaze softening. "And yet, here we are."

  Amala watched the exchange with mild amusement, sipping her wine. It wasn’t often she saw her father lost in nostalgia.

  Karan chuckled. "I still remember that night when I tried to impress you by pretending I knew everything about fashion. You saw right through me in seconds."

  Victoria tilted her head, her smile deepening. "I still don’t know what was more entertaining—your attempt at naming fabric types or your absolute confidence while doing it."

  Amala let out a quiet laugh, picturing it easily.

  Karan shook his head, still grinning. "And then there were those endless nights when we'd sit by the Seine, dreaming about the future. We had no idea where life would take us, but we were sure of one thing—"

  His voice grew quieter, more hesitant, "We three were—"

  Victoria, in an almost seamless movement, reached for her glass and cut in smoothly. "And yet, somehow, we ended up here, didn’t we?"

  Her voice was light, almost teasing, but something shifted in the air. It was subtle—so subtle that Amala didn’t catch it.

  Karan’s gaze flickered toward her for the briefest moment before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah… we did."

  He took a sip of his drink, the moment passing just as quickly as it had come.

  Amala, unaware of the pause, leaned back in her seat, her attention moving to the grand piano playing in the background. she raised her wine glass, taking a slow sip, her movements poised and deliberate.

  Under the dim lighting, her elegance was undeniable—her midnight-blue dress accentuating every graceful motion, the deep color making her golden skin glow. The way the light flickered against the glass and the slight curve of her lips was mesmerizing.

  But her parents were not ones to be distracted for long.

  "So," Victoria’s voice broke through the comfortable silence, "what’s next for you?"

  Amala placed her glass down. "I signed the deal for the Paris shoot," she said casually, though she caught the way her parents exchanged a quick look of concern.

  Karan set his drink down, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. "Are you sure about this? That industry isn’t as glamorous as people think. There are too many vultures in places like that."

  Amala met his stare with calm certainty. "I know what I’m doing, Dad."

  Karan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You’re too reckless sometimes."

  Victoria, however, didn’t push. She simply observed her daughter in silence before finally speaking. "Let’s not turn this into an argument tonight," she said smoothly, her voice light but firm.

  Karan sighed but relented, picking up his drink once more.

  The night carried on, laughter and conversations swirling around them. Amala, unfazed by the earlier exchange, continued to sip her wine, every motion effortlessly elegant.

  As the evening drew to a close, the warm glow of the chandeliers softened, casting elongated shadows across the elegant venue. Guests lingered in quiet conversations, the air laced with the scent of expensive perfumes and aged wine. Amala sat at the table, her fingers lightly tracing the stem of her half-empty wine glass. The deep red liquid shimmered under the ambient light, mirroring the quiet intensity in her dawn-colored eyes.

  From across the table, Karan sighed, running a hand through his dark hair as he observed his daughter. “You really are just like your mother,” he murmured, a hint of resignation in his voice.

  Victoria, who had been listening quietly, let a knowing smile tug at her lips. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” she quipped, tilting her head as she studied Amala with an unreadable expression.

  “It is when she’s just as stubborn,” Karan muttered, but there was no real heat behind his words.

  Amala merely raised her glass in mock salute. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

  She strolled through the now quieter venue alone, the sounds of fading laughter and distant music melting into the background. Amala reached a secluded terrace, where the cool night air greeted them with a gentle embrace. The city lights stretched beyond, twinkling like scattered diamonds against the midnight sky.

  Soft footsteps approached behind her.

  A presence.

  ---

  The private lounge was bathed in a warm, amber glow, the scent of aged whiskey and expensive cigars lingering in the air. Plush leather seats lined the dimly lit space, occupied by men who spoke in hushed voices, their laughter low and edged with something sinister. A grand chandelier hung above, its golden light barely reaching the shadowed corners of the room, where secrets thrived.

  At a secluded table, away from the casual chatter, a man in a tailored suit leaned back, his fingers wrapped around a crystal glass of whiskey. The soft clink of ice breaking the silence was the only sound as he studied the phone in his other hand. A single message flashed on the screen.

  A slow smirk curled his lips. "She signed the deal."

  Across from him, another figure sat in the dim light, tapping their fingers against the polished wood of the table in an unhurried rhythm. There was something deliberate—almost amused—about the movement.

  “So, she took the bait,” came the smooth reply, laced with something unreadable.

  A low chuckle followed. “She doesn’t know what she’s walking into.”

  The air seemed to thicken, the weight of unspoken plans settling between them.

  “Then let the game begin.”

  I love hearing your theories. See you in the next chapter!