Chapter 41
**Cossette's POV**
The Nathalie Sterling advertisement did exactly what we needed it to do.
Within forty-eight hours, we were everywhere — in social media every corner of the internet that mattered. Nathalie's face launched a thousand comments, and Alex's unexpected appearance beside her turned him into an overnight sensation. *Who is this handsome man next to our goddess?* The people wanted answers. The people also, apparently, wanted frozen pizza — because our sales record shattered within days. Not just Foody's record.
Tasty's record too.
I smiled into my coffee, already imagining Frost's face when the numbers crossed his desk.
Across the table, Betha was the picture of misery. Phone in hand, jaw tight, scrolling through what I could only assume was another avalanche of fan edits shipping Alex and Nathalie into matrimony.
She placed her phone face-down on the table with the controlled aggression of someone who wanted to throw it through a window.
"They're shipping them so hard," she said flatly.
"We broke the sales record," I replied. "In days."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. "Do you think he actually likes her? Because Nathalie still has feelings for Alaric — that's obvious. But Alex..."
I hadn't planned to react.
I reacted immediately.
"You think she's still in love with Alaric?"
Betha's eyes slid to mine, slow and deliberate, that dangerous smirk already forming.
"Pretty sure, yeah. The way she looks at him when she thinks no one's watching? Lost puppy energy. Completely gone for him."
Something stirred in my chest — hot, uninvited .
"Anyway," I said, turning back to my screen with great purpose, "what matters is the sales record. We actually did it."
"Yeah, yeah," Betha said, smirking at her coffee.
I was mid-sentence when a new email notification blinked onto my screen. I clicked it open.
*Dear Cossette — you are cordially invited, along with your team, to the Annual Elite Gala this Saturday evening. Dress as the princess you are.*
I looked up. "Betha. The yearly gala. Have you ever been?"
She sighed with her whole body. "Of course not. That's the elite of the elite. Even I couldn't get in — and my family is very much elite. That event is another dimension entirely."
"What about Ray? Frost? Alaric?"
"Them? Yes. Us?" She gestured between us. "Regular elite. Not yearly-gala elite."
I stared at her. "I have no idea what you just said but regardless — we're invited."
The silence lasted approximately one second.
Then Betha's eyes went wide — wider than I believed humanly possible — and she launched herself out of her chair like she'd been electrocuted.
"WE'RE INVITED TO THE YEARLY GALA?!"