A woman stands beside me, shoulders pulled back to show off her dress—an elegant piece, but her expression ruins the effect. She looks at me like she paid for the right to fuck me on the spot.
Her smile is greedy. Hungry. Calculated.
I give her a polite nod that’s more ice than courtesy. “Hello.”
“Dimitri, right?” she asks, stepping closer. Too close.
The bartender sets the glass down, and I take a long sip before answering. The drink is trash. Sweet, pointless. Typical.
“And you are?”
“Chloe.” She extends a hand, tilting her chin like she expects me to kiss it. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Of course she has. I shake her hand. Briefly.
Chloe launches straight into chatter—her work in fashion, her charity board, her recent trip to Paris. None of it interests me. Her perfume is too floral. Her laughter too forced. And for every sentence she adds, my attention retreats farther.
She keeps talking. My boredom spreads like winter frost.
She laughs again—loud, performative—touching my arm like she’s marking territory she hasn’t earned.
I look down at her hand—just look.
And she snatches it away instantly.
Good.
Maybe she’ll take the hint.
She doesn’t. She keeps talking.
And talking.
And talking.
Her voice drills into my skull, and for a moment, I sincerely wish someone would walk into this room and blow my head off. At least I’d finally have some peace.
I glance toward the exit, already calculating the cleanest way to disappear without anyone stopping me. I’m two seconds from leaving this circus behind when—she walks in.
And everything in me goes still.
My muscles lock.
My breath stops.
My entire body snaps tight like a wire pulled to breaking.
Vivian Laurent.
My wife.
A slow, amused laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Sharp. Disbelieving. A private joke between me and fate.
“What is it?” Chloe asks, touching my arm again.
I don’t even feel her hand. I’m too busy watching the woman who has no idea she already belongs to me.
Every head in the room turns toward Vivian as she steps inside. She absorbs attention effortlessly—without trying, without wanting it. The air shifts around her, hungry and reverent.
