The next morning brought with it the chaos of Hartley Studios' Annual Corporate Gala—an exclusive, invite-only event that made other PR firms feel like they were operating out of broom closets.
Zara arrived in silence and steel.
Her dress was black satin, sculpted like it had been poured onto her body. Her hair was pinned into an elegant knot that made her look ten feet tall, and the stilettos she wore had the power to sign contracts just by being in the room.
Flashes of cameras blinked the moment she stepped into the venue.
And somewhere near the center of the marble ballroom—past the art-deco chandeliers and the champagne towers—Dylan spotted her.
And froze.
She hadn't seen him yet.
He was surrounded by a small group of business partners, but their voices drowned beneath the pounding in his ears.
She looked like vengeance with a budget.
And for the first time since he walked into this deal, he wondered if he had just willingly handed his soul over to a woman who could—and would—make him beg to get it back.
Dylan had debated for ten minutes before finally approaching Zara. He'd paced near the champagne tower, adjusted his tie three times, and practiced a casual greeting under his breath.
But now that he was standing in front of her, Zara's presence made every word in his arsenal feel painfully inadequate.
"Hi," he said finally.
Zara turned her gaze to him, her expression unreadable as ever. "Hello, Mr. Reid."
The formality of her tone stung more than he cared to admit.
"Enjoying the event?" he asked, trying to sound relaxed.
"I planned it," she replied, taking a sip of champagne. "So yes."
Dylan nodded awkwardly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Of course."
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The soft hum of the orchestra playing in the background filled the silence. Zara's eyes flicked over his shoulder briefly, noting the small crowd of executives mingling near the fountain.
"Your company seems well-represented," she offered.
"Yeah," Dylan said. "They're excited about this partnership."
Her lips curled into the faintest semblance of a smile. "As they should be. Hartley Studios doesn't work with mediocrity."
The sting was subtle but deliberate. He flinched slightly but covered it with a forced chuckle. "Good to know I made the cut."
Before Zara could respond, another voice sliced through their conversation like a knife.
"Dylan! There you are!"
Both of them turned as Celeste walked up, her glittering emerald gown catching the light with every step. Her expression was pleasant—on the surface—but the tightness in her smile suggested something far sharper underneath.
Without missing a beat, Celeste slipped her arm through Dylan's and clung to him as though he were a trophy. "I've been looking for you everywhere," she said, her tone laced with false sweetness.
Zara's eyes darted to their linked arms, then back to Celeste's face. She caught the subtle glare aimed her way—a mix of possession and challenge that was almost laughable.
Celeste turned her attention to Zara, her smile never reaching her eyes. "And you must be Zara Hartley. Dylan's... business partner."
The pause before the words business partner was deliberate, like a jab thrown just to test its impact.
Zara tilted her head slightly, her own smile cool and detached. "Ms. Hartley will suffice," she replied. "And you are?"
"Celeste." Celeste's grip on Dylan's arm tightened. "His fiancée."
Zara raised an eyebrow, her expression unchanging. "How lovely for you both."
She took another sip of her champagne, her thoughts sharp beneath the calm surface. During our marriage, Dylan never took me to any of his business events. Not once. But here he is, parading her around like she's a prize. Pathetic.
Dylan looked caught between discomfort and guilt, his eyes flicking nervously between the two women. "Celeste, this is a business event. Maybe—"
"Maybe I should enjoy myself," Celeste interrupted, her voice dripping with faux cheer. "I wouldn't want to take you away from such important company." She glanced at Zara, her tone just a shade too polite. "Lovely meeting you, Ms. Hartley."
Celeste led Dylan away, her grip firm on his arm, leaving Zara standing there with her champagne and an expression that betrayed nothing.
But as they disappeared into the crowd, Zara turned toward the balcony, her lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk.
Pathetic, she thought again.
\---
They moved away from the heart of the ballroom, weaving through polished conversations and clinking glasses, until they found themselves near a quieter alcove draped with white orchids and soft amber lighting.
Celeste released Dylan's arm the moment they were out of sight.
She didn't say anything at first—just stood there, arms crossed, mouth drawn tight. Her back was ramrod straight, and her eyes glittered not with tears, but with a storm she refused to cry.
Dylan exhaled. "Celeste…"
"She's stunning," Celeste said, cutting him off. "I'll give her that."
He blinked. "This again?"
"I mean it," she added, giving a short, bitter laugh. "She's like a Bond villain in heels. Calm, poised, terrifying. You looked like a schoolboy trying to get a gold star."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie, Dylan. Not to me."
He sighed and leaned against a nearby column. "Nothing's going on between us."
"Not yet," she snapped, her voice lower now. "But I saw the way you looked at her."
"She's my business partner."
Celeste arched a brow. "And also your wife."
That hit the air like a glass shattering.
He looked away, jaw clenched. "You know it's complicated."
Celeste took a breath and closed the distance between them. Her voice softened, but her eyes were still fierce. "Do you love me, Dylan?"
His gaze met hers—steady, unsure. "Yes."
"Then why do I feel like I'm already losing you to a woman who hasn't said a kind word to you since the day she left?"
"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "Maybe because she's not trying to win me back… and somehow, that makes it worse."
Celeste recoiled, stunned. "Wow. So it's the chase, then?"
"No. It's—" he paused, struggling. "It's the silence. The way she just... disappeared. Left everything behind. It was like I never mattered. And now she's back, and she's standing taller than ever, and I don't know how to read her. I don't know if I ever did."
Celeste folded her arms again, her voice hollow now. "Maybe you never stopped wanting her to."
They stood there in silence, the gala murmuring behind them.
Then she whispered, "You have a choice, Dylan. Just remember who stayed."