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Gala Night: The First Stage of Her Vengeance
Ashira stepped out of the matte-black Maybach and into a flashstorm of paparazzi.
Flashes burst like white fireflies in the night. Cameras clicked. Reporters screamed her name. The paparazzi hadn't cared much for Ashira Lin last month. But now, with her sudden marriage to Damien Zhuang—the city's most eligible and ruthless CEO—she had become prime scandal bait.
Too bad for them, the Ashira Lin they expected was long gone.
She emerged in a red satin gown that clung like flame, slit high enough to whisper rebellion with each step. Diamond ear cuffs gleamed against her dark hair, swept up in a loose twist. Her lips were painted blood-red, her spine straight, her expression regal.
This was the girl who once cried in bathrooms after her ex kissed another woman in front of her.
Now? She was the woman they stared at and whispered about behind trembling champagne flutes.
"Lady Ashira, did your husband pick your dress tonight?" one reporter dared to ask.
She turned, smiling sweetly, eyes sharp as razors.
"No. I don't wear what I'm told," she said, pausing just long enough for the cameras to click. "But I do make it unforgettable."
Damien was waiting inside the gala, of course. He always arrived early—to own the room before anyone else could breathe in it.
She didn't mind being late.
Let the world see who wore control better.
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🥂 Inside the Ballroom
The Zhuang Corporation's Annual Winter Gala was not just an event—it was a power theater. A place where alliances were made, enemies smiled through gritted teeth, and one wrong comment could cost a billion-dollar deal.
Tonight, the ballroom dripped in frost-white chandeliers and a thousand delicate glass roses. Waiters moved like shadows between conversations worth fortunes. CEO wives compared handbags like they were battle armor. Investors raised crystal flutes while speaking in knives.
And Ashira walked straight into that glittering warzone like a blade unsheathed.
Her heels echoed like gunshots on marble.
Gasps and half-mouthed greetings followed her, including from people who used to ignore her at events—or worse, pity her. Now they watched her the way prey watches a lion in the grass, uncertain whether to run or bow.
Somewhere in the crowd, her past life's betrayers lurked.
She spotted them instantly.
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🔥 Targets Acquired: The Ones Who Burned Her Before
At the center table:
Alina Choudhary — Her old college best friend. The same girl who "accidentally" dated the guy Ashira had a crush on, then ghosted her for better social circles.
Dr. Rivan Mehta — The man Ashira once loved in her past life. He used her loyalty, borrowed her savings to start a clinic, and left her the day it became profitable.
Lana Kapoor — Socialite influencer who used to call her "cute but invisible." Her main brand: mocking side characters for not knowing their place.
They didn't recognize her. Not truly.
But Ashira? She recognized every cruel word, every smirk, every memory etched into her bones.
Tonight, she was no invisible girl.
She was the storm.
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💃 The Opening Strike: Confrontation
"Ashira Lin, nice to meet you," Alina said first, air-kissing the space near her cheek. "You look… amazing. You're practically glowing. Married life suits you?"
Ashira turned, sipping her champagne.
"Not married life. Power does."
She looked Alina up and down, then whispered with a smile:
"Still borrowing designer knockoffs for these events? I almost mistook it for real."
Alina's smile froze. "Excuse me?"
Ashira leaned in, brushing past her.
"Oh don't worry. Only a trained eye would know. The stitch in your clutch isn't from Hermès—it's from Guangzhou."
And with that, she was gone, leaving a trail of silence and disbelief.
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🍷 Round Two: Rivan
He approached with the same crooked smile that once made her knees weak.
"Ashira Lin?" he asked. "Wow… I hardly recognized you from the magazines and billboards. Didn't think you'd show up married to Damien Zhuang of all people."
Her expression was unreadable.
"I had a lot of time to rethink my standards."
He chuckled. "Look, I know the past ended… weirdly. But if you ever want to reconnect—"
She raised a finger, pressing it lightly against his lips. He blinked.
"I didn't come here to relive past disappointments. You look like a man who still lives on borrowed confidence."
She stepped closer, brushing imaginary lint from his lapel.
"You remember the ₹4 lakh loan you received from a "bank"?" she asked, voice soft.
He nodded, confused on how she knows information on his private life.
Ashira leaned in, her voice now cold:
"Tonight, I bought the hospital that employs you."
He staggered. "You—what?"
"Oh yes. It'll be under new management by Monday." She patted his shoulder. "I suggest brushing up your resume, Rivan. You'll need it."
---
🧊 Damien Enters: Heat Meets Ice
He had been watching from the mezzanine.
Damien descended the glass staircase like a black swan made of marble. His suit was custom Giorgio Armani—flawless, lethal. He exuded the kind of authority that made titans swallow their pride.
His eyes locked on Ashira from across the ballroom.
She was laughing—louder than anyone expected. Brighter. Sharper. She was electric.
It was unsettling.
It was… fascinating.
She caught his gaze and raised her glass in mock salute. A hundred eyes turned to them in that single moment, as if waiting for sparks—or a war.
Damien didn't blink.
He walked to her.
"Having fun?" he asked coolly.
"Your company throws decent parties. The people? A little boring."
He smirked faintly. "You're full of surprises tonight."
She stepped close, standing on tiptoes to murmur near his jaw:
"You haven't seen anything yet, husband."
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🕊️ The Fake Kiss… That Didn't Feel Fake
A photographer pointed their way. Another followed. Then more. Damien saw it before she did.
"They're baiting us," he muttered. "The board's watching."
"Let them," she replied.
And then, she reached up and kissed his cheek. No hesitation. No awkwardness. A long, slow, camera-perfect moment.
Except—
His jaw tightened.
Her lips were warm. Deliberate. Confident. It wasn't for show. Or maybe it was—but it still left a mark.
She pulled away, lips inches from his ear.
"Relax. I didn't fall in love with you, remember?" she whispered.
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🎻 Music Shifts: The Toast
The music dimmed. A soft chime rang through the ballroom. A stage spotlight landed on Damien.
"Mr. Zhuang," said the emcee, "perhaps you'd offer a toast—with your beautiful wife?"
Whispers spread like wildfire.
He took the mic. Paused. Looked at Ashira.
She accepted the second mic like a queen accepting her crown.
"We thank you for joining us tonight," Damien said smoothly.
Ashira followed with a smile.
"But more importantly," she added, "thank you for reminding us… that alliances can shift. And that those who underestimate others often forget—every empire starts with one decisive woman."
The room went silent.
Damien's gaze flicked sideways.
That wasn't in the script.
---
Back in the shadows, Lana Kapoor, the influencer, tapped frantically on her phone.
"This doesn't make sense," she hissed. "She's not like what people's gossip says. Something's off—she's too... calculated."
Meanwhile, Ashira stepped onto the rooftop balcony alone, wind teasing her hair. She watched the skyline and whispered:
"This is only the beginning."
Far below, a black car waited. Inside, a mysterious man in silver cuffs scrolled through photos of her.
"She's awake," he said into his earpiece.
"Phase Two begins."
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