The Vance Industries Charity Gala was being held at the Metropolitan Museum, because of course it was.
Elara sat in the back of the town car Liam had sent—sleek, black, probably cost more than her monthly revenue—with Leo between her and Xander. Her son wore a miniature suit that made him look impossibly grown-up and impossibly small at the same time. He kept tugging at his collar.
"Mom, it's scratchy."
"I know, baby. Just a few hours."
"Will there be dinosaurs?"
Xander laughed softly. "At a museum? Probably."
"Can we see them?"
"Maybe after," Elara said, straightening his bow tie for the third time.
She was stalling. They were ten minutes early, circling the block, and she was stalling.
Because in five minutes, she'd have to walk through those doors.
In the champagne dress.
The safe dress.
Xander's dress.
The midnight blue gown hung in her closet at home, untouched. She hadn't even tried it on after that first moment in the gallery. Hadn't let herself.
She'd made her choice. The right choice. The choice that said I've moved on, I'm not yours anymore, I choose safety.
So why did it feel like a lie?
"You okay?" Xander's hand found hers. Warm. Steady. Everything Liam wasn't.
"Fine."
"You've said 'fine' seventeen times in the last hour."
"Then I'm very fine."
His smile was sad. Knowing. "You look beautiful, El. Really beautiful."
She did. The champagne silk was elegant, sophisticated, the kind of dress that whispered instead of shouted. Her hair was swept up, makeup subtle, jewelry minimal. She looked like exactly what she was: a successful gallery owner, confident and independent.
She looked nothing like Liam Vance's woman.
Which was the point.
Wasn't it?
The car pulled up to the museum entrance. Red carpet. Actual red carpet. Photographers lined both sides, cameras flashing like artillery fire. This wasn't just a charity gala. This was a spectacle.
"Ready?" Xander asked.
No. Not even a little.
"Yes."
The driver opened the door. Sound rushed in—cameras clicking, people calling out, the low roar of wealth and power congregating. Xander stepped out first, then turned to help her.
Elara took his hand. Stepped onto the red carpet.
And every camera turned to her.
She wasn't prepared for it. The noise. The attention. The sudden, suffocating weight of being seen. Five years ago, she'd stood on carpets like this at Liam's side, but always behind him. Always in his shadow. An accessory to acknowledge and forget.
Now, every lens was pointed at her.
"Ms. Hart!" A photographer called out. "Look this way!"
"Who are you wearing?"
"Is that Alexander Reed?"
"Where's Liam Vance?"
Xander's hand found the small of her back, steadying her. "Breathe," he murmured. "You've got this."
She forced her spine straight. Smiled. Let the cameras capture her with Xander at her side and Leo holding her hand.
The perfect picture of a woman who'd moved on.
They walked the carpet. Xander handled the photographers with easy charm, fielding questions about Reed Holdings, about his relationship with Elara, about the charity. He was good at this—better than she'd expected. Natural. Confident.
Everything a woman could want.
Leo tugged her hand. "Mom, there's a lot of cameras."
"I know, baby. Just smile and wave."
He did. And the cameras ate it up. The chess prodigy. The secret son. The human interest story that made this gala worth covering.
They reached the entrance. Museum doors opened by staff in crisp uniforms. Music drifted out—something classical, elegant, expensive.
Elara stepped inside.
And the world stopped.
The Great Hall of the Met had been transformed. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over marble floors. Ice sculptures. Champagne towers. Men in tuxedos and women in gowns that cost more than cars. This was power. This was wealth. This was the world she'd left behind.
She'd forgotten how seductive it was.
"Ms. Hart." A woman in a headset appeared. Liam's event coordinator. "Mr. Vance is expecting you. If you'll follow me?"
They moved deeper into the hall. People turned to stare. Whispers followed in their wake. Elara felt them like physical touches.
That's her. Liam's ex. The one who ran.
With Marcus Reed's son. Interesting.
She looks good. Better than I expected.
Xander leaned close. "Everyone's watching."
"I know."
"You okay?"
She wasn't sure. This felt like walking into a trap. Like every step took her closer to something inevitable and dangerous and—
"There." Xander's voice tightened.
Elara followed his gaze.
Across the room, surrounded by board members and investors, standing beneath a painting worth millions: Liam Vance.
He wore a tuxedo like it was armor. Black. Perfect. Tailored so precisely it looked like a second skin. His hair was styled, his posture commanding. He was holding court, and everyone around him orbited like he was gravity itself.
He looked exactly like what he was: a king in his kingdom.
And then he saw her.
His conversation stopped mid-sentence. His head turned. His eyes found hers across fifty feet and a hundred people and five years of wreckage.
And everything else disappeared.
Elara forgot how to breathe.
She'd expected anger. Expected that cold fury she'd seen in his office, the possessive rage when she'd mentioned Xander. Expected him to hate the champagne dress, to see it as the rejection it was.
Instead: hunger.
Raw. Undisguised. Devastating.
He looked at her like she was water and he was dying of thirst. Like she was the only person in the room. Like five years and a failed marriage and all the pain between them meant nothing compared to the fact that she was here.
His gaze traveled. Slowly. From her face to her dress to Xander's hand on her back to Leo at her side.
Something flickered in his expression. Pain. Jealousy. Longing.
Then he controlled it. Smoothed his features. Became the CEO again.
He raised his champagne glass in a subtle salute. A nod. Cool. Approving.
You look beautiful. I expected nothing less.
The gesture said it all. He wasn't angry she'd chosen Xander's dress. He was pleased she'd shown up at all. Pleased she'd come to his world. Pleased she was here, within reach, where he could see her.
Like he'd won something just by getting her through the door.
It threw her completely off balance.
"He's staring," Xander said quietly.
"I know."
"Should I be worried?"
Yes. Maybe. She didn't know.
Liam broke eye contact first, turning back to his conversation with practiced ease. But Elara could see the tension in his shoulders. The way his hand tightened around his glass.
He was affected. Completely affected.
And so was she.
"Mom?" Leo tugged her hand. "Can we get food? I'm hungry."
The moment shattered. Elara looked down at her son—her anchor, her reminder of why she was here.
"Of course, baby."
They moved toward the reception area. Waiters circulated with trays of hors d'oeuvres that probably cost more per bite than Elara's weekly grocery budget. Leo grabbed a mini quiche, and Xander procured champagne for the adults.
"To surviving the entrance," Xander said, touching his glass to hers.
"We haven't survived yet."
"Optimistic as always."
Despite everything, she smiled.
And across the room, watching through a gap in the crowd, Liam Vance saw her smile at Alexander Reed.
And thought about exactly how to destroy him.
Liam had prepared for every possibility.
Elara wearing his dress—midnight blue, claiming, undeniable. That would have been a victory.
Elara refusing to come at all—a setback, but manageable.
What he hadn't prepared for: Elara in champagne silk looking like a woman who'd moved on. Looking elegant and independent and entirely too comfortable on Alexander Reed's arm.
Looking beautiful.
Looking happy.
The jealousy was a living thing, clawing up his throat.
"Liam?" His CFO was talking. Had been talking. "The Beijing numbers?"
"Later."
"But—"
"I said later."
The CFO retreated. Smart man.
Liam's head of security, David, appeared at his elbow. "Sir. Ms. Hart has arrived. Should I—"
"I saw."
"Security is monitoring Leo. Two plainclothes detail in the hall."
"Good."
"And Reed?"
"What about him?"
"He's on the approved guest list. Do you want me to—"
"No." Liam's voice was ice. "Let him stay. Let him think he's won."
David nodded and melted back into the crowd.
Liam took a careful sip of champagne, using the movement to scan the room. Elara was at the reception table with Leo. Reed was getting them food, playing the attentive boyfriend. Leo was pointing at something, and Elara was laughing.
She was laughing.
When was the last time he'd made her laugh?
Seven years ago. Maybe eight. Before the marriage became a war zone. Before he'd killed whatever they'd had with neglect and cruelty and the assumption that she'd always be there.
She'd proven him catastrophically wrong.
"Liam Vance." A board member appeared, pulling his attention away. "Excellent turnout. The mayor's here, did you see?"
"I saw."
"And your—the boy. Leo. He's really here?"
The hesitation before "boy" didn't escape Liam's notice. The board didn't know what to call Leo. Son implied acknowledgment. Child implied intimacy.
"Yes. He's here."
"Quite a statement."
"It's not a statement. It's a fact."
The board member laughed nervously and excused himself.
Liam returned his attention to Elara. She'd moved to the silent auction tables with Leo, showing him the various items up for bid. Educational programs. Art supplies. Music lessons.
Things that mattered.
She was pointing something out to Leo, and the boy's face lit up. Liam couldn't hear the conversation, but he could read Leo's body language. Excitement. Curiosity. The kind of pure joy only children could manage.
His son.
God, his son was here. In his world. Wearing a tiny suit and looking at charity auction items like they were treasures.
Liam had to talk to him. Had to—
No.
Not yet. Elara had rules. The contract had rules. He couldn't just approach. Couldn't overwhelm. Had to let Leo come to him.
But damn, it was hard.
"Mr. Vance." Another interruption. His assistant, this time. "The mayor would like a word."
Politics. Business. The machinery of his empire demanding attention.
But his eyes kept drifting back to champagne silk and the woman wearing it.
To the woman who'd chosen Alexander Reed's dress over his.
To the woman who was supposed to be his and was standing thirty feet away like she belonged to someone else.
Game on, he thought.
Let her think she'd won by choosing the safe dress.
Let Reed think he'd won by being here.
The night was young.
And Liam Vance had every intention of reminding Elara exactly who she'd married.
And why she'd never truly left.