Page 5 of The Edge Of Us

The launch event was an exclusive affair held at a luxurious rooftop venue overlooking the LA skyline. Celebrities, influencers, and industry elites filled the room, the air buzzing with excitement. The stage was bathed in soft golden lighting as I stepped forward, microphone in hand, my Luxe Beauty lip liner in its elegant packaging displayed on grand pedestals.

“This isn’t just makeup,” I said, my voice steady yet passionate. “It’s confidence. It’s power. It’s a signature that defines you before you even say a word.”

Applause erupted, and I caught Allen’s gaze from the front row, his deep blue eyes filled with pride. The moment was surreal, but there was no time to bask in it. In less than 48 hours, we would be stepping onto the Met Gala red carpet, another whirlwind event that demanded perfection.

The theme this year was Old Hollywood Glamour, and every designer in the world had wanted to dress me. I had chosen a custom gown—a shimmering black and gold silk creation that clung to my figure like a second skin, the train cascading behind me like liquid metal. The delicate embroidery caught the light with every step, creating an ethereal glow that followed me like a halo. My hair was styled in deep, glossy waves, pinned to one side, a modern tribute to screen legends of the past. Lips painted in the very shade of Luxe Beauty’s new launch—bold, powerful, unforgettable.

Allen, always effortlessly elegant, stood beside me in a sharp tailored tuxedo, his presence commanding yet understated. He exuded quiet confidence, his dark hair neatly styled, a slight five o’clock shadow adding to his rugged charm. The watch on his wrist gleamed under the city lights, a subtle flex of wealth and power.

The car ride to the Met Gala was quiet, our fingers intertwined as we watched the flashing lights grow nearer. The tension in the air was palpable—the anticipation, the thrill of knowing we were about to step into a night that would be talked about for years to come.

When our car finally pulled up to the grand entrance, the world outside erupted into chaos. Camera flashes turned the night into a blinding spectacle of white light, reporters shouting questions, the sound of voices blending into an indistinct roar. The velvet ropes barely held back the sea of photographers vying for a single perfect shot.

The moment we stepped out, the energy shifted. A hush, an intake of breath, as if the world itself had paused to take us in.

“Corine! Over here!”

“Allen, how does it feel to have the most stunning woman in the room on your arm?”

The golden carpet beneath our feet seemed to glow, a regal path leading up the iconic Met steps. Allen held out his hand, guiding me with practiced ease, his touch reassuring amid the frenzy. Each step was measured, deliberate. I knew how to play this game—to let the cameras feast on every calculated turn of my head, every graceful movement, every smirk that hinted at the secrets we held.

The grandeur of the Met Gala was breathtaking. The entrance, adorned with cascading red roses and gilded chandeliers, felt like stepping into a dream. Inside, a symphony of laughter and champagne glasses filled the air, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with the warmth of candlelight. Celebrities and designers mingled, each more dazzling than the next, a parade of fashion and influence.

Natasha was waiting just inside, a vision in emerald silk that made her red hair even more striking. “Took you long enough,” she teased, handing me a glass of champagne. “You’re the moment, Cori. I swear, the world is obsessed with you tonight.”

I let out a soft laugh, my fingers grazing the diamonds around my neck. “Let them watch.”

As the night unfolded, we danced the delicate dance of fame and secrecy. Every conversation was laced with intrigue, every glance calculated. Allen and I stole moments of solitude amid the crowd—a hand at the small of my back, a whispered word in my ear that sent a shiver down my spine.

But beneath it all, beneath the shimmering lights and whispered admiration, I carried a quiet truth—a tiny heartbeat, a future unknown, a love that was only just beginning to grow.

Chapter 4

Corine's POV

I sat on the edge of our California king-sized bed, my fingers hovering over the screen of my phone. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in my ears. Telling the world I was pregnant was one thing, but telling the people who mattered most? That was an entirely different weight pressing down on my chest.

Allen sat beside me, his hand warm over mine, grounding me. "Take your time, baby," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. "You don’t have to do this all at once."

But I did. Because the moment we told my family, the news would spread like wildfire. There was no controlling it after that.

I dialed my mother first. The phone rang twice before her warm, familiar voice answered. "Corine, sweetheart! What a lovely surprise. How was the Met Gala? You and Allen looked breathtaking."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It was amazing, Mama. But I have something more important to tell you. Something big."

Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath. "You're pregnant."

A laugh bubbled out of me. "How do you do that?"

"I'm your mother. I know these things! Oh, my darling girl, congratulations!" Her voice turned watery, and I could hear the emotion brimming. "When did you find out? How are you feeling?"

"Three weeks ago," I admitted. "Allen's been taking care of me."

"Of course he has," she said fondly. "And your father—oh, he's going to be over the moon. You need to tell him immediately."

I smiled, my fingers trembling as I pressed the call button for my father.

"Pumpkin!" My dad’s deep voice rang through the phone. "I was just watching your Met Gala interview. What a stunning dress—"

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