The gown was a statement before it even entered the room.
Crimson silk, with hand-sewn stone beads that shimmered just like starlight. It kissed her curves like it had been born for her…..and in many ways, it had. Mila had spent weeks perfecting the piece, down to every bead placement.
In the dressing room, Lianna spun slowly in front of the mirror. Her lips painted in wine, her hair curled into old-Hollywood waves.
"You look lethal," Mila whispered, fastening the final clasp.
Lianna smiled faintly. "That's the idea."
They hugged tightly before she stepped into the waiting car…a black Bentley with a velvet-lined interior and a bottle of chilled champagne on ice. Damian was already inside, dressed in sharp black-on-black, his cufflinks caught the lights .
His eyes met hers. "You'll silence the room."
She sat beside him. "Good."
The gala was held in a glass ballroom suspended above the city skyline….walls glittering with lights, chandeliers shaped just like falling stars.
When Lianna entered, everything slowed.
Heads turned. Voices faltered.
She didn't just walk in. She arrived.
Damian took her arm, leaning in to adjust a strand of hair near her shoulder. His whisper was soft against her ear. She smiled, lips barely parting, and touched his chest with the back of her hand as they walked in together …flawless, in sync.
They laughed at something only the two of them heard. Their hands stayed joined.
And from across the room….
Kian who was present saw everything.
He stood stiff near the bar, jaw stiffened, ignoring the call from Cassandra that lit up his phone again and again. He didn't even glance at it now.
His gaze stayed fixed on Lianna.
The way she threw her head back in laughter.
The way Damian leaned in, too familiar. Too close.
Kian's fingers tightened around his untouched glass. His breath caught. His chest burned with something old, something buried, something he told himself was gone.
But it wasn't.
It was standing twenty feet away, wrapped in red silk, smiling like he never mattered.
And for a split second….just a flicker….he blinked away the tears that tried to rise.
—
The city glittered below them….an endless sprawl of light and glass .
The gala pulsed behind them with soft jazz and distant laughter, but out on the balcony, everything felt still. Private. Suspended.
Lianna rested her hands on the cold railing, her crimson gown trailing behind her. The night wind tugged gently at her hair. She didn't say anything at first….just stared out at the skyline.
Damian stood beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin through the chill air.
"I know you're still thinking about him," he said softly. "You don't have to deny it."
She didn't.
But she didn't confirm it either.
"I'm not here to compete with …ghosts," he added. "But I'm also not pretending anymore."
Lianna turned slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.
There was no pretense in his gaze. No calculation. No empire to win or legacy to preserve. Just a man. Standing in front of her, fully present.
"I like you," he said, quiet but certain. "And I see you, Lianna. Not who you were with him. Not who the media talks about. Just… you."
She didn't breathe for a moment.
Then—
He stepped closer. Gently, so gently, his hand found her cheek.
She didn't pull away.
The kiss came just like a secret finally spoken. Slow. Tender. Unrushed. His lips pressed softly against hers with quiet confidence….no demand, only invitation.
When it broke, her eyes opened slowly.
And for a moment, she forgot everything. The heartbreak. The headlines.
There was only this.
Only now.
Only him.
—
Kian saw it.
From his car parked across the street—engine running, hand clenched on the wheel.
Through the glass walls of the gala balcony, past the shimmer of chandeliers and the echo of laughter, he saw Damian lean in…
…and kiss her.
Lianna didn't pull away.
She didn't hesitate.
The sight hit Kian harder than any headline, harder than any business betrayal, harder than anything Cassandra had ever screamed at him.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel. His jaw locked. Then…
Bang.
He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. The horn blared once, sharp and jarring, and he cursed…viciously, low under his breath, as if something feral had cracked loose inside him.
He drove.
Fast. Reckless. Blinded by the storm he felt inside him.
At the corner of 5th and Holloway, he nearly clipped a turning cab. The driver shouted, but Kian didn't hear it. He didn't hear anything except his own pulse in his ears.
He pulled over beside a dark alley, the kind the world forgets, and threw the gear into park. He leaned back in his seat, breathing hard.
The city lights flickered across his windshield. His head sank against the headrest. His eyes burned.
He sniffled once…quiet, bitter….and blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream.
His phone buzzed. "Dad."
He let it ring.
And ring.
And ring.
He didn't pick up.
Because for the first time, Kian Vale realized…
She wasn't his anymore.
And maybe she never was.
But he wasn't done.
Not by a long shot.
—
The night was quiet.
Lianna sat on the couch in her silk robe, sipping a light red wine….barefoot, hair freshly brushed and still damp from her bath. The scent of warm citrus body oil stayed in the room. Soft piano music played from her speaker, the type you don't really notice until it stops.
She'd just ended a late call with Mila.
They'd laughed about the gala, about Damian's terrible dance moves, and about the crimson gown that had already gone viral.
Lianna had smiled….really smiled….for the first time in a while.
Now, she stood in front of her vanity, gathering her hair into a sleek ponytail, her fingers moving slowly. She applied a touch of lip gloss, blinked once at her reflection, then turned to retrieve her wine.
Knock.
She paused.
It was late….past midnight. She made a face, furrowing her brows, and placed the wine on the table. The second knock was firmer.
Still calm, she strolled to the front door. When she opened the door—
Kian.
His hair was a mess. Shirt half-tucked, tie long forgotten, lips parted like he'd run through a windstorm just to get there.
His eyes locked on hers.
Wild. Unapologetic. Possessive.
"You're still my wife."
His voice was low. Dead serious. Shaking with something dangerous underneath.
Lianna's breath hitched.
She didn't speak.
She didn't move.
And he stepped inside.