The contract was signed, the shares now hers. Her father had no choice but to hand them over, knowing full well she had backed him into a corner with no way out. Savannah had regained her 28% stake in Arden Group, but her battle wasn't over yet. There was still Weston Stark to deal with.
As she sat across from James in her private study, he observed her with a knowing smirk. "There's a charity ball tomorrow night," he said, swirling his glass of whiskey. "Every major player in the city will be there—including Weston. It would be the perfect opportunity to start your next move."
Savannah tapped her manicured nails against the desk, her mind already formulating a plan. "Good," she murmured. "Let's make sure I leave an impression."
The following evening, Savannah stepped into the grand ballroom like a queen reclaiming her throne. She was adorned in a deep crimson gown, tailored to perfection, hugging her figure yet dripping with elegance. Her jet-black waves cascaded down her back, framing her sharp features, while her makeup enhanced her natural beauty—highlighting those captivating caramel-gray eyes that had always set her apart.
The moment she entered, all eyes turned to her. The whispers were immediate, murmurs of admiration and envy rippling through the crowd. But none were as intense as the pair of stormy blue eyes that burned into her from across the room.
Weston Stark.
He hadn't expected her here. He certainly hadn't expected her looking like this—untouchable, powerful, radiating a confidence that wasn't there before. His grip tightened around his glass as he watched her, irritation flickering beneath the surface as he noticed the way other men's gazes lingered on her.
Savannah, however, barely spared him a glance. She had a role to play tonight, and she intended to play it well.
She moved gracefully through the crowd, greeting influential figures, slipping easily into conversations, strategically aligning herself with key players. Every move was calculated, every smile laced with meaning.
Weston watched with clenched fists as she laughed at something another man whispered into her ear, her dimples flashing, her eyes glinting with amusement. The sight sent an unfamiliar pang through his chest—one he didn't care to acknowledge.
He had never cared before. Never felt the need to concern himself with Savannah Grey beyond the contractual obligations their marriage had forced upon him. But now? Now, she was a mystery, an enigma he couldn't ignore.
And that infuriated him.
As she made her way toward the dance floor, he moved before he even realized what he was doing, intercepting her path.
"You're quite the spectacle tonight," he murmured, his voice low, just for her.
Savannah tilted her head, amusement dancing in her gaze. "Did you think I'd cower after the divorce, Weston? That I'd disappear quietly?"
His jaw ticked. "I didn't think you'd throw yourself into the arms of the highest bidder."
She smiled, slow and knowing. "You always did underestimate me."
Before he could respond, another man approached, extending his hand. "Care for a dance, Miss Grey?"
Savannah accepted without hesitation.
But before she could take her first step, a firm hand clasped around her wrist, halting her movement. Heat surged up her arm, and as she turned, she found herself face to face with Weston, his stormy blue eyes dark with something unrecognizable—something possessive.
"I don't believe you fully understand something, Savannah," Weston said, his grip tightening slightly. "The divorce papers were signed, yes. But they haven't been processed. Legally, you're still my wife. And my wife doesn't make a fool out of me in front of the entire city."
Savannah arched a brow, unbothered by the warning in his tone. "Oh? And here I thought you were the one who wanted to be rid of me. How ironic that now you can't seem to look away."
His jaw clenched, his eyes flickering toward the man still standing beside her, waiting. Weston's lips curled in irritation. "Run along," he said coldly, addressing the stranger, "she won't be needing your company."
The man hesitated but ultimately decided not to challenge Weston Stark. He nodded politely and stepped back, melting into the crowd.
Savannah scoffed. "How charming. You're already barking orders, yet you have no claim over me anymore."
Weston leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "That's where you're wrong. As long as those papers aren't processed, you still belong to me. And I don't share what's mine."
Savannah met his gaze head-on, a smirk forming. "Then perhaps you should've realized my worth before you tried to throw me away."
Without another word, she pulled her wrist from his grip and strode toward the dance floor, leaving him seething behind her.
Weston stood frozen, watching her, his blood simmering.
Savannah felt the weight of his gaze burning into her back as she reached the dance floor. But beneath the triumph, there was something unsettling twisting in her chest. A foreign, inexplicable feeling. Her pulse was erratic, not from anger, but something deeper—something dangerously close to excitement.
Her fingers twitched as she tried to suppress the warmth creeping along her skin where Weston had gripped her wrist. It wasn't hers, she reasoned. This was Savannah Grey's emotion, the remnants of the old host clinging to a past she had no desire to entertain. It was infuriating.
Needing a reprieve, she turned sharply and wove her way through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances thrown her way. The grand double doors leading to the balcony loomed ahead, and she pushed through them, welcoming the cool night air that instantly soothed her heated skin.
Leaning against the marble railing, Savannah inhaled deeply, willing herself to regain composure. She wasn't the girl Weston once knew. She wasn't some lovesick fool pining for his attention. Yet, the moment he had touched her, something in her had stirred—something she refused to name.
She exhaled sharply, gripping the stone ledge. "Get it together," she muttered under her breath.
She had a game to win, and she couldn't afford distractions. Least of all from Weston Stark.