The Black & Ivory Gala was an annual fixture in Dublin's social calendar. A swirling parade of legacy families, power-hungry CEOs, and aspiring socialites wrapped in couture.
Candice Vauhn had been the centrepiece of it for nearly two decades.
Tonight, Melissa was stepping into that spotlight—not alone, but hand-in-hand with David.
Her gown was a vision of emerald silk, sleeveless, daring, but elegant. A single diamond-studded pin held her hair in a sweeping updo. David wore a crisp black tuxedo custom-tailored just days before, every detail meticulous.
They were seen the moment they entered.
The hush in the ballroom was audible.
Some eyes widened. Others narrowed.
A few offered forced smiles. More simply turned away.
Melissa squeezed David's hand tighter.
"I told you," Candice had whispered during the car ride. "They'll tolerate you, then test you."
But David didn't flinch. His calm, regal posture felt like armor. He moved through the crowd with quiet confidence—acknowledging greetings, offering measured nods.
When the Vauhns reached their assigned table—Table One—David was seated at James's right.
That alone made headlines the next morning.
"Bold move," a woman whispered behind her fan.
Melissa heard. David didn't even blink.
Over foie gras and aged Burgundy, the questions began.
"So, Mr. Terverem," said one older man with a trimmed beard and the smile of a man who had never been told no, "where did you study before Trinity?"
"Nigeria. I received a scholarship to transfer here."
"Interesting. And your parents? What do they do?"
"My mother is a nurse. My father was a community school teacher."
"'Was'?"
"He passed a few years ago."
The table fell briefly silent.
Melissa reached under the table and rested her hand on his thigh.
"Remarkable," another woman murmured, dabbing her lips. "So rare, these stories of… upward mobility."
David offered her a smooth smile. "Not rare. Just rarely welcomed in rooms like this."
James gave a sudden, short laugh. "Well said."
Melissa looked at her father in surprise.
That evening, as they left the ballroom to a sea of camera flashes, James pulled David aside.
"You held your ground tonight," he said.
David met his gaze evenly. "Didn't come here to beg."
James nodded. "No. You came to win."
A long pause.
Then James added, more quietly, "She's better with you. That's not something money can engineer."
For the first time, David saw a glimpse of acceptance—not just approval.
Two days later, the gossip columns lit up.
"Vauhn Heiress and African Scholar: Love or Ambition?"
"Cinderella in Reverse? Billionaire's Daughter Taken by a Commoner"
"Is Melissa Vauhn Rebranding… or Rebounding?"
Melissa threw the magazines onto the kitchen counter with a curse.
"I should have expected this," she muttered.
David sat at the dining table with his laptop, reviewing designs for his thesis project.
He looked up calmly. "They don't know you."
"They think I'm slumming. That you're… a charity case."
"Let them."
Her eyes flashed. "You don't get it. They make or break reputations here. One bad headline and half the board my dad sits on could turn on us."
He closed the laptop gently.
"Mel… look at me."
She did.
"Do you believe what they're saying?"
"No."
"Do I?"
"No."
"Then the rest is noise. We'll outlive it."
She moved to him, her eyes glistening. "I just hate that you have to go through this. That I dragged you into it."
"You didn't drag me anywhere," he said. "I walked into this. With you."
Her voice broke. "You deserve better than being picked apart."
He stood and pulled her into his arms.
"I don't care what they write. Let them print every ugly word they can conjure. At the end of the day, I go home with you. That's all the reward I need."
She pressed her face against his chest, breathing in the steady beat of his heart.
After a long moment, she looked up. "What if I called a press conference?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Set the record straight. Talk about how I was before you. How you helped me. Tell the truth."
He kissed her forehead. "The truth will always rise. Even without microphones."
But in that moment, she knew one thing with crystal clarity.
He didn't just love her.
He shielded her.
And she would spend the rest of her life returning the favour.
Melissa returned to the university campus on a rainy Wednesday to attend a small panel on substance abuse and youth reform. The psychology department had invited her—not as a student, but as someone with lived experience.
It felt surreal to be introduced as "Melissa Vauhn, advocate for student mental health reform."
For a moment, as she stood at the podium, the ghost of who she used to be shimmered behind her reflection in the mirrored lecture hall wall—lipstick smeared from a vodka-fueled night, eyes glassy, laughter too loud.
But the Melissa at the podium was composed. Grounded. Sober.
She cleared her throat and began.
"There were mornings I didn't remember how I got home. Nights I wished I hadn't. Friends who enabled me, and others I pushed away because they told the truth. I was lost in a very golden cage."
She paused.
"Then someone found me—not because he pitied me, but because he saw past what I pretended to be. And when he loved me, he set standards. Not chains."
A student raised her hand in the Q&A portion.
"Did you hate him at first—for trying to change you?"
Melissa smiled faintly. "Sometimes. Change hurts when you're clinging to what destroys you. But what hurt worse was realizing I was afraid of becoming who I could be."
Another student asked, "Do you still struggle with urges?"
She nodded. "Healing is messy. It's not a line. It's a spiral. I still smell tequila and remember. But I also remember what came after."
As she stepped off the stage, several students gathered around her—some to ask questions, others simply to say thank you.
Later that night, as she curled into bed beside David, she whispered, "I spoke to them today… and it felt like I was finally free."
He kissed her shoulder. "Because you finally stopped being afraid of your story."