The Hamptons house smelled like salt air and money the moment we walked in. Marcus had insisted on driving out early Friday so he could "network" before the gala Saturday night. I didn't argue. The weekend away felt like a break—even if it came with strings.
Sophia stayed behind with my mom in the city. She'd begged to come, promised she'd be quiet and read her whale book the whole time. I'd kissed her goodbye and promised ice cream when we got back. She'd hugged me extra tight, like she knew something was shifting.
Now I stood in the guest bedroom of the rented beach house white walls, huge windows facing the ocean, and a king size bed that felt too big for one person. Marcus was already downstairs on a call. I could hear his voice through the floorboards, low and clipped, talking numbers.
I unzipped my suitcase. The red dress stared up at me.
I hadn't worn it out in years. The silk still felt cool and slippery against my fingers. I held it up to the mirror. My reflection looked back with the same curves, same chestnut hair, but tired eyes. Eyes that had seen too many quiet nights and forgotten promises.
I slipped it on.
The fabric slid over my skin like a memory. Low back. Fitted bodice. The hem brushed my calves. I turned sideways. Still fit. Still dangerous.
Downstairs, Marcus was off the phone. He looked up when I walked in, glass of scotch in hand.
He stared.
For a second just a second his eyes darkened the way they used to. Like he saw me. Really saw me.
"You look…" He cleared his throat. "Stunning."
I smoothed the dress over my hip. "Thanks."
He set the glass down. Walked over. Reached out and touched my bare shoulder. His fingers were cool from the drink.
"We haven't had a night like this in a while," he said quietly.
"No. We haven't."
He leaned in. Kissed me. Soft at first. Then deeper. His hand slid to the small of my back, pressing me closer.
I kissed him back. Tried to feel something. Anything like the fire I used to.
It was nice. Familiar. Safe.
But it wasn't fire.
He pulled back first. Smiled. "You ready for tonight?"
I nodded. "Ready."
The gala was at a sprawling estate farther down the coast. White tents on the lawn. String lights everywhere. Ocean crashing in the distance. Valet took our car. Photographers snapped pictures as we walked the carpet. Marcus's hand rested lightly on my lower back possessively.
Inside it was worse. Champagne flutes clinking. Laughter too loud. Women in gowns that cost more than my car. Men shaking hands like they were signing treaties.
Marcus spotted a group of investors almost immediately. "I need to say hello. You okay for a minute?"
"Go," I said. "I'll mingle."
He kissed my cheek quick and disappeared into the crowd.
I took a flute from a passing tray. Sipped. Let the bubbles burn my tongue.
Then I felt it.
Eyes on me.
I turned.
Alexander stood across the room near the bar. Black tux. No tie. Hair just messy enough to look effortless. He wasn't talking to anyone. Just watching me.
Our eyes locked.
The room shrank.
Twenty years. One look.
He raised his glass a fraction. A small, private toast.
I lifted mine back.
He started walking toward me.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
People moved out of his way without him asking. Like the crowd knew he was coming for something important.
He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that I could smell his cologne wood, spice, same as always.
"El," he said low. "You wore the red dress."
I reply soft "You asked."
His gaze dropped to the dress, then back to my face. "It still looks better on you than anyone else ever could."
Heat climbed my neck. "You clean up nice too."
He smiled small, real. "Dance with me?"
The band was playing something slow. Strings and piano. Dangerous music.
I glanced around. Marcus was still deep in conversation, back turned.
I set my glass on a passing tray.
"Okay."
He offered his hand.
I took it.
His fingers closed around mine, it was warm, sure. He led me to the dance floor. Pulled me close. One hand on my waist. The other held mine against his chest.
We moved.
Slow.
The world blurred around us.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, mouth near my ear.
"No," I whispered. "Not even close."
He tightened his hold just a little. "Me neither."
We danced. Bodies close. His heartbeat steady under my palm. Mine racing.
"I keep thinking about the coffee shop," he said. "About your hand in mine. About how right it felt."
"Me too."
"And tonight…" He pulled back enough to look at me. "Seeing you in this dress. Walking in with him. It's killing me."
I looked into his eye, just to be sure of his feelincre "really" He spun me once slow then pulled me back in. Closer.
"Tell me to walk away," he murmured. "Tell me you're happy. Tell me to leave you alone. I'll do it. I swear."
I looked up at him again. Blue eyes steady. Waiting.
"I can't," I said. Voice breaking. "I can't tell you that."
His thumb brushed my cheek. Caught a tear I didn't know had fallen.
"Then don't."
The song ended.
We didn't move.
People clapped politely for the band.
Marcus's voice cut through the noise calling my name from across the room.
Alexander let go first. Stepped back. Hands at his sides.
"Later," he said quietly. "Find me later."
I nodded. Couldn't speak.
He walked away.
I stood there alone on the dance floor, red dress suddenly feeling too tight, too bright.
Marcus found me. Smiled. "There you are. Come meet these guys they're interested in the charity."
I forced a smile. Took his arm.
But as we walked toward the group, I felt Alexander's eyes on me still.
Burning.
And I knew.
This wasn't just a gala anymore.
It was the beginning.
And I was already halfway across the line.