Chapter 132: Chapter 132: Don’t take the spotlight

Sylvia didn’t believe, truly didn’t believe, that her life had reached a point where she would be escorted through the gates of one of the most beautiful palaces in Alamina into a gala so expensive it probably had its own economic impact to watch her best friend celebrate an engagement with a crown prince.

A second gala.

Because apparently Dean’s life was now a sequence of events designed to test Sylvia’s blood pressure and Dean’s ability to remain a person under public scrutiny.

She arrived with a palace escort and the kind of temporary guest clearance that came with too many signatures. The corridors were bright and quiet, polished stone and glass; security was so discreet it felt like the walls had eyes. Even the air smelled curated clean, expensive, and slightly floral.

And then there was the package.

Delivered to her suite in a box that looked like it had been designed by someone who hated the concept of ’casual.’ Inside: a dress, shoes, and jewelry; everything was perfectly chosen, not only beautiful but also fitting perfectly, as if the palace had taken Sylvia’s measurements by force of will.

On top was a small card.

A message from the Empress.

Sylvia read it twice.

Then a third time, because surely she had misunderstood something.

The wording was gracious. Warm, even.

And somehow it still made Sylvia’s spine straighten like a woman being sized up by a predator in a silk dress.

’I can’t wait to meet you.’

Sylvia didn’t know if that was a greeting or a warning.

Possibly both.

She dressed regardless because she wasn’t going to show up to an imperial gala looking like she’d lost a fight with a laundry basket. The gown fit like it had been sewn onto her body, elegant without being childish, expensive without screaming for attention. The jewelry was understated in a way that felt deliberate.

Which meant someone at the palace, possibly the Empress herself, had decided Sylvia was allowed to exist in this room, but only on very specific terms.

Sylvia respected terms.

She also respected power.

And she respected Dean enough not to embarrass him.

She entered the ballroom and for a full minute forgot how to blink.

The space was enormous. Crystal lighting. Tall windows showing winter darkness beyond. The music was soft enough to make you feel safe, but she knew she was in a shark lake. Every surface reflected gold and black and deep jewel tones, a sea of nobility arranged into clusters like competing ecosystems.

And the guests… Sylvia had seen ’rich’ before.

This was filthy rich, in the way that made you realize money could be used to purchase entire moods.

She moved carefully at first, reading the room the way she always did: looking at posture, listening for tone, mapping status without needing introductions.

She knew Dean was important.

She’d always known, technically. She knew his parents were grand dukes, that his name came with infrastructure behind it, not just reputation.

Sylvia wandered for a while, taking it all in and trying not to look like she was one wrong breath away from committing a minor felony out of curiosity. She spotted diplomats. Military officers. Media in carefully restricted corners. Nobles who smiled like knives.

She did not beat any of them. It took more restraint than she was ready to admit.

Then she saw Dean and Arion arrive.

Heads turned. Conversations stalled. Bodies angled, subtle and instinctive, like the entire ballroom had been waiting for the main event.

Sylvia stopped near the edge of the room.

Hesitated.

Dean looked… unreal. Tailored black, blond hair neat, purple eyes sharp as ever – smaller than the men around him, leaner, but not swallowed by them.

And beside him… Arion was a wall.

Seven feet three inches of composed dominance in formal wear, a broad chest, powerful shoulders, gold, firm eyes, and a scar over his cheek that made him look like someone who had survived violence and learned to make it obedient.

Sylvia’s first thought was, ’Oh. That’s why the country is obsessed.’

Her second thought was ’Dean is going to eat him alive.’

Her third thought was ’Dean is also going to get eaten alive… by Arion.’

Sylvia’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

She didn’t want to take a single breath of spotlight from Dean. She didn’t want to look like some desperate civilian trying to cling onto power now that her friend was becoming royal.

She had better things to do than get dragged into noble politics out of pure proximity.

She stayed where she was, watching, waiting for Dean to look over on his own timeline.

And then Arion’s gaze found her.

It landed on Sylvia like a spotlight without heat.

Sylvia froze as she suddenly understood the feeling of being assessed by a predator who didn’t need to bare teeth to be terrifying.

Arion’s attention held for a beat.

Then he tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable, and made a small gesture to someone behind him, so subtle most people wouldn’t have noticed.

A guard or an aide.

Someone in black with an earpiece and a posture that said ’I am part of the building.’

The person moved immediately.

Sylvia watched them cross the room in a straight line toward her, and she had the brief, absurd urge to bolt like a teenager caught sneaking into a restricted area.

Instead, she lifted her chin and stood her ground, because she was Sylvia, and she did not run from polite threats in suits.

The aide stopped in front of her with perfect courtesy.

“Lady Sylvia,” they said, voice low. “His Highness requests your presence.”

Sylvia blinked once. “Requests,” she repeated.

The aide’s expression remained neutral. “Yes.”

Sylvia took a slow breath.

Of course he did.

Of course Arion saw her, clocked her hesitation, and decided she would not be allowed to hover at the edge like she didn’t belong.

Because if Dean was being claimed publicly tonight, then everything around Dean was being claimed too.

Including Sylvia.

Sylvia’s stomach flipped.

Then she smiled sweetly, politely, and absolutely unafraid.

“Alright,” Sylvia said, and followed the aide through the crowd.

Every step toward the center felt like walking deeper into a storm.

But when she got closer, she saw it – Dean’s eyes flicking her way, the tension in his face easing by a fraction.

And Sylvia, for all her chaos, for all her sharp edges, would do this one thing properly.

She wouldn’t steal his spotlight with a burst of chaos.

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