The Mayfield Charity Gala was the crown jewel of the Seattle social season, a night where the air smelled of lilies, expensive perfume, and the quiet, crushing weight of old money. For Emma, it felt like stepping onto a battlefield draped in silk.
She stood before the full-length mirror in her suite, staring at the woman looking back. Simon's stylist had chosen a gown that clung to her curves like a second skin, the hem pooling around her feet. The back was virtually nonexistent, draped with delicate gold chains that highlighted the grace of her spine. Her hair had been styled into old-Hollywood waves, pinned back on one side with a brooch of yellow diamonds.
She looked expensive. She looked untouchable.
A knock at the door preceded Simon's entrance. He was in a bespoke tuxedo, the white of his shirt crisp against the tanned, rugged lines of his face. He stopped in the center of the room, his eyes traveling slowly from the hem of her gown up to the gold threads shimmering in her hair. For a moment his mask cracked, revealing a raw, appreciative hunger.
"You look..." He paused, the word seemingly catching in his throat. "Devastating, Emma."
"Is it enough?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless. "To convince them?"
Simon walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the rug. He stopped behind her, their eyes meeting in the mirror. He reached out, his large hands settling firmly on her waist. The heat of his palms seeped through the gown, making her skin prickle.
"Tonight isn't about convincing the Sterlings," he whispered, his head dipping low so his breath grazed her ear. "Tonight is about marking what is mine. Remember: you don't look at Tyler. You don't acknowledge him. Your world starts and ends with me."
Emma nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I can do that." The ballroom of the Grand Hyatt was a sea of black ties and designer gowns. As the double doors opened and the announcer spoke their names—"Mr. and Mrs. Simon Mayfield"—a literal hush fell over the room.
The sound of silverware hitting china stopped. Every head turned.
Emma felt the weight of a thousand judgments, but then she felt Simon's hand slide down to the small of her back. His touch was steady, a silent command to hold her chin high.
They moved through the crowd like royalty. Simon navigated the room with practiced ease, introducing Emma to senators, tech moguls, and philanthropists. She played her part perfectly, leaning into him, laughing at his dry wit, and letting her hand linger on his arm. To the world, she was a woman deeply in love. To herself, she was a woman trying not to drown in the intensity of the man beside her. And then, she saw him.
Tyler was standing near the bar, a drink in his hand and Sarah draped over his arm like a cheap accessory. He looked disheveled, his tuxedo slightly rumpled, his eyes bloodshot. When his gaze landed on Emma, he choked on his drink, coughing as he stared at her in disbelief.
"Simon," Tyler choked out, stumbling toward them as they neared the center of the room. "What the hell is this? What is she doing here?"
The circle of socialites around them widened, sensing blood in the water. Simon didn't even slow his pace. He stopped only when Tyler was directly in front of them, his expression one of bored indifference.
"I believe you're referring to my wife, Tyler," Simon said, his voice as sharp as a razor. "Show some respect."
"Wife?" Tyler's voice rose, attracting even more attention. "She was my girlfriend three days ago! You're insane. Emma, what are you doing? Is this some kind of stunt to get back at me?"
Emma felt a surge of old pain, but then she looked at Tyler—really looked at him. He looked small. He looked like a boy throwing a tantrum in the shadow of a giant. The power he'd held over her heart for two years evaporated in the heat of her own newfound strength.
"I realized I was settling for the shadow, Tyler," Emma said, her voice calm and melodic, carrying easily to the eavesdropping crowd. "I decided I'd rather have the sun." Beside her, she felt Simon's posture stiffen with pride.
"You're gold-digging!" Sarah hissed, stepping forward, her eyes narrowed.
"Everyone knows you were broke, Emma. You just crawled into the biggest bed you could find."
Simon stepped forward then, a movement so sudden and predatory that Sarah actually flinched back. He didn't raise his voice, which made his words ten times more terrifying.
"Careful, Sarah," Simon murmured. "You are speaking to the woman who now signs your father's lease agreements. If I hear another word of disrespect toward my wife, your family will find themselves looking for a new zip code by Monday morning."
Sarah went pale, her mouth snapping shut.
Tyler looked like he was about to swing at his father, his face purple with rage. "You did this to spite me! You always hated that I didn't want to be like you!"
"I did this because I saw something of immense value being treated like trash," Simon replied, his hand tightening possessively on Emma's waist, pulling her flush against his side. "And I don't tolerate waste. Now, if you'll excuse us, my wife and I are due for a dance."
Simon led her onto the floor as the orchestra began a slow, sweeping waltz. He took her hand in his, his other hand splayed across her bare back. The contact was electric. In the middle of the crowded room, under a thousand sets of eyes, it felt like they were the only two people in existence.
"You were incredible," Simon whispered as he spun her effortlessly. "I meant it," Emma said, looking up at him. The gold threads in her hair caught the light of the chandeliers.
"About the sun." Simon's gaze dropped to her lips, and for a second, the "performance" vanished. The air between them hummed with a different kind of tension—one that had nothing to do with Tyler or the Sterlings.
"Emma," he breathed, his voice ragged.
He pulled her closer, his thighs brushing hers through the silk of her dress. The dance was supposed to be a show, but the way he held her felt desperately real. As the music swelled, Emma realized the danger wasn't Tyler Mayfield anymore. The danger was the way her heart skipped a beat every time Simon looked at her like she was the only masterpiece he ever wanted to own.
Behind them, Tyler watched from the sidelines, a forgotten ghost in his own father's kingdom. But Emma didn't look back. She was exactly where she belonged.