The charity ball was supposed to feel harmless. That was the lie I repeated to myself as the car slowed to a stop and the doors opened, cameras already flashing before my heels even touched the ground. I kept my chin lifted, my shoulders back, my smile composed. That version of me had become second nature now, the woman who survived, who moved forward, who did not flinch at ghosts.
Adrian's hand settled at my lower back, warm and steady, grounding me. "You okay?" he asked softly.
I nodded, though my chest felt tight. "I am," I said, even if part of me wasn't sure whether it was true.
Inside, the ballroom shimmered with light. Crystal chandeliers reflected off polished marble floors, laughter and music weaving together in practiced elegance. I had walked through rooms like this before, once on Ethan's arm, once believing I belonged there because of him. Now I was here because of myself. That should have felt like victory.
People greeted us. Smiles. Compliments. Whispers that followed me wherever I went. I answered automatically, my body moving on memory alone, while my thoughts drifted where I didn't want them to go, toward an envelope on my desk weeks ago, toward a ring that once symbolized a promise and now felt like an unanswered question.
Then the air changed.
It wasn't dramatic. No sudden silence. No grand entrance. Just a tightening in my chest, the kind that comes before something breaks. I felt it before I saw him, the way you feel a storm before the first drop of rain.
When I turned, my breath caught.
Ethan stood near the edge of the room, partially hidden by a column, dressed in black. He looked thinner than I remembered, the sharp confidence he once carried worn down into something quieter, heavier. His face was tired, but his eyes, God, his eyes were the same. Dark. Searching. Fixed on me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this world.
For a moment, everything else dissolved.
Five months disappeared. So did anger. So did reason. All that remained was the ache I never fully buried.
My fingers curled slightly against Adrian's sleeve, more instinct than intention. He felt it. Of course he did.
"You don't have to stay," Adrian murmured, following my gaze.
I swallowed. "No," I said, forcing myself to breathe. "I won't run."
Ethan noticed us then, noticed Adrian's hand at my back, noticed how close we stood. Something flickered across his face. Pain. Jealousy. Regret. Maybe all three. He looked away first, and that somehow hurt more than if he hadn't.
The music shifted into a slow melody, couples drifting toward the dance floor. Adrian glanced down at me. "May I?"
I hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yes."
As Adrian pulled me gently into the crowd, his hand firm but respectful at my waist, I let myself follow the rhythm. He didn't rush me. Didn't tighten his hold. He danced like someone who understood space, who knew when to guide and when to let go.
"You're somewhere else," he said quietly.
"I'm trying not to be," I replied.
His thumb brushed lightly against my palm, a silent reassurance. "Take your time."
I almost believed I could breathe again, until I felt eyes on me.
I didn't need to look to know Ethan was watching. I felt him in the way my heart stuttered, in the memories clawing their way up from places I thought I'd sealed shut. Laughter in a kitchen. A hand squeezing mine under a table. Promises whispered in the dark that tasted like forever.
When the song ended, applause filled the room. Adrian leaned in. "I'm going to grab us some water," he said. "I'll be right back."
The moment he stepped away, the space around me shifted again.
"Liana."
I froze.
I knew that voice. I hated how my body responded to it before my mind could stop it. Slowly, I turned.
Ethan stood a few feet away, closer than I expected, his hands clenched at his sides like he didn't trust himself to reach for me. His eyes searched my face, like he was trying to memorize something he feared he might lose forever.
"You shouldn't be here," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
"I know," he replied. "But I needed to see you."
I let out a humorless laugh. "You've seen enough."
"That's not true," he said quietly. "I never really saw you until I lost you."
I crossed my arms, creating distance where my heart failed. "You don't get to say things like that anymore."
He flinched, just slightly. "I'm not asking for forgiveness," he said. "I just needed you to know-"
"Know what?" I interrupted, my composure cracking. "That you regret it now that everything's gone? That you finally feel lonely enough to understand what you did?"
Before he could answer, a shadow fell between us.
Adrian.
"I think this conversation is over," Adrian said calmly, positioning himself just enough to block Ethan's direct line to me.
Ethan's jaw tightened. His gaze shifted to Adrian, sharp and simmering. "You may have her time," he said coldly, "but don't pretend you understand what we had."
Adrian didn't raise his voice. "I understand that she deserves peace."
Ethan's eyes flicked back to me, desperation breaking through his restraint. "You may have her body," he said, his voice low and trembling, "but her soul will never forget me."
The words hit too close to truth.
Something inside me snapped, not anger, not pain, but the unbearable weight of being pulled in two directions, of being seen as something to be claimed rather than someone who survived.
Before I could stop myself, my hand moved, reaching Ethan's left cheek.
The sound echoed louder than I expected.
Gasps rippled through the room. Cameras flashed instantly, hungry and merciless. Ethan staggered back half a step, shock etched across his face, his cheek already reddening.
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
I stared at my hand, trembling, then at him.
And no one could tell whether the slap was rejection-
...or the only way I knew how to hide the truth that my heart was still breaking.