The Petrovs had spared no expense for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary celebration. The Grand Ballroom of the Sterling Continental Hotel had been transformed into something between a fairy tale and a financial powerhouse's dream, crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across tables draped in ivory silk, each centerpiece a towering arrangement of white orchids and pale roses that must have cost more than most people's monthly salary.
Gold accents gleamed from every surface: charger plates, napkin rings, even the delicate filigree work on the custom menu cards. The walls were draped in flowing fabric that created intimate alcoves while maintaining the grandeur of the space. A string quartet played softly from a raised platform, their music weaving through conversations conducted in multiple languages as Seattle's elite mingled beneath the soft glow of ambient lighting.
Victoria Sharp stood near the entrance, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter while surveying the scene with professional appreciation. Mikhail Petrov had built his shipping empire from nothing, and tonight's celebration reflected both his success and his wife Anastasia's impeccable taste. The guest list read like a who's who of Pacific Northwest business tech moguls, real estate developers, venture capitalists, and politicians all gathered to honor a couple who had managed to build both fortune and lasting love.
Her own appearance had been calculated with the same precision she brought to boardroom negotiations. The black gown hugged her curves before flowing into a dramatic silhouette, its off-shoulder neckline elegant without being overtly seductive. But it was the thigh-high slit that transformed the dress from merely beautiful to absolutely stunning, offering tantalizing glimpses of her long legs with each step, the fabric parting and closing like liquid silk.
She hadn't intended to command attention, but Victoria was self-aware enough to recognize the effect her presence had on a room. Conversations paused as she passed, eyes following her movement with barely concealed admiration or envy. The diamond necklace at her throat caught the light with each turn of her head, and her dark hair fell in perfect waves over one shoulder, creating an asymmetrical frame for her face.
"Victoria Sharp." The voice belonged to Harrison Walsh, a tech entrepreneur she'd met at various industry events. "You look absolutely radiant tonight."
She turned with a practiced smile, immediately recognizing the calculation behind his compliment. "Harrison. How lovely to see you again."
Within moments, two more men had joined their conversation, Marcus Fleming from Fleming Investments and David Chen, whose biotech company had gone public six months ago. The pattern was familiar: business pleasantries that gradually shifted toward personal interest, professional admiration that barely masked romantic pursuit.
Victoria navigated the conversation with polished ease, discussing market trends and investment opportunities while internally cataloging each man's transparent agenda. Harrison mentioned his new yacht twice. Marcus name-dropped his recent acquisition of a Napa vineyard. David somehow worked his Harvard MBA into the discussion three times.
All impressive credentials. All utterly predictable.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Victoria said during a brief lull, "I should greet our hosts."
She moved through the crowd with purpose, stopping occasionally to exchange pleasantries with other business associates but keeping her destination fixed. Mikhail and Anastasia Petrov held court near the main table, surrounded by well-wishers and family members.
Anastasia embraced her warmly when she approached. "Victoria, darling! You look absolutely stunning. That dress is perfection."
"As do you," Victoria replied sincerely. Anastasia wore deep emerald silk that complemented her silver hair beautifully. "Twenty-five years. You two are an inspiration."
Mikhail kissed her cheek in the European fashion, his eyes twinkling with genuine affection. "Victoria, my dear. Thank you for being here. Anastasia insisted you must sit at our table for dinner."
"I'm honored," Victoria said, presenting them with an elegantly wrapped gift, a vintage wine from the year they were married, sourced through her personal sommelier. "To twenty-five more years of happiness."
As she chatted with the couple about their recent trip to the Greek islands, Victoria found herself genuinely relaxed for the first time that evening. The Petrovs love for each other was evident in every shared glance, every gentle touch. They had built something rare in their social circle, a partnership based on genuine affection rather than strategic alliance.
"Victoria," a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to find Jonathan Price, a real estate mogul known for his aggressive acquisition tactics. "Might I steal you away for a moment? There's someone I'd like you to meet."
The next hour became a blur of introductions and conversations, each man more persistent than the last. Victoria maintained her professional composure while growing increasingly irritated by the transparent nature of their approaches. She was accustomed to male attention, but tonight felt particularly suffocating, as if every successful man in Seattle had decided she was the evening's primary conquest.
Timothy Bradford cornered her near the dessert station, pontificating about his latest hotel development while his eyes remained fixed on her décolletage. Richard Morrison, a pharmaceutical executive, launched into a detailed explanation of his divorce settlement that seemed designed to emphasize his newfound availability and considerable assets.
By the time she excused herself for the third time in twenty minutes, Victoria's jaw ached from forced smiles. She needed air, space, and a moment to collect herself away from the relentless parade of male egos.
The hotel's second floor featured several private lounges reserved for VIP guests. Victoria climbed the marble staircase, her heels clicking rhythmically against the stone, grateful for the relative quiet away from the ballroom's chatter and music.
She hadn't consciously been looking for James, but his absence registered somewhere in the back of her mind. He had received an invitation, she'd seen his RSVP among the responses Mikhail's assistant had shared with key invitees. Yet she hadn't glimpsed him among the crowd downstairs.
Not that I was looking, she reminded herself firmly.
"Victoria."
She turned at the familiar voice, suppressing an eye roll when she saw Richard Evans emerging from one of the lounges. The former NBA player turned venture capitalist stood six-foot-four even without his Italian leather shoes, his presence commanding but not overwhelming in any room.
Richard had been pursuing her with dogged persistence for the better part of two years, seemingly immune to her polite rejections and professional deflections. His approach varied from expensive gifts to elaborate dinner invitations to showing up at industry events she was attending, always with that confident smile that suggested he viewed her resistance as merely temporary.
"Richard," she acknowledged with carefully neutral politeness. "Enjoying the celebration?"
"Even more now that I've found you," he said, moving closer with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to getting what he wanted. "You've been surrounded all evening. I was beginning to think I'd have to schedule an appointment with your assistant."
Despite her annoyance at his presumption, Victoria found herself genuinely surprised when Richard launched into an intelligent discussion about the current state of venture capital in emerging markets. His insights were sharp, his analysis sophisticated, a far cry from his usual attempts at charm that relied more on his athletic fame and financial success than actual substance.
For nearly fifteen minutes, they engaged in the kind of stimulating business conversation Victoria actually enjoyed. Richard demonstrated knowledge of market sectors she wouldn't have expected him to understand, offering perspectives that showed genuine strategic thinking rather than surface-level networking platitudes.
Victoria found herself relaxing slightly, appreciating the mental engagement after an evening of vapid small talk.