The gown was a betrayal.
It was a single, fluid sheet of liquid midnight, a designer piece she'd found for a scandalous discount at a consignment shop, its original price tag a number that could have paid her rent for six months.
It clung to curves she'd earned from pregnancy and stress-eating, and its low back felt like a vulnerability she couldn't afford.
Staring at her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror of the hotel's opulent bathroom, Evie didn't see a powerful woman ready to confront her past. She saw an imposter, a mouse dressed for a lion's den.
Her stomach was a tight knot of nausea, a feeling that had been her constant companion since the plane touched down in New York.
The city felt different now, not a place of possibility, but a cage of painful memories and impending doom.
For Leo. For Luna. She repeated the mantra like a prayer, applying a final, shaky coat of mascara. For their future.
The Starlight Hope Charity Gala was being held in the ballroom of the very hotel she was staying in, a coincidence that felt less like luck and more like fate tightening its noose.
The hum of the crowd below was a palpable vibration through the floor, a symphony of wealth and casual power that made her bones ache.
Taking one last, steadying breath, she left the sanctuary of her room and descended into the lion's den.
The ballroom was a breathtaking assault on the senses. A cavern of gold and white, it was filled with the glitter of diamond jewelry, the sharp, tailored lines of tuxedos worth more than her car, and the low, confident murmur of people who owned the world.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne. Evie felt every eye upon her, a phantom pressure against her skin, though in reality, she was just another face in the glamorous crowd, invisible.
Her target was easy to find. He was the center of gravity in the room.
Lysander Crowe stood near the center of the ballroom, holding a crystal tumbler of amber liquid, not champagne. He was surrounded by a deferential circle of older men, but he wasn't engaging with them.
He was listening, his head tilted slightly, his mercury-silver eyes scanning the room with a detached, analytical coldness that made Evie's blood run cold.
This was not the warm, laughing "Leo" from the rooftop. This man was carved from ice and ambition.
He was taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader in the impeccably tailored black tuxedo.
The years had honed him, stripping away any lingering softness and leaving a predator's grace.
He exuded a raw, controlled power that was both terrifying and, to her immense frustration, undeniably magnetic.
Her plan to march up to him and deliver her rehearsed speech evaporated. Her feet felt rooted to the marble floor. What was she thinking? He would have her thrown out by security. He would destroy her with a single, cold word.
For an hour, she drifted through the crowd, a ghost at the feast, a sip of champagne turning to acid on her tongue.
She watched him. She watched how women looked at him with a mixture of desire and fear.
She watched how men approached him with a careful, calculated respect. He was a king, utterly untouchable.
Her courage was failing, seeping away into the plush carpet. This was a mistake. A catastrophic, life-ruining mistake.
She turned, deciding to flee, to slink back to her room and figure out another way, any other way, when a voice, smooth as silk and sharp as a razor, cut through the din directly behind her.
"You've been staring for the better part of an hour. Do I have a stain on my tuxedo, or do you have a business proposal?"
Evie froze. The world slowed, the noise of the gala fading into a dull, roaring hum in her ears. Slowly, painfully slowly, she turned around.
He was standing mere feet from her. Up close, the impact of him was physical, a punch to the solar plexus.
His silver eyes weren't just cold; they were bored, faintly annoyed, as if she were a minor administrative problem that had been placed on his desk.
Her mouth went dry. All the words she had practiced the calm, rational explanations vanished, leaving only a terrified, five-year-old truth.
"Leo," she whispered. The name, their secret name, fell from her lips like a stone.
Something flickered in his eyes. Not recognition. Not warmth. It was a minute flinch, a shutter slamming down.
His expression hardened, the already sharp lines of his face becoming brutal.
"I think you're mistaken," he said, his voice dangerously low. It was a voice used to give commands that were never questioned.
"The name is Crowe. Lysander Crowe. And you are?"
The dismissal in his tone, the utter lack of any recognition, broke the dam of her fear, flooding her with a white-hot rage. He had looked at her as if she were nothing.
As if their summer, the nights spent talking and laughing, the way he'd held her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, had never happened.
The anger gave her a voice. It straightened her spine and lifted her chin.
"You don't remember me?" she said, her own voice gaining a strength that surprised her. "Let me refresh your memory.
Five years ago…
A rooftop party. You told me your name was Leo Sand. We spent six weeks together. You told me I made you feel real."
His expression didn't change, but a new, more intense focus entered his gaze.
He was studying her now, truly seeing her, and she saw the moment the ghost of that summer brushed against his memory. It wasn't fondness in his eyes. It was a cold, dawning suspicion.
"Evelyn," he said, the name a statement, not a question. He remembered.
"Evie," she corrected, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"What do you want, Evelyn?" The question was a blade, clean and precise. "If this is about money, you can speak to my lawyer. I believe a settlement was already provided."
The word hit her like a physical blow. Settlement? What was he talking about? The confusion must have shown on her face, because his lips curved into a humorless, cynical smile.
"Please, let's not play this game. My family's attorneys dealt with you. A one-time payment for your… discretion. I assume you've decided it wasn't enough."