Looking forher.
And then I see her.
Kira stands near the center of the room, Roman's hand possessive on her waist. She's wearing midnight blue—a color that makes her pale skin luminous. She's smiling at something someone said. The smile is perfect. Practiced.
And completely false.
Even from across the room, I can see it. The way she holds herself—too rigid, too controlled. The Ice Queen, they call her, and watching her now, I understand why. She's beautiful in the way glaciers are beautiful. Cold, untouchable and capable of crushing anything in her path.
But I remember when she was warm. When her smiles reached her eyes, and her laugh could light up a room.
I remember loving her so much it felt like drowning.
The rage that surges through me is familiar. Comforting. I hold onto it like a lifeline because the alternative—acknowledging that I still love her is unthinkable.
She betrayed me. Had me killed. Everything she's become, she built on my grave.
I have to remember that. Have to hold onto it.
Roman leans in to whisper something in her ear, and she nods. Playing the dutiful fiancée. I watch his hand trail down her spine—possessive, claiming—and I want to break every finger.
Then she glances toward the entrance, her eyes scanning the crowd with the practiced assessment of someone always looking for threats.
Her gaze passes over me. Continues on. Then snaps back.
Even from this distance, I see the moment recognition hits. Her face goes white. The champagne glass in her hand trembles.
Roman notices immediately, following her gaze. When he sees me, his expression cycles through shock, fear, and something darker before settling into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
I know his guards told him I was here. He is the only one that could have given the okay for me to enter his party.
Why didn’t he greet me, I wonder. Maybe he didn’t believe it.
He says something to Kira. She nods mechanically, her eyes never leaving mine.
She’s scared.
Good. Let her be afraid. Let her wonder what I'm about to do.
I stay against the wall, watching. Waiting. Security is moving now—I can see them repositioning, creating subtle barriers between me and the major players.
Is Roman afraid of me?
Why would he be? He’s supposed to be my grieving family.
I wait and continue to watch, cataloging every detail. It doesn’t appear anyone else has recognized me. Why would they? I’m not the same young man that disappeared all those years ago.
Semyon appears at my elbow. "It’s quiet.”
"That was the idea." I accept a champagne flute from a passing server, more for the prop than any desire to drink it. "What's the mood?"
"Confused. Terrified. Excited." He scans the crowd. "Roman's made no move to have you removed. That's either very good or very bad."
"Interesting." I take a sip of champagne I don't taste.
Kira has disappeared from view, lost in the crowd. I track her general direction—toward the terrace doors. Escaping.
"I need to move," I tell Semyon.
