The Rutherford Hotel ballroom was a sea of glittering jewels, black ties, and the low, powerful hum of immense wealth. Chandeliers the size of small cars cast a diamond-bright light over everything, reflecting in the polished marble floors and the champagne flutes held in confident hands. This was Alexander's natural habitat, a network of power and influence where he was a apex predator.
I stood beside him, my hand tucked lightly in the crook of his arm as he had instructed. The contact was minimal, just the pressure of his forearm against my fingers, but it sent a constant, unnerving current up my arm. He moved through the crowd with an easy, predatory grace, exchanging brief, pointed words with other titans of industry. I smiled, the serene, besotted smile I had practiced, nodding at introductions I would never remember.
"You're trembling," he murmured, his lips barely moving as he leaned his head slightly toward mine. To anyone else, it would look like a lover's whisper.
"I'm not used to being stared at by so many sharks," I whispered back, my smile never faltering.
A ghost of a smirk touched his mouth. "Then stop looking like bait. You're the one on my arm. That makes you the most dangerous thing in the room."
The statement was so arrogant, so utterly him, that it actually steadied me. He was right. In this world, his power was my shield. I was playing a part, and for tonight, that part was untouchable.
For an hour, we floated through the gala. He was surprisingly attentive in public, his hand occasionally resting on the small of my back to guide me, his gaze finding mine across the room with a practiced warmth that felt disturbingly real. It was a masterclass in illusion. I found myself almost enjoying the performance, the challenge of matching his steps in this intricate dance.
And then I saw him.
Daniel.
He was standing near a towering ice sculpture, holding a glass of champagne and laughing with a group of people. He looked the same handsome, polished, safe. The man I had once thought I would build a life with. The man who had abandoned me when that life became inconvenient.
My steps faltered. The serene smile slipped from my face. Alexander's hand on my back tightened, a silent question.
Daniel's eyes met mine across the crowded room. His smile vanished, replaced by a look of stunned recognition, then a slow, dawning calculation as his gaze flicked from my face to the man whose arm I held, and back again. He excused himself from his group and started making his way toward us.
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through me. This was a variable the contract hadn't covered. A ghost from my past, here to haunt my present.
"Alexander," I whispered, my voice tight. "My ex-fiancé. He's coming over."
I felt the muscles in his arm harden beneath my hand. His expression didn't change, but the air around him seemed to grow colder. "Let me handle this."
"Elara," Daniel said, arriving before us with a slick, disingenuous smile. "My God. I heard a rumor, but I didn't believe it. Look at you." His gaze swept over my designer gown with undisguised avarice before landing on Alexander. "Daniel Lee. An old… friend of Elara's."
Alexander didn't offer his hand. He simply looked at Daniel, his grey eyes flat and dismissive. "Alexander Vance."
The name had its intended effect. Daniel's smile became strained. "Of course. Vance. It's an honor." He turned his attention back to me, a false concern in his eyes. "This is all just so… sudden, isn't it? The last I heard, you were… well, let's just say things were difficult. I'm glad to see you landed on your feet. And in such… elevated company."
The condescension in his tone was a carefully aimed dart, meant to remind me of my place, to diminish my new reality as a calculated rebound.
Before I could form a retort, Alexander spoke, his voice a low, dangerous purr that cut through the din of the party.
"Difficulties have a way of revealing a person's true character, Mr. Lee," he said, his gaze never leaving Daniel's face. "Elara's strength in navigating hers was one of the first things that captivated me. It's a quality clearly lost on those who lack the fortitude to stand by someone they claim to have loved."
Daniel's face went pale. He opened his mouth, then closed it, finding no words to counter the icy, public evisceration.
Alexander gave him a smile that held no warmth whatsoever. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to dance with my wife."
He didn't wait for a reply. His hand slid from my back to capture mine, and he led me firmly onto the dance floor, leaving Daniel standing alone, humiliated and dismissed.
As he took me in his arms, one hand holding mine, the other a firm, warm pressure on my back, the world narrowed to the space between us. The orchestra swelled, a romantic, sweeping waltz.
"You didn't have to do that," I breathed, looking up at him, my heart hammering for an entirely new reason.
"Yes, I did," he said, his voice low, for my ears only. His eyes were intense, their grey depths seeming to see right through the performance, right into the raw, grateful, confused core of me. "No one speaks to what's mine with that kind of disrespect."
What's mine.
The words should have felt possessive, cold, contractual. But in the wake of his defense, with his body guiding mine effortlessly across the floor and his gaze holding me captive, they didn't. They felt like a shield. A declaration.
For the first time all night, my smile wasn't an act. It was a confused, shaky, but utterly real reaction to the man who was my husband in name only, but who had just defended me with the ferocity of a man who meant it.
The music swirled around us, and for a single, dizzying moment, the line between our contract and reality blurred into nothing.