Chapter one
The chandelier sparkled overhead, casting fractured gold light across the opulent ballroom. The air smelled of champagne, perfume, and money—the kind of wealth Sophie Laurent would never touch in this lifetime. Not unless the universe played a cruel joke on her.
Her spine was straight, chin tilted just enough to exude confidence. No one would guess the tightness in her throat or the resignation weighing heavy in her chest.
Tonight was supposed to be her night. Her promotion night.
Instead, it was her humiliation night.
The navy blue dress she wore hugged her curves in all the right places—simple but elegant. Not designer, not worth thousands, but she made it look like it was. The slit along her thigh whispered sophistication, not desperation. Her curls fell in soft waves down her back, and the swipe of red on her lips was bold—a shield to hide the cracks beneath.
But none of it mattered.
Not when Daniel Sterling's voice curled around her like barbed wire.
"You're still here, Sophie?" His smile was all teeth, his champagne glass tilted lazily between two fingers. "Didn't they send you packing this morning? Or are you hoping to charm your way back into a job? Maybe into someone's bed?"
Her fingers curled around the stem of her glass until the chilled surface bit into her skin.
Don't react. Don't give him the satisfaction.
Sophie's eyes flicked away, locking on the far wall where the city skyline bled into the night. He wasn't worth her breath. Not after everything he'd done.
But Daniel wasn't finished. He never was.
"Shame, really." He took a slow sip, his voice pitched just low enough that only she could hear. "All that wasted potential. If you'd been smart, you would've stuck with me. Could've been wearing something better than that bargain-bin knockoff right now."
Sophie's pulse pounded in her ears.
Her mother's death. The bills. The endless cycle of barely making it. None of it had broken her.
But Daniel Sterling might.
Because he wasn't just her ex—he was the kind of man who ripped women apart and left the pieces scattered behind him.
And God help her—he was winning.
The heat in her chest threatened to rise, to spill out in sharp words she'd regret later.
Not here. Not in front of these people.
Instead, she smiled—small, tight. The kind of smile that told him he hadn't gotten under her skin.
Even though he had.
"Enjoy the night, Daniel."
She turned on her heel, walking away, her head high.
One step. Two.
Then—
A cold splash of champagne down her back.
Laughter rippled through the crowd, soft and cruel.
Bastard.
Sophie's breath caught, her hands trembling at her sides. Every eye in the room turned toward her—some pitying, most amused. Daniel's smirk stretched wide.
"You should really watch where you're going."
Her nails dug into her palm. Every survival instinct screamed at her to walk away, swallow it down, let the night bury her like it always did.
But then—
A voice cut through the noise. Low. Smooth. The kind of voice that could strip the air from a room without trying.
"I'd apologize if I were you, Sterling."
Sophie's head snapped toward the sound.
He was leaning against the bar, whiskey glass in hand—Cassian Sinclair.
Not smiling. Not amused. Just watching the scene with the kind of detached calculation that made the room shift around him.
Daniel scoffed, though the smugness in his expression faltered. "I don't think this concerns you, Sinclair."
Cassian didn't acknowledge the words. Didn't even look at him.
His gaze flicked to Sophie, slow and unreadable. Then back to Daniel—sharp and final.
"You should be careful who you insult. Sophie is spoken for."
The room went still.
Sophie's pulse slammed against her ribs.
What the hell was he doing?
Daniel stiffened. "Is that so?" His voice was forced, hedging between skepticism and something dangerously close to caution.
Cassian moved then. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… inevitable.
Each step was deliberate. Controlled. Like a man who never acted on impulse—because every move was already decided.
He stopped beside her, close enough that his presence coiled around her like a silent, invisible force.
Not warmth.
Not comfort.
Just cold certainty.
Sophie barely had a second to react before Cassian leaned in—closer than necessary.
Then—his lips brushed hers.
Slight. Sharp. Unmistakable.
A kiss that wasn't a question.
The air shifted. The room watched.
By the time Sophie registered what had happened, Cassian was already pulling back, his expression as unreadable as ever. His voice—low, unbothered.
"Play along, or don't. It won't change the outcome."
Her breath caught. His fingers brushed her wrist—light, fleeting, dismissive.
A touch that said nothing.
And everything.
Then Cassian straightened, turning back to Daniel like the conversation had already ended.
His smirk was slow, almost lazy. But his eyes—cold, unreadable steel.
"Apologize."
Not a suggestion.
Daniel hesitated. Jaw clenched. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to swing but knew better.
Cassian tilted his head, studying him like something insignificant. Then, almost lazily—
"You work under Sterling Enterprises, don't you? A division of Sinclair Group."
Daniel froze.
Cassian exhaled, like the whole thing bored him. "Which means your job exists because I allow it." He took a slow sip of whiskey. "Now, if I were in your position, I'd be very careful who I tried to humiliate. Because I could have you unemployed before you step out of this ballroom."
Silence crushed the space around them.
Daniel's throat bobbed.
Cassian raised a brow, expectant. "Still waiting."
The apology came, stiff and forced.
Cassian didn't react. Didn't even acknowledge Daniel anymore. Just lifted his whiskey glass to his lips, bored now. Done.
The crowd lost interest. The whispers faded.
Cassian finally turned back to Sophie, his gaze flicking over the champagne staining her dress.
He handed her his glass, impassive.
"Drink."
She didn't take it. "I don't owe you anything."
Cassian's smirk barely curved at the corner.
"No. But you will."