Blair stood before the mirror in her bedroom, her hands smoothing the emerald silk that clung gracefully to her figure. The gown was elegant and timeless, hugging her waist before cascading into a soft flare just below the knees. The off-shoulder neckline revealed her delicate collarbones and the subtle glow of her sun-kissed skin. Her hair had been swept into a voluminous bun with a few soft tendrils framing her face. Her lashes were long and curled, eyes dusted with gold shimmer that made the green of her irises stand out. Glossed lips, a subtle highlight on her cheekbones, and a pair of glimmering diamond studs completed the look. She looked ethereal, like a painting brought to life.
She picked up a small, dark clutch and turned slightly, admiring herself one last time before stepping out of the room.
Downstairs, Victor, Lily, and Cassie stood waiting. When Blair descended, all eyes turned to her.
Victor's expression warmed. "You look perfect."
Lily beamed. "So gorgeous."
Cassie glanced up briefly from her phone, forced a smile, then looked right back down again, tapping away.
Blair smiled politely. "Thank you. Were you waiting for me?"
Cassie didn't miss a beat. "No."
Victor chuckled, "We're actually waiting for Cassie's brother, Caleb."
Blair blinked. "I didn't know you had a brother."
Cassie shrugged. "Well, now you do."
The front door opened.
Caleb Quest stepped inside, tall and relaxed in a well-tailored black suit. Blair immediately recognized him—the charming guy from the pool party.
He smiled. "Hi. I'm Caleb—your stepbrother."
"Hi," Blair responded, a little surprised. "Nice to meet you."
"You look gorgeous."
"Thanks," Blair replied with a small smile. "You look good too."
"Ready to go?"
"Yeah."
With that, the five of them stepped out into the night like the picture-perfect family. Paparazzi lights flashed as they arrived at the Covey Gala Ball, held at the grand Orlin Hall. The press was already stationed outside, snapping shots of the prominent guests.
Cassie clung to James's arm like a scene-stealer. Lily and Victor posed effortlessly for a few photographs. Caleb peeled away from them to meet his date, Grace, who stood waiting in a chic red gown.
Blair stayed behind for a moment, watching from the car window. She took a breath, pushed open the door, and stepped out.
Camera flashes paused for a split second—then erupted again, brighter and faster. She didn't smile. She didn't pose. She walked through it like a ghost, silent and regal. Heads turned as she entered the ballroom alone.
Inside, Andrew leaned toward Caleb and whistled. "Damn. Isn't that the girl from your party?"
Caleb followed his gaze, nodding. "Yep. The one who shoved that guy into the pool."
Andrew laughed. "your stepsister, right?"
"Badass," Caleb said with a grin.
James, who had been lazily sipping his drink, glanced up at the mention. His gaze landed on Blair.
She was crossing the room like she belonged in it—chin lifted, eyes calm, dress flowing with every confident step.
James arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
Later, as Blair reached for a glass of champagne from a tray, she turned—and collided slightly with someone.
"Careful," he said smoothly, steadying her without touching her.
Blair glanced up. "My bad."
"You walk like you own the place," James noted.
She gave him a soft smile. "I walk like I'm not afraid of it."
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest. "Interesting answer."
"Interesting tone," she shot back, taking a sip.
James smirked. "What's your name?"
Blair didn't answer immediately. "Why?"
He chuckled. "So I know what to put under 'unexpected.'"
"Blair."
"James."
"Okay" she said, turning to walk away.
He watched her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. No flirtation. No come-ons. Just that small electric clash—one that neither of them tried to escalate.
Blair didn't look back.
She did, however, note his striking blonde hair, sharp jawline, and the way the tux fit him like it had been made just for him. He looked like someone who knew he could have anything—and probably did.
---
**James's POV**
James watched her walk away, brows slightly furrowed.
Who does she think she is?
She was beautiful, sure. The kind of beauty that didn't need fixing or touch-ups. Her dress clung to her in just the right places, subtle and bold at once. Her eyes—green like summer storms. And that voice. Confident, calm, with no hint of the usual desperation he heard in parties like this.
It wasn't attraction he felt. Not quite. It was... irritation. A challenge. A new variable he hadn't accounted for.
"James."
He turned to see his father approaching—Henry Covey, sharp-suited and commanding.
"It's time for your speech."
James adjusted his cufflinks, set down his drink, and made his way to the podium.
He stood beneath the ornate chandelier, the crowd going silent as he tapped the mic.
"Good evening," he began, voice steady. "I want to thank every one of you for being here tonight. The Covey Industry has always stood for excellence, and this evening is a celebration of that standard—of legacy, vision, and the future we continue to build together."
Polite applause followed.
James raised his glass. "To progress, passion, and power."
The crowd echoed him. "To progress, passion, and power."
Crystal clinked. Glasses tipped.
And the gala carried on.