The Winslow-Velmore penthouse had been unusually quiet for the past few weeks.
Caliste made herself scarce—always out early, attending design workshops, café meetings, and even joining her cousin's yoga class. Anything to avoid lingering in the same room with Lucian.
Lucian, for his part, had taken avoidance to expert levels. Late nights, early flights, and meetings stacked from breakfast till midnight. He barely stepped foot inside the penthouse, and when he did, he slipped in like a shadow and disappeared again before dawn.
Their once awkward silences had now turned into a complete absence of interaction.
Until the invitation arrived.
A thick, ivory envelope sealed with gold wax.
The Annual Black & White Gala — hosted by renowned socialite Vivienne Mercer. A grand celebration of wealth, fashion, and gossip, where appearances mattered more than intentions.
The twist?
Caliste and Lucian were both invited, independently. And neither one told the other.
So when the night of the gala arrived, they each walked into the lion's den unaware of what—or who—awaited inside.
---
The Grand Ballroom
The Mercer estate shimmered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung like stars frozen in time, casting golden light across the marble floors. A string quartet played soft jazz near the entrance as flashes from paparazzi cameras lit up the night outside.
Lucian arrived first.
Dressed in a sleek black tuxedo, his usual stoic expression intact. On his arm was Sienna Vale, his longtime executive assistant — stunning in a figure-hugging black dress with a slit that threatened reputations.
They made an intimidating pair. Powerful. Untouchable.
Lucian didn't smile. He didn't need to.
Sienna clung to his arm just enough to stir whispers.
> "Is that his new girlfriend?"
"I thought he was married?"
"Maybe they've split… quietly."
Lucian ignored them all, but his jaw clenched slightly as he scanned the room.
And then, not long after—
She arrived.
Caliste Winslow.
She floated into the ballroom like a breeze in the middle of a storm. Her white satin gown hugged her in all the right places, with a soft off-shoulder neckline that shimmered under the lights. Her hair was pinned to the side, delicate curls framing her face.
On her arm?
Jace Beaumont.
Suave, charming, and clearly too comfortable standing next to her.
Lucian froze.
His hand tightened ever so slightly around his glass as he watched Jace lean down and whisper something into Caliste's ear that made her laugh.
That laugh.
The one Lucian hadn't heard in weeks.
> "Isn't that the husband?"
"But she's with someone else?"
"Scandalous. Oh, the drama."
Whispers spiraled across the floor like wildfire.
Caliste noticed. She always did. But tonight, she held her head high.
She felt the dark pull of Lucian's stare. The way his eyes burned into her across the room.
But she didn't flinch.
She didn't give him the satisfaction.
Instead, she turned slightly to Jace and smiled, placing a gentle hand on his chest as if to say, I'm fine. I don't need him.
Lucian saw it all.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn't know what to do.
Sienna glanced up at him. "Should we make a round?"
He didn't respond.
Because all he could see… was her.
Later That Night
By the time dinner was served, the whispers had quieted, but the tension hadn't. Lucian and Caliste sat at the same long table, ten seats apart. Between them, conversations buzzed and laughter echoed. But neither of them spoke to one another.
Lucian sipped his wine, eyes trained on his plate, answering questions in clipped tones.
Caliste busied herself listening to Jace talk about a new design project he was working on in Santorini. She nodded, smiled, even leaned into him from time to time.
But deep inside, she felt it.
The weight of Lucian's stare. The heaviness in the air.
She caught his eyes once.
Only once.
And in that moment, something flickered between them. Something raw. Something too real for a room full of crystal and lies.
She looked away first.
Lucian looked down.
Neither of them said a word.
---
As the gala stretched on into the night, the music swelled, and the masks stayed on.
They were still pretending.
Still too proud. Still too afraid.
But tonight proved one thing neither of them could deny anymore:
They still cared.
Too much.
And someone—maybe both of them—was going to get hurt.
The night air was warm, laced with soft jazz and the scent of blooming jasmine from the Mercer estate's lush gardens. Caliste stood on the marble veranda with a half-filled wine glass, her laughter light as she chatted with Jace.
They looked striking together—her in satin white, him in a sleek navy suit. Both relaxed, sipping wine, as if they weren't being watched by half the city.
They exchanged waves with passing acquaintances. A couple of socialites, a designer or two. Caliste's smile never faltered.
Jace leaned close. "It's kind of fun watching Lucian pretend you're not here, huh?"
Caliste chuckled softly. "He's good at pretending. It's practically his career."
And then… the music seemed to fade.
Because Lucian was suddenly there.
His steps slow, his eyes locked on them like a brewing storm. In his black tuxedo, he looked devastatingly handsome—cold and collected on the outside, but the fury in his eyes betrayed him.
Caliste's hand stilled on her wine glass.
Jace straightened.
Lucian's voice was smooth, deadly calm. "It seems you've forgotten that you're married to me, Caliste."
The sarcasm in his tone sliced like glass.
Caliste turned to him, lifting her chin with a venomous smile. "I haven't forgotten, my dear husband. But it's nice to play your game for once." Her voice was sugar and blade. "I can do what I want. Our marriage is only on paper, remember?"
The people near them grew quiet. Some stepped back. Others pretended to check their phones, pretending not to watch the scene unfold like a live soap opera.
Jace placed a careful hand on Caliste's back. "Maybe we should take this somewhere else—"
Lucian's eyes snapped to him. Cold. Unblinking.
"No one was talking to you," Lucian said sharply. "But since you're so interested…" He turned back to Caliste, voice low and deliberate. "You want to make it real, darling?"
Caliste's brows furrowed. "What—?"
Before she could move, Lucian pulled her into his chest with a single swift motion, hand sliding behind her neck—and kissed her.
Hard. Deep.
A collective gasp rippled across the veranda.
Flashbulbs went off like fireworks. Paparazzi, hidden behind decorative plants and marble columns, snapped the moment like bloodhounds scenting scandal.
Caliste froze.
Her wine glass slipped from her hand and shattered quietly at her feet.
Jace stood frozen, stunned, helpless.
Lucian broke the kiss slowly, his forehead brushing hers.
And then he whispered against her lips, just for her to hear, "Now it's real."
Without waiting, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her along.
"Lucian—let go!" she hissed, struggling against his grip.
He didn't.
He marched her past the whispering crowd, down the steps, and into the waiting black car at the curb. The driver opened the door without question.
"Home," Lucian ordered curtly as he helped her inside. The door slammed shut behind them.