The gala pulsed with soft jazz and gold-tinted lights, the clink of crystal against crystal filling the spaces between hushed conversations and veiled threats..
Damian Crowe stood close beside Lianna, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back. "You know," he murmured, lips near her ear, "you could start a war just by walking into a room."
Lianna's smile was effortless. "Maybe I already have."
From across the hall, Kian Vale watched, glass untouched in his hand. His jaw was tight, the tension spreading down to his left fist clenched by his side. Damian's low chuckle reached him even from across the space, and Kian looked away, jaw grinding. Cassandra was still wrapped around his arm just like glittering clingfilm, her mini dress riding even higher as she leaned toward the approaching waiter.
She took the glass without asking what it was….some rare vintage…and kissed Kian's cheek, her red lips brushing his skin. "God, this tastes expensive," she purred, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Kian didn't respond. He hadn't responded to much all night.
Lianna took the stage shortly after, her heels echoing against the marble as she approached the podium. She looked radiant, the lights pouring soft shadows against the curve of her red dress. Her posture was confident, commanding.
"Power," she began, her voice clear, "is not inherited. It is not gifted. It is claimed. Built. Earned. And real independence?" She smiled, gaze cutting across the room until it landed on Kian. "That begins the moment you stop asking permission to rise."
The press leaned forward. Cameras flashed. Even the waiters stilled.
In the corner, Mila leaned toward Sera, whispering behind the rim of her champagne flute. "He looks like he's about to snap."
Sera followed her gaze. Kian stood stiffly, Cassandra's arm still looped through his, but his focus…dark and burning…was entirely on Lianna.
Later, as the evening mellowed and guests began to drift toward the exits, Lianna stepped into a quieter corridor near the ballroom terrace, needing air.
That's when she felt it….his presence before she even heard his steps.
Kian cornered her, stepping into her path and blocking her exit with the sheer intensity of his presence. His black suit was perfectly cut, his tie loosened now, top button undone, his eyes unreadable.
Lianna's breath hitched. She hated that he could still look this good. Hated it even more that her heart noticed.
"Kian," she said evenly. "Shouldn't you be with your….date?"
He ignored the question entirely.
His voice was low. "Why him?"
Lianna blinked, searching his expression for something she couldn't name. "Damian?"
A beat of silence.
Kian's eyes were dark. "Why him, Lianna?"
She exhaled softly. "Because he sees my worth."
She paused.
"You never did."
The silence stretched between them like wire, weak and dangerous.
——
The slam of the front door echoed through the cold silence of Kian's penthouse. Still in his tailored black suit, he strode to the coffee table in the sunken living room….his jaw tight, his steps thunderous.
The wedding album lay exactly where it had always been. Pristine. Untouched. Mocking him.
He stared at it, chest heaving. The same photo stared back….Lianna in white, smiling, eyes soft with a love he hadn't known how to keep. He had left it there out of stubbornness… or maybe guilt.
But tonight, something snapped.
With a roar of frustration, he tore it apart. Pages ripped beneath his hands, memories shredded and scattered across marble floors. His fingers tore into the sharp edge of a photo sleeve, slicing skin….blood welled at the tip of his thumb.
He stared at it.
She had left in Damian's car. Damian's car.
The image hit him like a blow.
He stormed out, tossing the photos to the floor, the pieces of their marriage bleeding into ruin.
"Sir?" the driver asked nervously as Kian slid into the back seat with barely restrained fury.
"Drive," Kian snapped, voice a growl.
The engine roared to life, and the city lights blurred past the window. But Kian didn't see them. All he saw was Lianna….her red dress. Her smile. Her hand on another man's chest.
Back at the penthouse, Cassandra waited when he returned late at night, lounging on the bed like a trophy already claimed.
"You're late," she purred, pouting as she sauntered over to him. Her lips brushed against his cheek, then down his neck, then lower. Her hands explored without permission. Her tongue found his collarbone.
"Kian," she breathed, "Let me make you feel better."
She unzipped her dress with practiced grace, revealing black lace lingerie and curves that begged to be noticed. She pressed herself to him, desperate, breathless.
He stood there. Cold. Still.
Then, quietly, he stepped back.
"Don't," he said, voice void of warmth.
Her smile faltered. "Kian…"
He turned, walked out of the room, and left her standing there…half-naked and forgotten.
—-
The next morning, the Vale Corp boardroom was polished tension. Chrome edges, tall windows framing the city skyline, crystal water glasses lined up, and leather seats occupied by men with hungry eyes and colder hearts.
Henry Vale sat at the head of the table, tapping a silver pen against the folder in front of him. The boardroom smelled of espresso and war.
"Your ex-wife is becoming a threat," Henry said, finally. "She's making moves. Big ones. Strategic. She knows our weaknesses."
The board murmured.
"Handle her," Henry said, his tone sharp, final.
Kian didn't speak. His jaw tightened. His mind flickered to Damian, to that smirk, to Lianna's hand on his arm.
Handle her?
He couldn't even handle the way she still lived inside his head.
—
Meanwhile, Lianna dined with Damian at Alto Ciel, a rooftop restaurant reserved only for billionaires and ghosts of monarchs. Candlelight flickered on their table as the city glittered below them just like crushed stars.
She looked stunning in a sleek black evening dress, her hair pinned with delicate gold accents.
Damian poured her a glass of wine, then leaned forward.
"I've seen what you're capable of, Lianna," he said, eyes locked on hers. "You deserve more than revenge. You deserve to win."
She tilted her head, cautious.
"I want you to partner with me," he said. "Merge with Crowe International. If you say yes… you won't just be at Vale Corp's level. You'll be above it."
Lianna didn't blink.
She simply smiled.
—
The next morning, as she stood on the balcony of her penthouse sipping her espresso, her phone lit up.
Kian Vale.
She stared at the name.
Her thumb hovered.
Then she answered.
His voice was low, tired, dangerous.
"Let's talk."