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Chapter 8 - A Storm Reignited | Alex's POV

Alexander

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The Luminaire Grand's ballroom was nothing new—another glittering event filled with the same polished faces, the same undercurrents of power plays and ambition masked by champagne toasts. I'd attended countless galas like this, moved through their choreographed motions with practiced indifference. Tonight should have been no different.

But there was something off.

The sensation had been gnawing at me for the past hour, a subtle prickle at the edge of my awareness that refused to be ignored. I told myself it was nothing—a flicker of memory, perhaps, stirred by the familiar setting. It wasn't the first time I'd been to the Luminaire Grand. But it was the first time in three years that the thought of her had felt so close.

I shook off the thought and turned my attention to the business conversation in front of me, offering the appropriate nods and measured smiles. Yet my focus kept slipping, my eyes scanning the room as if drawn by some invisible pull.

And then I saw her.

At first, it was just a flicker of emerald at the edge of my vision. A trick of the light, I thought. A cruel illusion conjured by years of searching, of chasing shadows and whispers. But when I turned, it wasn't an illusion.

Esmeralda.

She stood just beyond the press line, her emerald gown shimmering under the chandelier's golden glow. Her hair, swept over one shoulder, framed her face with effortless elegance. She looked more poised than I remembered, more confident. The years hadn't dimmed her beauty—they'd sharpened it, polished her into something almost untouchable.

Three years.

Three years of silence. Three years of searching for answers I never found. I had imagined this moment countless times, wondered what it would feel like to see her again. But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it.

I stayed rooted in place, watching as she spoke to a reporter with a practiced grace I hadn't seen before. She was different now. Stronger. But she was still her.

Relief washed over me first, swift and unbidden. For three years, I had chased shadows, searched in vain for a trace of the woman who had vanished without a word. And now she was here, flesh and blood, so close I could reach out and touch her if I dared.

Then came the fury.

Three years of searching. Of chasing leads that went nowhere, of scouring every university and city where she might have hidden. And here she was, standing in front of me as though the past three years hadn't existed.

And beneath it all, there was the longing.

I forced myself to stay in the shadows, to keep my breathing steady as I watched her navigate the room. The ache I had carried with me every day since she left, the hollow space she had carved out of me when she disappeared. It surged to the surface now, raw and unrelenting, threatening to undo me.

She moved into the ballroom with practiced grace, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Every detail of her was burned into my mind—the curve of her shoulders, the way the light caught the waves of her hair, the delicate line of her jaw. I had spent three years trying to forget these things, but they came rushing back in an instant, sharper and more vivid than ever.

I didn't move. I couldn't. My feet felt rooted to the ground as I watched her navigate the room. Her gaze swept over the crowd, her expression calm and composed, but there was something in her eyes—a wariness, a habit of looking over her shoulder.

She was looking for someone. Or avoiding someone.

A bitter part of me wondered if it was both.

And then Julian Le Montague stepped into view.

He greeted her with the kind of easy charm that grated against my nerves, offering her a champagne flute like a man who knew exactly how to win someone over. She took the glass, though I knew she wouldn't drink it. Esmeralda never drank champagne, not when I knew her, and not now.

I clenched my jaw as Julian leaned in, saying something that made her smile—a real one, soft and genuine. It hit me like a blow to the chest. She hadn't smiled like that in years—not with me.

Julian's hand brushed hers as he guided her toward the dance floor, his posture casual but deliberate. And she followed.

I didn't realise I was moving until I was halfway across the room, weaving through the crowd with a singular purpose. My fists clenched at my sides, my every instinct roaring to tear him away from her.

They stepped onto the dance floor as the orchestra began a waltz. Julian's hand rested at her waist, his movements smooth and practiced as he led her in graceful turns. She moved easily with him, her emerald gown catching the light like the ocean at sunrise.

And then, as if sensing the weight of my gaze, she looked up.

Green met grey.

The air between us shifted, heavy with three years of silence and everything left unsaid. Her steps faltered, her grip on Julian's shoulder tightening for just a moment. I saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes, followed by something that looked like guilt.

She saw me.

For a heartbeat, it felt as though the entire room had stilled, the music fading into the background. She turned away quickly, her poise slipping just enough for me to see the cracks beneath it.

But it was too late.

The fury that simmered beneath my skin threatened to boil over as I watched her dance with him, watched her laugh at something he said. The sight of her in another man's arms, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, sent a primal surge through me.

I closed the distance, my steps deliberate and unyielding. She wouldn't run this time.

"Mr. Vale," Julian greeted me as I approached, his tone annoyingly smooth. "I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight. I believe you're interrupting our dance."

His words barely registered. My eyes were on Esmeralda, who stood frozen beside him, her emerald gown pooling softly around her feet. She straightened, her expression schooled into something polite and unreadable.

"Le Montague," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Consider it permanently interrupted."

Julian hesitated, glancing between us before offering a charming smile. "Of course. Ms. Moreau, it was a pleasure." He stepped away with a bow of his head, leaving the two of us alone on the edge of the dance floor.

Her gaze met mine, defiance sparking in her green eyes. "Alex—"

Her voice was softer than I remembered, but it still carried that sharp edge of hers, the one that had always challenged me.

"Three years," I said, stepping closer. "Three years of silence, and now here you are. Dancing with Julian Le Montague, of all people."

"I wasn't aware I needed your permission to dance," she shot back, her tone clipped.

I took another step, closing the space between us. My hand brushed against her arm, sending a jolt through both of us. The connection between us was electric, undeniable, even after all this time.

"Permission?" I said softly, my voice low enough for only her to hear. "No, Esmeralda. What you need is to explain why my wife vanished in the middle of the night without a trace."

Her composure faltered for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to stand taller. "Ex-wife," she corrected, her voice steadier than I'd expected. "The divorce papers were delivered to your office six months after I left."

I smiled, dark and humourless. "Papers I never signed."

Her breath hitched, the implication of my words sinking in.

"You're still my wife, Esmeralda," I said, my voice dropping even lower. "And we have a lot to discuss."

****

Three years of silence, of endless searches and unanswered questions, and now she stood mere feet away. For a moment, I couldn't move. Every ounce of my focus was on her—the elegant tilt of her head, the emerald gown that clung to her like a second skin. She hadn't changed. Or perhaps she had, in ways that only deepened the pull she'd always had on me.

But then her phone vibrated in her clutch, and something shifted in her expression. Panic. She turned, reaching for it, but I moved faster. My hand caught her wrist, and the electric jolt of the contact froze us both. Her wide green eyes shot up to meet mine, and I saw it—the recognition, the fear. The guilt.

"Not this time, Esmeralda," I said, my voice low, barely concealing the storm of emotions beneath. Anger, relief, and something far more dangerous all coiled within me. "Not until you explain why you really ran."

Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she stiffened, the same way she used to when she felt cornered. The crystal pendant at her throat—a gift from me, one I never thought I'd see again—caught the light, its weight a silent reminder of everything we'd shared. Everything she'd abandoned.

"Is everything alright here?" A smooth voice interrupted, shattering the fragile tension between us. Julian Le Montague. He appeared at her side, his presence casual yet deliberate. My grip on her wrist tightened for a fraction of a second before I released her, but the phantom warmth lingered.

"Esmeralda, I believe there's an urgent matter requiring your attention?" Julian said, his tone neutral but his positioning protective. The way he placed himself slightly in front of her—like a shield—made my jaw tighten.

"How convenient," I said, my voice cold, cutting. My gaze burned into hers as I stepped closer, unwilling to let her slip away so easily. "Tell me, Esmeralda, does Le Montague know all your secrets, or just the ones that suit your purpose?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her emerald eyes hardening. The same defiance I remembered from our arguments—back when I thought I'd known everything about her—flared to life. She opened her mouth, but Julian spoke first.

"My car's waiting outside," he offered smoothly, as if his interruption could change the course of this moment.

"That won't be necessary," I cut in, my voice sharper now, my frustration barely held in check. But she was already stepping away from me, each movement deliberate and controlled, though I could see the slight tremble in her fingers.

"Thank you, Julian. I'd appreciate that." Her words were polite, but her tone was firm—another wall between us, one of many she'd built over the years.

Her gaze met mine one last time, and in her eyes, I saw something that cut deeper than I expected: finality. As if she truly believed she could walk away again, that this would be the end of it.

"Goodbye, Alexander," she said softly, her voice laced with a resolve that only fuelled the fire in my chest.

"This isn't over," I called after her, my voice carrying through the ballroom like a vow. "We both know you can't run forever, Esmeralda."

The way her shoulders stiffened told me my words had struck their mark, but she didn't turn around. Julian guided her away, out of the ballroom, leaving me standing there with the ghost of her presence lingering like a haunting melody.

But this time, I wouldn't let her slip away. Not again.

***

The night air outside the Luminaire Grand was cold, sharp against my skin as I stepped onto the marble steps. My security team was already in motion, their updates coming through the earpiece as I scanned the street.

"James," I said, my voice steel. "Track her. She left with Le Montague. I want their car intercepted before they reach the hotel."

"Understood, sir. We're monitoring the exits now."

I spotted her in the distance, her silhouette visible through the tinted windows of Julian's sleek black car. Her face turned slightly, her green eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment through the glass. It was enough to ignite the fury simmering beneath my calm exterior. She was close—so close—but just out of reach.

"She's heading west," James reported. "Likely toward the Blackwood Plaza Hotel. Le Montague has a suite there."

"Pull guest records," I ordered. "And double the security on all exits. I want every corner of that building covered."

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