The rooftop terrace of the Plaza offered a perfect view of Central Park, but Victoria wasn't interested in the scenery. She was interested in the man who'd followed her outside.
Lucas stood at the stone railing, his bow tie loosened and his tuxedo jacket slung over his arm. The October breeze ruffled his dark hair as he stared out at the city lights, lost in thought. He looked younger like this, more like the law student she'd fallen in love with all those years ago.
Before everything went to hell.
Victoria approached slowly, her heels clicking against the terrace stones. She'd changed into something more appropriate for the cool evening air—a black cashmere wrap that clung to her curves and made her look like she'd stepped out of a film noir. The red dress had served its purpose. Now it was time for something more intimate.
"Hiding from your own party, Mr. Stone?"
Lucas turned, and Victoria caught the flash of relief in his eyes before he could hide it. He'd been hoping she'd follow him out here. Good. Men were so much easier to manipulate when they wanted to be caught.
"The party's winding down," he said, moving closer. "I needed some air. All that champagne and small talk gets overwhelming."
"Poor billionaire, suffering through charity work." Victoria smiled, taking a position beside him at the railing. Close enough to smell his cologne—still the same one he'd worn during their marriage. Some things never changed. "It must be exhausting, being so generous with other people's admiration."
Lucas laughed, a real sound this time instead of the polite chuckles he'd been producing all evening. "You don't pull your punches, do you, Ms. Crow?"
"Life's too short for politeness." Victoria let her fingers brush against his on the railing. "Besides, I find that successful men appreciate honesty. They get so much smoke blown up their asses that a little truth becomes... refreshing."
"Is that your professional opinion as an investment consultant?"
"That's my personal opinion as a woman who's learned not to waste time on games." She turned to face him fully, letting him see the challenge in her green eyes. "Speaking of which, that was quite a bidding war earlier. Your fiancée seemed upset about it."
Lucas's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. There it was—the crack in his perfect facade. "Sara worries about money sometimes. She grew up without much."
"And you grew up with everything." Victoria's voice was soft, understanding. "That must create some... tension."
"You could say that." Lucas ran his hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that made Victoria's chest tighten with unwanted nostalgia. "Sometimes I think she's more in love with the lifestyle than she is with me."
Victoria filed that admission away for later use. "That must be lonely."
"It is." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Lucas looked surprised by his own honesty. "Sorry, I don't usually dump my personal problems on strangers."
"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you need to talk to more strangers." Victoria moved closer, close enough that her perfume would wrap around him like a memory. "Sometimes it's easier to tell the truth to someone who doesn't have expectations."
"What kind of truths?"
"The dangerous kind." Victoria's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "The kind that could change everything if the wrong person heard them."
Lucas stared at her, his dark eyes searching her face like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "You really do remind me of someone."
"Someone important?"
"Very important." His voice was rough with emotion he couldn't quite hide. "Someone I lost."
Victoria's heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her expression neutral. "Lost how?"
"She died. Three years ago." Lucas's hands gripped the railing until his knuckles went white. "Car accident. I should have been there, should have protected her, but I was too busy with work. Always too busy."
"I'm sorry." And Victoria was sorry—sorry for the pain in his voice, sorry for the guilt he carried, sorry that she'd had to die to make him realize how much he'd loved her. "It must have been devastating."
"It was." Lucas turned to look at the park again, but Victoria could see his reflection in the glass doors behind them. The grief was etched into every line of his face. "She was... she was everything good about my life. And I threw it away for conference calls and board meetings."
"People grieve differently," Victoria said carefully. "Some people move on quickly because they have to. Others..." She let the sentence hang.
"Others dream about their dead wives every night for three years?" Lucas's laugh was bitter. "Others wake up reaching for someone who's never going to be there again?"
Victoria's breath caught. He dreamed about her. Every night. The knowledge hit her like a physical blow, tearing through all her carefully constructed walls. She'd thought he'd moved on, thought Sara had replaced her completely. But he was still mourning, still reaching for a ghost in his sleep.
"That doesn't sound like a man who's ready to remarry," she managed.
"It's not." Lucas's voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear it. "But my father thinks it's time. Sara thinks it's time. Everyone thinks it's time except me."
"And what do you think?"
"I think—"
"Lucas!"
The sharp voice cut through the moment like a blade. Sara stood in the doorway, her white gown billowing around her like a vengeful angel. Her face was flushed with anger and something that looked suspiciously like panic.
"There you are," Sara continued, her smile so forced it looked painful. "I've been looking everywhere for you. The Vanderbilts want to say goodbye."
Lucas straightened, the vulnerable man disappearing behind his CEO mask. "Of course. I'll be right there."
But he didn't move. He stood there staring at Victoria like she was the answer to a question he'd been afraid to ask.
Sara's eyes narrowed as she took in the intimate distance between them, the way Lucas's attention was completely focused on the mysterious woman in black. "I don't think we were properly introduced earlier. I'm Sara Hart."
"Victoria Crow." Victoria extended her hand with predatory grace. "Lucas was just telling me about his late wife. Such a tragic story."
Sara's smile froze. "Yes, well, that's ancient history now. Lucas has moved on."
"Have you?" Victoria asked, her eyes fixed on Lucas. "Moved on, I mean?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. Sara's face went pale, then flushed red with anger. Lucas looked like he'd been slapped.
"Of course he has," Sara snapped. "We're engaged. We're planning a life together. The past is the past."
"The past has a way of catching up with people," Victoria said mildly. "Especially when it's not really buried."
Sara took a step forward, her hands clenched into fists. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Sara." Lucas's voice was quiet but firm. "The Vanderbilts?"
"Right." Sara forced another smile, but her eyes stayed locked on Victoria. "It was... interesting meeting you, Ms. Crow. I hope you enjoy your week at Martha's Vineyard."
"Oh, I will. I have a feeling it's going to be very... enlightening."
Sara's jaw tightened, but she couldn't say anything else without making a scene. She grabbed Lucas's arm and started pulling him toward the door.
"Goodnight, Victoria," Lucas said, his voice carefully neutral. But his eyes held hers for a beat longer than necessary, and Victoria saw the questions there, the confusion, the longing.
"Goodnight, Lucas." She let his name linger on her lips like a caress. "Sweet dreams."
Sara's grip on his arm tightened until Victoria could see her fingernails digging into his jacket. They disappeared through the doorway, Sara's angry whispers echoing back across the terrace.
Victoria stood alone in the cool night air, listening to the sounds of the city below. Phase one was complete. She'd planted the seeds of doubt, opened old wounds, and established herself as a threat to Sara's perfect world. Now all she had to do was wait for them to grow.
She turned to leave, then paused. Her lipstick tube lay on the stone railing where she'd "accidentally" left it during their conversation. Tom Ford's "Cherry Lush"—the exact shade Aria Stone had worn every day of her marriage.
Let Lucas find it. Let him wonder. Let him remember.
Victoria walked away without looking back, but she could feel eyes watching her from the hotel windows. Good. Let them all wonder. Let them all worry.
The dead wife was back, and she was just getting started.
Inside the Plaza, Lucas stood at the window watching Victoria's figure disappear into the night. His fingers clutched a small tube of lipstick, and his hands were shaking.
Cherry Lush. Aria's signature color. The one she'd worn on their wedding day, their anniversary, every important moment of their life together. He'd thrown away all her makeup after the funeral because he couldn't bear to see it, but he remembered this shade. He remembered everything about her.
"Lucas?" Sara appeared beside him, her voice carefully controlled. "What's that?"
Lucas looked down at the lipstick in his hand, then back at the empty street where Victoria Crow had vanished like smoke.
"Nothing," he lied. "Just trash someone left behind."
But he didn't throw it away. He slipped it into his pocket, next to his heart, where Aria's memory lived.
End of Chapter 2