PERFECT LIE

Zephyra Lione’s heels clicked against the marble floor of the grand Celestine Hotel as she walked in. Eyes followed her as she entered, some secretly, some stared very obviously. It was because of the dress she wore. The dress was one of her own designs; a beautiful black velvet gown with a V-neckline and a slit that exposed her right thigh. The back of the dress was open but held together by a thin crisscross of silver chains that twinkled brightly.

She was at the hotel for a charity event organized by Dravencorp. She had been invited. But more than that, she intended to meet people in the fashion industry. To meet those who could push her name further into the spotlight. Already, she was the city’s latest obsession; a two-time winner of Rookie Designer of the Year, a woman called too ambitious, and branded dangerous by the men whose careers she could ruin with a few sharp words. She had done it before.

She was about to step into the elevator when she heard the sound of someone sobbing. Zephyra stopped in her tracks, then took a few steps back to see where the sound was coming from.

A young woman stood by the corner. Zephyra recognized her instantly. She was Maya Delrose, a famous model in the fashion industry. Her makeup was smudged, and she held the arm of a man Zephyra did not recognize. He was tall and handsome, with dark-hair, his suit perfectly tailored to his muscular body, his expression cold enough to turn the temperature of a room, many degrees down.

“Please,” Maya’s voice broke. “Just… listen to what I have to say.”

Without hesitation, the man yanked her hand away from his, with force. She stumbled and fell on the floor with a soft cry.

“You had one chance to prove me wrong, Maya. One chance!” The man spoke, trying hard not to be loud.

Zephyra’s chest tightened with a burning anger that dug up old scars. Her father had been like that; abusive, hot-tempered. Her mother had endured bruises from him until she couldn’t anymore. Zephyra had sworn never to let a man like that near her or treat her that way, and she had even less tolerance for watching it happen to someone else. The man could have said whatever without pushing her away.

The man bent down, pulled something out of his inner suit pocket, dropped it in front of her, then leaned close and whispered something Zephyra couldn’t hear. Whatever he said made her sob harder.

Zephyra stepped back quickly, turning away as if she had seen nothing. She had an event to attend, a reputation to guard. But his face was locked in her memory. She would deal with him later.

She was about to glance back when someone slammed into her shoulder. Her heel wobbled and she almost fell down.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man said flatly and left. No apology. Nothing.

Zephyra looked up and it was him. The same man who had just yanked Maya to the ground.

She straightened. “Such a good-for-nothing jerk,” she muttered under her breath as he walked into the elevator. “Let me see you one more time. I’ll teach you how to behave properly.”

Zephyra took the next elevator and rode it up to the grand ballroom.

The hall was filled with business men and women dressed elegantly, all here for a purpose best known to them. Dravencorp’s logo glowed across the stage backdrop. Their influence stretched across entertainment, fashion, and beyond. Everyone here wanted a piece of them.

As she entered, heads turned. Women whispered about her dress, men about her legs. Reporters swarmed towards her, flashing cameras, throwing questions.

“Which brand are you wearing tonight, Miss Lione?” one asked.

Zephyra smiled. “My own, of course. I only wear my brand to events.”

Before they could fire off more questions, the MC’s voice boomed over the speakers.

“Please welcome the host of tonight’s charity gala—the CEO of Dravencorp, Mr. Kairo Draven.”

Polite applause filled the room as a tall figure stepped onto the stage. Zephyra’s eyes followed him and her smile froze.

It was him. The jerk. The one who had no respect for women.

Her disbelief twisted into something sharper. Of course. Every one of these princes born rich always had a rotten core. All handsome and good on the outside, but secretly involved in something bad.

As he spoke with his smooth voice, perfect delivery; Zephyra saw the women in the audience almost leaning forward to breathe his air. She knew better than to fall for his handsome face and charms.

“If there’s any questions or inquiries about how the charity will be distributed, please reach out to Dravencorp’s team. Thank you all and enjoy the rest of your night,” he said with a slight smile.

This was her time. Her hand went up before she could stop herself.

The crowd parted for her to walk to the front like she was royalty or a threat. Maybe both.

“Do you mind if I ask my own question now?” she said when she reached the front.

His gaze locked on hers, as if trying to uncover whatever she was about to say before she said it.

“You can just call the company later to—”

She didn’t care. Her question wasn’t to ask for his permission. It was a warning for the bomb about to explode.

“The proceeds of this charity event will be going to the victims of abuse too. What would you say are your intentions for this charity event? Would you classify them as something that truly matches your character? Or are you just hiding behind good deeds like this, Mr. Draven?”

Gasps and murmurs went through the crowd. Cameras turned.

His brows twitched. “What do you mean by hiding? I don’t think we’re close enough for you to know my true character or to question me about my intentions.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it,” she said with a smirk. “How cold, and rude you are. Not to mention how you don’t respect women at all.”

“That’s a strong accusation,” he said, his voice dropping lower than before. He was starting to get annoyed. “What will you do if you get arrested for defamation?”

Zephyra smirked. “There it is. Your true colors. Manipulative. Threatening. Don’t worry, Mr. Draven… I know the law quite well. And I know what I saw a few minutes ago with that woman. Do you want me to go further?”

His silence was louder than the murmurs. Then he stepped down from the stage, his cold gaze, fixated on her feisty one. He went through the crowd until he was right in front of her.

He bent close and tucked her hair behind her ear, his hand warm against her skin. The scent of him was dark, clean, intoxicating.

“You know the law,” he murmured, “but you don’t know me. Big mistake. Be prepared for the consequences of your actions today… Miss Zephyra Lione.”

He smirked and walked away, reporters running after him and sho

uting out questions.

Zephyra stood frozen.

How the hell does he know my name?