The following weeks unfolded in surreal, parallel existence.
Publicly, Kaelen and Bella were everywhere.The city couldn't blink without seeing them — charity auctions, press junkets, gala previews, interviews framed in soft focus and amber light.
They looked like legacy.
Every photograph captured the symmetry of power: the Vancourt heir and his childhood sweetheart, rebuilding an empire together.
Privately, Kaelen and I were unraveling by inches.
We still loved each other — fiercely, stupidly — but love had turned into something bruised and volatile.He was too careful now. Every word sounded rehearsed.I was too quiet — and he mistook my silence for indifference.
I stopped going to Vancourt headquarters.Pauline began handling the joint venture updates, while I buried myself in Sterling work — reports, site visits, late nights that blurred into dawn.
Still, his name was everywhere.
His voice. His face.
And always, beside him — Bella.
When the invitation arrived for the Vancourt Foundation Gala, it came embossed with gold leaf.
Bella's signature glinted beneath Kaelen's.
I stared at it for a long time before saying, "I'll go."
Pauline looked up sharply. "You don't have to—"
"I do," I said. "I'm co-chair of the Island Residence. It's business."
It wasn't business. It was survival.
The gala was held in the Grand Corinthian — crystal ceilings, marble floors, a thousand candles refracted in every glass.Kaelen was already there when I arrived.
He stood near Bella at the top of the staircase — the perfect tableau.
She was dressed in silver that clung like light, her hand resting delicately on his arm.
When they descended, cameras flashed like lightning.
I caught Bella's eyes briefly — she smiled, serene and knowing.
Then, softly, just loud enough for Kaelen to hear, she said,
"Remember this night?"
He stiffened.
Just barely — but I saw it.
I stayed three steps from them, smile diamond-hard. Playing the part of a business partner.
For every flash, every question, every false headline being born right there under the chandeliers.
The tension was so thick it almost hummed.
Bella never strayed far from him.
When the press called for photographs, she linked her arm through his again — graceful, claiming, calculated.
I kept my glass steady, my expression steady, my heart steady.
Then the music shifted — a soft waltz, orchestral and shimmering.
Someone announced, "A symbolic first dance, to honor Vancourt Holdings' roots. Who more fitting to have the first dance than Kaelen and Bella?"
Bella turned to Kaelen with the sweetest weaponized smile.
"Shall we?"
Applause broke out as they stepped onto the dance floor.
Every camera followed them.
Kaelen's hand hovered at her waist — not quite touching, but close enough to complete the picture.
His movements were mechanical, too precise, as if counting every beat just to survive it.
Bella leaned in — whispering something that made herself laugh.
The crowd sighed at their chemistry.
But Kaelen's eyes — they never left me.
The waltz was exquisite and unbearable.
It was beauty laced with cruelty, the kind of moment meant to be remembered and regretted at once.
When the song ended, the applause sounded like thunder underwater.
I placed my empty glass on the nearest tray and left.
I didn't make it far before I heard the click of heels behind me.
"Leaving so soon?"
Chloe's voice. Soft, sharp, silk-wrapped poison.
I turned just enough to see her approach — golden dress glittering under the chandeliers, her smile all teeth.
"Didn't even stay for the toast," she said sweetly. "Or the dance. Oh wait — that dance was already taken, wasn't it?"
"Goodnight, Chloe."
She tilted her head, pretending innocence. "I just thought it was brave of you, really. Standing there, smiling through it all. Everyone was talking about how gracious you were."
I started to walk.
"Of course," she called after me, "they also said Bella looked perfect next to him. The way a real partner should."
The words struck like a slap I refused to feel.
I didn't turn back.I wouldn't give her that satisfaction.
The grounds outside the ballroom was quieter, lined with perfectly trimmed bushes and pavilions with white marble columns. I looked at my reflection at a pond. I looked like someone else — calm, polished, dying quietly behind her own eyes.
"Rough night?"
Liam's voice — low, measured, too knowing.
He was leaning against one of the marble pillars, tie loosened, glass of champagne untouched in his hand.
"I'm not in the mood, Liam."
"You never are. But maybe you should be." He stepped closer. "You keep pretending he's different, but he's not. Kaelen Vancourt will always choose his empire over you."
"Don't."
"He already did tonight."
Something inside me twisted — not because he was right, but because part of me feared he was.
I turned to leave, but he caught my wrist.
"Elara." His voice softened. "I'm not your enemy. I just want you to see him. Before he destroys you the way he destroyed everyone who trusted him."
"Let go."
But he didn't. He stepped closer, his hand sliding from my wrist to my shoulder, lowering his voice — "You don't have to keep bleeding for him. You can walk away."
"I said—"
And then his hand was at my waist, trying to steady me as I pulled back.
A flash exploded.
White. Blinding.
For a moment, everything froze — the camera light catching us mid-motion, his hand on me, my expression unreadable.
The photographer gasped, then ducked away as quickly as he came, shutters still clicking.
And as the photographer retreated quickly into the darkness, I saw him.
Kaelen. His face drawn, anger simmering just beneath control.
His eyes darted from me to the corridor where Liam still stood, then to the corner where a photographer was retreating, camera pressed protectively to his chest.
Our gazes met — his, a storm of disbelief and betrayal; mine, hollowed by exhaustion.
We didn't speak.We didn't need to.
The damage was already done.
The silence was broken by Liam's smirk.
"Hi uncle," Liam said, too casually. "Didn't realize you were playing chaperone tonight."
Kaelen's voice was low, measured, deadly. "And I didn't realize you were still mistaking impulse for charm."
Liam smiled — a sharp, careless curve. "You don't own her, uncle. Maybe that's what you keep forgetting."
Something inside me froze. "Liam—"
But Kaelen moved before I could finish. One hand caught Liam by the collar, pulling him half a step closer. The music from inside the ballroom throbbed faintly through the glass, almost in rhythm with my heartbeat.
"Say that again," Kaelen said softly.
Liam's grin faltered for a fraction of a second. "Or what? You'll prove me right? You're doing that already."
"Enough!" I stepped between them, palms to Kaelen's chest. "Both of you!"
Kaelen's hand unclenched slowly, the silk of Liam's lapel slipping free from his grasp. He didn't look at him again. His eyes were on me — sharp, furious, hurting.
"Come with me."
"Kaelen—"
"Now."
He didn't wait for my answer, just turned and walked down the marble steps toward the gardens. I followed, partly because I didn't want to cause a scene — partly because I still couldn't breathe right.
The night was cool, the fountain in the center catching fragments of chandelier light from the ballroom above. The air smelled of rain and peonies — too delicate for what was about to happen.
He stopped near the hedge-lined path, back half turned to me. His voice was low, rough at the edges. "Do you enjoy watching me lose control?"
"That's not fair."
"Neither is that look he gave you."
"He was taunting you, Kaelen. You know what he's like."
"I know what he's like with you."
That silenced me. His breathing was uneven now, his composure cracking under the strain of everything he'd been swallowing for weeks — the cameras, the rumours, the facade.
"I've been holding it together," he said, each word scraped raw. "For the company, for the project, for us. And then I walk out there and see him—"
My pulse jumped. "Oh, don't you start with this—"
He faced me, eyes bright with fury. "You think I didn't see the way he touched you? The cameras did. And now, they will make sure everyone does too."
"You think I wanted that?" My voice rose, and my eyes welled before I could stop it. "You think I haven't been dying inside watching you play the perfect partner with Bella? Watching her hold your arm like it's hers to claim?"
"That was business—"
"And this wasn't!" The words tore out of me, raw and unfiltered. "That whole ballroom was a stage built to humiliate me. You stood there and let her parade you around like a trophy. I stood there and smiled, because that's what the CEO's fiancée is supposed to do."
He stared at me, stricken — not by guilt, but by the truth of it.
"I thought you trusted me," he said, quieter now.
"I do," I whispered, then shook my head. "But that doesn't make it hurt less."
The air between us thickened, full of everything we couldn't say. His breath hitched; mine did too.
He took a step forward, then another, until I felt the hedge against my back. His hand came up, cupping my jaw, thumb brushing the edge of my mouth.
"Don't tell me you didn't feel it too," he murmured.
I tried to breathe, but the space between us was gone. "Kaelen—"
He kissed me before the rest could form.
There was nothing soft about it. His mouth crashed into mine — demanding, desperate — as if every unsaid word between us had caught fire. My hands were still mid-air, frozen for a heartbeat, before instinct took over. I grabbed his collar, fingers twisting into the fine fabric, dragging him closer.
The night tilted. The garden, the fountain, the laughter spilling faintly from the ballroom — all of it dissolved. There was only heat, his breath, his heartbeat hammering against mine.
His hand slid to my waist, gripping too tightly, pulling me flush against him. The edge of the stone wall pressed cold against my back, his body hot against my front. I felt the tremor in his chest, the low sound he made when I kissed him back — a sound between pain and hunger.
It wasn't a kiss for forgiveness.It was a collision — every fight, every restrained look, every "I'm fine" we had ever traded in the past weeks, unraveling in one impossible instant.
When his lips parted mine, I gasped against him, my head tilting, giving in and fighting back at the same time. His hand came up, tangled in my hair; I could taste anger and salt and the faint sweetness of champagne still on his tongue. My fingers slid beneath his jacket, against his shirt — the rhythm of his heartbeat wild under my palm.
He pulled back just enough for breath, his lips still brushing mine. "Tell me to stop."
I couldn't. I didn't want to.
Instead, I whispered, "Don't you dare."
And he kissed me again, deeper — slower this time, but no less consuming. The kind of kiss that steals reason. The kind that says everything words can't survive.
Tears pricked my eyes; I didn't know if they came from anger or love, or the unbearable mix of both. His thumb brushed one away, but he didn't step back.
When he finally broke the kiss, his breath was unsteady against my skin. He rested his forehead on the nape of my neck, both of us trembling in the aftermath.
"You drive me insane," he murmured, voice rough, ragged.
I let out a shaky laugh that wasn't really laughter. "Then we're even."
He closed his eyes, still close enough that I could feel the words when he said them. "You said you trusted me."
"I still do," I breathed. "That's what makes this so impossible."
He sighed, the last of the tension leaving his shoulders as he rested his forehead against the nape of my neck. Our breaths mingled, steady and warm in the cool night air.
"I have to go back in," he murmured, his voice a low, reluctant rumble. "One more dance for the cameras. One more smile."
"I know." I leaned into him, committing his warmth to memory, my hands stroking his cheeks gently. "Just remember which one is real."
He kissed me once more—a soft, lingering promise that tasted of forgiveness and forever. Then, with clear reluctance, he straightened his jacket and smoothed his collar, the mask of the CEO settling back into place.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, his eyes holding mine, ensuring the words were a vow.
I simply nodded, a soft, private smile touching my lips.
He turned and walked back toward the blazing lights of the ballroom, his silhouette sharp against the gold. I watched him until he disappeared inside, the ghost of his kiss still warm on my lips.
Then, I turned and walked the other way, toward the waiting car, toward the quiet of the Sterling mansion. The night no longer felt cold. It felt hopeful, wrapped in the quiet afterglow of a battle ended, and a love, for now, restored.