The chandelier light bathed the ballroom in a golden glow, but all I saw was the reflection of my past in their eyes — fear, regret, disbelief.
Men in tailored suits froze mid-drink. Women in silk gowns whispered behind jeweled hands.
I stepped forward, my leather shoes silent on the marble, the air parting for me like I was a storm about to hit. Security didn't move — they wouldn't dare. Not anymore.
At the center of the room, seated like royalty, was him.
The man who'd taken everything from me.
The man who'd once smiled while the cops dragged me away.
The man who'd taught me the one truth about this city — mercy is just another form of weakness.
"Rayan Malik," he said, voice stiff, trying to mask the tremor.
It's been eight years since I last heard my name from his lips.
Eight years since the day my old self died.
I poured myself a drink from the bar without asking, the clink of glass echoing in the silence. Then I met his gaze and let the weight of my words cut through the tension like a blade.
"I am what you have made me."
A faint smirk tugged at my lips as I placed the glass down.
"Every scar, every sleepless night, every corpse in my path — all thanks to you."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Someone's phone slipped from their hand and hit the floor.
I loosened my tie, stepping closer until I could smell his expensive cologne — the same scent I remembered from the day my life burned to ashes.
"You wanted to destroy me," I said, voice low but sharp. "Instead… you built me."
And just like that, the night turned red.