Veiled Hearts

Eleven

The Rocker Ball was as extravagant as Violet remembered from her childhood—glistening chandeliers, soft classical music floating through the air, and the hum of conversation buzzing beneath the elegant essence. The guests were adorned in the finest designer gowns, polished shoes, and glittering jewelry that could blind someone if caught at the right angle.

Violet stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, her fingers gripping the stem of her champagne glass a little tighter than necessary. The delicate satin of her gown skimmed her skin, an emerald green that her mother had picked out for her—subtle, yet designed to stand out. The pressure was on, as it always was when Margaret Sinclair dragged her daughter to events like this. It wasn't just about the ball, the prestige, or the charity auctions. It was about connections. And tonight, Margaret was in full matchmaker mode.

"Violet," Margaret's voice came from beside her, sharp but refined, just like everything about her. She gently clasped Violet's arm and guided her toward a well-dressed man in his late twenties who was talking to a small group of guests.

Margaret smiled proudly as they approached. "I want to introduce you to someone very special—this is Dr. Fields . You remember the Fields, don't you? He's just graduated from Harvard Law. Brilliant young man." She said with a wink.

Violet put on her most polite smile as she extended her hand. Charles turned, his eyes lighting up in recognition as he shook her hand a bit too enthusiastically. "Violet Sinclair, right? Of course, I remember you from when we were kids. How long has it been?"

Violet smiled, more out of politeness than anything else. "Quite a while."

He launched into a monologue about his law career, name-dropping high-profile cases and mentors he'd worked under. Every word was measured and self-important, and Violet felt her interest wane with every passing second. It wasn't that Charles was rude—he was just... dull. So caught up in his own achievements that he barely noticed if anyone else was still listening.

As Charles continued, Violet's gaze wandered across the room, her eyes scanning the crowd. She was used to these events by now—expected to network, make the right impression, and, in her mother's words, "find someone who can match her level." But Violet wasn't interested in dating someone who checked all of Margaret's boxes. She wanted something real.

Her thoughts drifted to Jason, and she felt a pang in her chest. Things with him were still undefined. They had a connection, an undeniable chemistry, but they hadn't put a label on it. He wasn't one to rush into anything, and she respected that... but part of her wished he would just step up, claim her, let her know where they stood.

"...and then I was offered a clerkship with a federal judge," Charles continued, seemingly oblivious to the glazed look in Violet's eyes.

"Sounds... impressive," she muttered, trying to sound interested, but her gaze wandered again.

That's when she saw him.

Dr. Langston was standing near the entrance, looking effortlessly sharp as usual. His eyes scanned the room before they locked onto hers, and he started walking in her direction. Instantly, her heart rate picked up. There was something about him that drew attention, even in a room filled with high society types.

As he approached, his gaze never wavered from hers. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Excuse me," Dr. Langston said smoothly as he stepped into the conversation, his presence immediately commanding attention. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Charles blinked, looking slightly thrown off but maintaining his composed demeanor. "Oh, not at all. We were just talking about my clerkship. Violet was very interested."