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The Luminaire Grand's ballroom sparkled like a crystal cave, its chandeliers casting golden light across the sea of designer gowns and tailored suits. Esmeralda Moreau stood at the entrance, her emerald dress catching the light with each breath. Three years had passed since she'd left Blackwood City, since she'd traded its towering skyscrapers for the quieter shores of Crystal Cove. Three years of building a new life, far from the glittering world of high society—and him.
"Ms. Moreau," a young reporter called out, her tablet ready. "Your boutique in Crystal Cove has become the talk of both Blackwood City and Silvershore. Care to comment on the rumors of expanding to the capital?"
Esmeralda's lips curved into a practiced smile. "Tonight is about celebrating innovation in all its forms. My boutique is just one small part of that conversation."
She moved past the press line with practiced grace, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Each step was measured, careful. This wasn't just another gala—it was her first time back in Blackwood City, a calculated risk she'd taken for her business's future.
"I must say," a smooth voice cut through her thoughts, "the tales from Crystal Cove hardly do you justice."
Julian Le Montague stood before her, champagne flutes in hand. His hazel eyes sparkled with genuine warmth as he offered her one of the glasses. "The mysterious Esmeralda Moreau, the woman who turned a small coastal boutique into a tech phenomenon. I've been looking forward to meeting you."
Esmeralda accepted the champagne flute with graceful fingers, though she had no intention of drinking it—a habit born from pregnancy and maintained through motherhood. The crystal caught the light, creating prisms that danced across her emerald silk gown. "You seem well-informed about my little venture, Mr. Le Montague."
"Please, Julian." His smile held none of the predatory edge she'd grown accustomed to in Blackwood City's elite circles. Instead, there was genuine interest in his hazel eyes as he continued, "And I'd be a poor businessman if I hadn't noticed how you've revolutionised the boutique scene in Crystal Cove. Integrating tech with sustainable fashion? That's more than a venture—it's the future."
The compliment was precise, professional, focused on her achievements rather than her appearance. It was refreshing, yet it did little to ease the tension coiling in her stomach. Being back in Blackwood City, in this world of crystal and silk, felt like tempting fate.
"The fashion industry has remained stagnant for too long," she replied, her voice carrying the quiet confidence she'd built over the past three years. "Sometimes it takes an outsider's perspective to spark change."
Julian's laugh was warm, almost musical. "An outsider? Hardly. The way you've transformed that boutique—" He paused, studying her with shrewd eyes that saw too much. "But this isn't just about business for you, is it? Coming back to Blackwood City..."
"The Luminaire Innovation Gala is the perfect platform to showcase what Crystal Cove has to offer," she deflected smoothly, years of practice making the evasion seem natural. Her eyes continued their subtle sweep of the ballroom—a habit she couldn't break, wouldn't break. Not here. Not when every shadow could hide familiar grey eyes.
The orchestra's melody shifted, a waltz filling the air with its elegant notes. Julian set his untouched champagne aside and extended his hand, his manner refreshingly straightforward.
"Would you honour me with a dance? We can discuss that collaboration my tech division has been developing. Something that might interest you."
Esmeralda hesitated, her fingers tightening imperceptibly around the crystal stem of her champagne flute. Dancing meant exposure, meant being seen. For three years, she'd cultivated a careful balance of visibility and privacy in Crystal Cove. But she hadn't come to Blackwood City to hide in the shadows. Not anymore.
"Lead the way," she said, setting her untouched champagne beside his.
Julian guided her to the dance floor with practiced ease. His hand settled respectfully at her waist as they took their position, maintaining a professional distance that allowed her to breathe. The waltz swept around them, and they moved in perfect sync—a dance of business and carefully measured charm.
"You know," Julian mused as they turned, "the rumours about you are fascinating. Some say you're a tech genius who emerged from nowhere. Others insist you're from old money, reinventing yourself."
"And what's your theory?" The question escaped before she could catch it, genuine curiosity colouring her tone.
His hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence. "I think you're someone who built something remarkable while carrying secrets." The observation was keen but kind. "Don't worry—everyone in our circles has them. The trick is knowing which ones are worth keeping."
The crystal chandeliers above caught her eye as they turned again, their light fragmenting into a thousand brilliant points. Like that night three years ago, when she'd last seen those same chandeliers in the Luminaire Grand, though in a different ballroom. The night before she'd discovered—
A shift in the air. A charge of electricity that made the fine hairs on her neck rise.
Some instincts never fade.
The sensation hit her like a physical force—that familiar awareness that had once been as natural as breathing. Even before she turned, she knew. Her body remembered what her mind fought to forget.
Alexander Vale stood at the edge of the dance floor.
Time seemed to slow, the waltz fading to a distant echo. He was devastating in his black tuxedo, the cut emphasising his broad shoulders and powerful frame. Power radiated from him like a tangible force, commanding attention without effort. But it was his eyes—those storm-grey eyes—that stole her breath.
Three years hadn't changed him, yet everything was different. The Alexander she remembered had looked at her with heated possession, with carefully controlled desire. This man... this man's gaze held something darker. Something that spoke of fury barely leashed, of betrayal turned to cold rage.
The waltz continued around them, but they might as well have been alone in the crowded ballroom. Esmeralda forced herself to meet his gaze, drawing on three years of hard-won strength.
"Alexander." His name felt foreign on her tongue, yet achingly familiar. "I see your manners haven't improved."
His fingers flexed against her arm, the touch sending unwanted sparks through her body. "And you're still running." T
he words were soft, meant only for her ears, but laden with accusation. "Though I must admit, watching you play the charming entrepreneur is... entertaining."
Julian cleared his throat, reminding them both of his presence. "Mr. Vale, I believe you're interrupting our dance."
Alex's smile was lethal, his eyes never leaving Esmeralda's face. "Le Montague. Consider it permanently interrupted."
"Alex—" Esmeralda started, but he was already moving, guiding her away from Julian with the same commanding presence that had once ruled her world. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she matched his stride, refusing to be dragged like some errant child.
"Three years," he murmured, steering them toward a quieter corner of the ballroom. "Three years of silence, and here you are, dancing with Julian Le Montague of all people."
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission to dance." The words came out sharper than intended, a defence against the way her body betrayed her, remembering his touch.
He turned her to face him, his other hand settling at her waist in a mockery of a dance pose. To anyone watching, they might have appeared to be just another couple swaying to the distant music. But the tension between them crackled with unspoken accusations.
"Permission?" His laugh was dark, dangerous. "No, Esmeralda. What you need is to explain why my wife vanished in the middle of the night without a trace."
The word 'wife' hit her like a physical blow. She fought to keep her expression neutral, even as memories threatened to overwhelm her—the weight of the ring she'd left behind, the secret she'd carried away, the child who now had his father's storm-grey eyes.
Their eyes locked across the crowded ballroom, and three years of carefully constructed walls trembled. In his gaze, she saw everything she'd run from—the possession, the intensity, the all-consuming passion that had both saved and threatened to destroy her.
"Esmeralda?" Julian's voice seemed to come from underwater. "You've gone pale. Are you—"
The warmth of Julian's hand vanished from her waist, replaced by a grip that burned through the silk of her gown. Alex's fingers curled around her arm, not painful but immovable. The scent of him—sandalwood and power and memories she'd tried so hard to bury—enveloped her.
"Did you really think," his voice was deeper than she remembered, edged with ice and something far more dangerous, "you could hide from me forever?"
"Ex-wife," she corrected quietly, forcing steel into her voice. "The divorce papers were delivered to your office six months after I left."
His grip tightened fractionally, his eyes flashing with something that looked almost like pain before ice claimed them again. "Papers I never signed."
The implications of his words sent a chill down her spine. "What?"
"You're still my wife, Esmeralda." His voice dropped lower, intimate despite the fury lacing his words. "And we have a lot to discuss."
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