BRIGHT.
The flashes were too bright.

"Arlene!"
"Over here, Arlene!"
"Are you and Grayson Hawthorne together?"
"Your statement the day you got shot, was it true?"
"Smile pretty, Arlene!"

The voices.
The flashes.
I was in a sea of white bangs of light.
The camera's screeching shutters made my ears ring.

And not.

My pupils shrunk but made no effort to squeeze shut the lids. 
That sweet, fooling curve of my lips never curled down.

If I was in a sea of white bangs and loud shutters, I was swimming with ease.
No fear of drowning.

Because somewhere in the back of my head, I knew.

I've gone under the water a hundred times before.

·······•✦•······

The Great Room was great alright.

Sky-high pillars, boasting chandeliers with more jewels and glitter than stars in the night sky, spiraling golden designs on the dome-like ceiling. Flowing like a gentle stream of wine, glided the curtains of red. And at the ground of the smooth carpets and intricately designed flooring was nothing down to earth.

An ocean of people, dancing, talking and just being. 
Flurries of colors, movements of grace.
And not one showed their face.

This was a party of the rich.
A paradise of luxury.
A pinnacle of elegance.

A complete and utter miraculous hell for me.

"For the last time, Hawthorne," I furiously battled the urge to stick up a certain uncouth digit of mine at silvery eyes, "I do not know or care who the Chair of Johnsburg Pharmaceutical's son's niece is." 

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne had been damned to attend the ball as my date so he decided to damn me by drilling political relations, proper etiquettes, posh vocabulary, and correct ways to hold your smile at others while not judging their existence, since the past hour and a half. Any thought of mercy that may have even flickered in his pretty head was swatted right away even as we prepared to make our entrance.

"Well you should, Miss Grambs," His voice was silky smooth, but a bump of irritation crept through it as he tied the bow of my hair a little bit tighter than needed to be, "You are not Arlene Amira Grambs here. You are the Hawthorne Heiress. And the Hawthorne name, as unfortunate as it may be, is dependent on your actions and behavior. Do not disgrace it." 

He didn't have to say the next part: And I will make sure of it. His steely grey eyes said enough.

You don't need to make sure of anything but not tripping on that long princess cape, Hawthorne. 
I clenched my teeth around the inside of my cheeks. Picking a fight right now would just cause more drama and problems. Just walk and look pretty.

I was about to take a step towards the ginormous door in front of me, but a certain someone's hands wrapped around my wrists. His skin was warm and almost familiar from how many times its been there.

"Arlene," the look in his eyes made me feel like a kid who forgot her homework. Or gloves apparently. "Where are your gloves?"

"Gloves?" Stupidly, I glared at my bare skin. As if that would magically summon them in the palm of my hands. "Gloves."

Now look.
I was a wild child.

I feared nothing while spending my life with my sisters. Nothing and no one (aside from Lib when she gets mad though. Pretend you didn't read that.). 

I'd beaten men twice my age in a fight.
I'd jumped out of windows like I'd get no fall damage.

Got in front of bullets.
Drank poison.

Heck, I'd even stared at a spider for over a second.
Granted that was prior to me giving it entire ownership of Avery's car, but you get the point. 

I wasn't an easy person to send into a cold sweat.

And yet I think I was drowning in it now.
All it took was an arch of his perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Grayson Hawthorne hadn't said anything, per se.

But his face? Oh, his face was practically radiating judgment and disapproval. That unamused expression, as if he was dealing with a toddler.
It made me entertain the idea of smacking his face. Hard.

My lips parted open but before they could utter a sound, a cheery voice called my name, "Arlene!".

Ezra Martin was a lean boy no older than and barely nineteen. Ezra Martin was my substitute bodyguard after I begged—ahem sorry, asked, Oren to stay with my sister. The feeling that she would need him close kept nagging me.

And the fact that if Oren was here, looking at how dolled up I was, I doubt the police would accept the cause of death as laughter.

"Ezra," The relief in my voice when my eyes caught the pitch-black gloves in his hand was evident, "You're late." I grinned at him, placing a hand on my hip.

The boy ruffled his bird's nest of brown hair even more, "Sorry, sorry. You forgot these in the car while I was parking and I realized too late so I had to run all the way back."

"That's so weird," I held my hand out as Ezra went to slide the gloves onto them, "I had them with me when we were at the paparazzi area. I guess I forgot." But before Ezra could even touch my skin, Grayson's fingers tangled between mine, pulling them and my entire body towards him.

"It seems you possess a short-term memory, Doll," Grayson's voice was leveled and perfectly balanced. His expression carefully aloof. I wouldn't have noticed any difference if it weren't for the way his grip tightened around the heel of my hand.

The way he called me Doll.

"And you, Mr. Martin," Icy daggers were thrown at the poor kid, "Are we having a problem doing our job? Do not worry, a call to Oren and you wouldn't have to be late ever again." That wasn't anything not to worry, and Ezra knew it. But his face showed nothing but that lazy grin that matched mine.

"I'm good, no thanks," He merely shrugged, "I'll try not to be too late only if Leena stops forgetting her stuff in the car."

Oh, heavens. My existence had been acknowledged.

Grayson glanced towards me and then tugged me closer. If I hadn't been so absorbed in the tension between the two, I would've backed away. His fingertips brushed against me in a way that made shivers ride up my spine.
Nauseatingly pleasant.
With the care of an artist adding the finest of details, he slid the fabric onto my forearm. The inky black had completely colored my skin from my elbows to the peaks of my fingers.

Like two pieces of a puzzle, Grayson's fingers slid between mine.

"Let's get going now." He held his gaze a moment longer than necessary before catching himself. The gates began to part as light beamed through. "The moment you step onto the red carpet," he whispered, "smile."

"And look at me as if I'm the only definition of love you had ever and would ever want to learn."

·······•✦•······

a/n: guys help my motivation has been dying because of the exams this week. Sorry for the super late chapter and short that too. But I promise, after this Monday's math exam, I'll try to be more consistent. Did I lose you guys yet? Hope not. Also, this chapter begins act two of the story:

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔦𝔯𝔠𝔲𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔦𝔠𝔥