Mia
The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, crystal glasses clinking in polished hands, laughter and murmured conversations spilling into the night. To anyone else, the Harrington estate might have looked like paradise. To Mia, it was a gilded cage.
Her grandfather's voice still echoed in her mind from earlier that evening: "Appearances matter, Mia. You carry this family's legacy. People are always watching."
She had nodded, because that was what he expected. But inside, she was tired—tired of the weight of Harrington wealth, tired of being the girl people envied while never truly knowing her, tired of pretending she wasn't empty.
The only reason she was even here tonight was Lila.
"Mia, stop glaring at the champagne like it insulted you," Lila teased, looping an arm through hers. Lila, vibrant and soft in a pastel dress, was the only person who could drag Mia into a crowd and somehow make it feel less suffocating.
"I don't glare," Mia replied, though she knew she did. "I just don't see the appeal in pretending these parties aren't rehearsed performances."
"That's rich coming from you," Lila said with a smirk. "The girl who can freeze a man to ice with one look."
Mia shrugged, her lips curving. "Maybe I enjoy the silence it creates."
Before Lila could answer, a familiar voice called her name. James. He stood across the room, tall and relaxed, waving them over.
"Here we go," Mia muttered. She had a suspicion Lila's boyfriend was up to something. James rarely smiled that knowingly.
Sure enough, when they reached him, Mia felt the air shift. He wasn't alone.
Beside him stood a man she didn't recognize, though recognition wasn't necessary. Something about him commanded attention—his broad shoulders, sharp lines of a suit that probably cost more than most people's annual salary, and the air of control radiating from his stillness. Dark hair framed a face that looked as though it had been carved with precision: strong jaw, straight nose, lips pressed in a line that carried both confidence and disdain.
And his eyes—deep, unreadable, watching her as if cataloging every flaw.
"Mia," James said smoothly, "this is Ace Laurent. Ace, Mia Harrington."
Laurent. The name carried weight. Everyone in their circle knew of the Laurents—old money, ruthless business sense, power wrapped in respectability. She'd heard of their heir, but never met him. Until now.
Mia lifted her chin, offering a polite nod. "Laurent."
"Miss Harrington," he replied, his tone cool, almost mocking in its formality.
Something prickled beneath her skin. She disliked him already.
"Finally," Lila said brightly, clearly too pleased. "You two have so much in common."
Mia shot her friend a warning glance. What game are you playing, Lila?
But Ace's lips quirked faintly, as though he'd noticed the exchange and found it amusing. That only fueled her irritation.
"So," Ace said, his voice low, smooth, "you're the granddaughter everyone talks about. The one who inherited everything."
It wasn't the words themselves, but the way he said them—like a challenge, as if he wanted to see how deep the barb would go.
Mia's smile was sharp. "And you're the son who thinks the world is already his."
His brows lifted slightly. For a flicker of a second, she thought she saw a spark of respect in his gaze. Then it was gone, replaced with that same infuriating calm.
"Touché," he said softly.
Lila and James exchanged a glance, the kind only couples did, before James cleared his throat. "We'll, uh, grab drinks. You two should talk."
And just like that, they were gone.
Mia wanted to strangle them both.
She turned back to Ace, ready to end the conversation quickly. But he was watching her again, and it unsettled her—like he was seeing too much, stripping away the armor she'd built.
"So tell me, Harrington," he said, tilting his glass, "do you always look this miserable at your own parties?"
Her jaw tightened. "Do you always make it a habit of insulting your hosts?"
His smirk widened. "Only the ones who can handle it."
Infuriating man.
Mia crossed her arms, steadying her breath. She wasn't going to let him win whatever game this was. "You know nothing about me."
"Maybe," he allowed. "But I know the type. Cold, untouchable, used to people falling at your feet. You don't let anyone in, because then you'd have to admit you care."
The words struck deeper than she expected. Too close to truth. Too sharp.
Her grandfather's voice whispered in her mind again: Appearances matter, Mia.
So she smiled, brittle but composed. "And you, Laurent, strike me as the type who hides arrogance behind charm. Tell me—does it help you sleep at night, believing no one can touch you?"
This time, it was his turn to stiffen, however slight.
Good.
Silence stretched between them, charged and heavy. Around them, the ballroom hummed with music and laughter, but Mia barely noticed. All she saw was him. All she felt was the tension neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
For a heartbeat, she thought—no, feared—that he might lean closer, that this strange pull between them might snap.
Instead, he straightened, expression cooling. "Careful, Harrington. You might actually be interesting."
And with that, he walked away.
Mia stood frozen, her heart pounding. She hated him—his arrogance, his sharp eyes, the way he cut straight through her defenses.
But beneath the anger, buried deep, was something she hated even more.
And by the end of the night Mia couldn't shake off the feeling of resentment and annoyance by how somebody could be so smug, irritating and cliche at the same time . If Ace Laurent thought she was someone who he knew who he could understand, who he could get through she would show him that he was severely mistaken
Mia grabs her phone and sends a message to Lila "I know what you and your unique boyfriend are planning and it is not going to work . And for the record Ace is nothing but an irritating, arrogant, self-absorbed man who thinks he can have anything he wants". Then she heads of to bed, but secretly with the thought of Ace Laurant in her mind.