Dim bar lights bled into a smoky haze as Nicolas fixed his gaze on Ashley across the crowded room, each breath growing heavier than the last.
What he saw refused to settle in his mind, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
In the past, Ashley had always appeared in gentle, muted dresses, her presence quiet and unassuming, the kind of woman who would lower her eyes and wordlessly take his coat the moment he stepped through the door.
But now the same woman was draped in a black dress that clung to her figure with striking precision, every curve outlined with effortless confidence. One leg crossed over the other in a languid, deliberate pose, while a vivid cocktail swirled idly between her fingers, catching the light with each subtle movement.
Tilting her head back, she let out a soft, unrestrained laugh beside Dayna, the clean line of her profile sharp enough to feel almost sculpted from stone. Everything about her carried an air of cool detachment, an untouchable elegance that instinctively kept others at a distance.
"Nicolas, tell me I'm not seeing things. That's Ashley over there, right?"
Cristian's gaze lingered before a derisive snort escaped him. "Damn. She really pulled out all the stops just to catch your eye, huh? That dress probably wiped out every cent she's managed to save over the last few years."
Nicolas stayed silent, yet the rigid set of his jaw made his unease impossible to miss.
Cristian gave his shoulder a smug slap, sounding completely sure of himself. "I'm telling you, she definitely found out you'd be here tonight and dressed up like that on purpose. Want to make a bet? Give it ten minutes. She'll stroll over pretending this was all some accident, then start tearing up and beg you to take her back."
A sharp, humorless scoff left Nicolas's lips as he tore his eyes away from across the room. "She can do whatever she likes. Pulling pathetic stunts like this only makes her seem even more revolting."
Even so, the irritation clawing at him all night mysteriously began to loosen, little by little.
Now that made more sense. Ashley was an orphan with no one to lean on. There was no chance she would actually leave him behind for good.
This whole cold, distant performance was nothing but another scheme to make him come after her.
Minutes slipped by in silence. Ten… then twenty.
Across the room, Ashley remained relaxed and radiant, laughing freely as she chatted with her friends, never once sparing Nicolas so much as a glance.
At that moment, a burly man in a gaudy floral shirt swaggered over to her booth, a couple of equally rowdy companions trailing close behind.
"Hey there, beautiful," he drawled, flashing a leering grin as he leaned in. "Mind if I keep you company?" His gaze lingered shamelessly on the curve of her exposed shoulder while his hand lifted, reaching toward her face. "Sit with me for a drink. Whatever this booth runs tonight, I'll take care of it."
A sharp chill settled into Ashley's eyes. Before his fingers could come close, she leaned back, her expression hardening. "Fuck off."
For a split second, the man froze. Then irritation twisted his features into something ugly. Around here, no one ever dared to brush him off so publicly.
"What's with the attitude?" he barked, voice rising. "You walk in dressed like that—what, you think you won't get noticed?"
With a heavy thud, his palm slammed onto the table, glasses clinking violently. "Name's Jordy Howard. I'm the heir to Howard Realty. Tonight, you're drinking with me—whether you like it or not. Take her."
At his command, the men behind him moved in without hesitation, circling closer. Dayna shot up from her seat, fury flashing across her face. "Jordy, you absolute idiot—take a good look at who you're talking to. This is—"
Ashley cut in before she could finish, "Dayna, don't waste your breath on garbage."
Keeping one hand on Dayna's arm, she slowly tightened the other around the slender neck of the bottle on the table, her eyes turning cold and sharp.
Back in her previous life, she had reined in every bold, dangerous side of herself for Nicolas.
She had buried that side of herself so completely that most people had long since forgotten who she had once been. After all, she used to be the most naturally gifted fighter in the entire Dunn family.
Jordy gave a mocking laugh and reached for her hair. "What? You want to fight? Then maybe it's time somebody showed you who really runs Sleridge," he spat icily.
From a short distance away, Nicolas caught sight of the scene, his brows knitting as he pushed back his chair to stand.
He wanted nothing to do with Ashley, but their divorce still wasn't final. Legally, she remained his wife, and there was no way he was going to watch some worthless thug lay a hand on her.
Before he could even move, a deep, glacial voice sliced through the noise of the bar and swept across the room like a blade.
"Enough."
The word wasn't loud, but it carried such crushing authority that the entire bar seemed to lock in place.
Still swearing under his breath, Jordy whipped around. "Who the hell are you to stick your nose into my—"
The rest of the sentence died in his throat the instant he recognized the man.
Out of the shifting haze and fractured light, the man strode forward in a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit, his handsome features cut sharp as glass, his eyes so cold they seemed to steal the air from a man's lungs. A line of stern security guards moved in behind him, and the crushing weight of his arrival made the entire room draw tight with silence.
"Mr. Greene?!" Jordy's knees almost buckled beneath him. His voice trembled as it came out thin and uneven. "W-what are you doing here?"
Nicolas stiffened as well, his fingers curling into a hard fist while his gaze locked on the newcomer.
It was Vincent Greene.
What was a man like him doing in a place like this?
And above all… what was it about Ashley that held his gaze so tightly?
