LUCIAN
When she’d walked out of my office on Tuesday—after she’d asked, no, boldly demanded that I attend the fundraising event—I’d been left with a quiet, satisfying sense of victory since that day.
I had the upper hand and she knows it.
When my PA buzzed in to let me know a Corinne Sterling had called, the first thing I felt like surprise.
She’d already declined the appointment already and instead of focusing back on the thousand and one things I had going on, I gave it just ten seconds of thought.
“Tell her to be here in an hour’s time,” I said.
There was a pause on the other end of the intercom.
“Sir,” my PA said carefully, “you have a meeting scheduled with the board of directors in an hour’s time.”
”Reschedule it for tomorrow.”
She hesitated, just long enough for the unspoken question to hang in the air.
She’d been working for me long enough to know better than to voice it.
“Yes, sir.”
I rolled my shoulders and reached for my coffee, only to find the cup empty.
Again.
“Fuck…”
Curiosity had always been my weakness and Corinne Sterling didn’t exactly strike me as a reckless person.
Which begged the question.
What does she have to say that had convinced her to step into a building where she could easily run into people who recognized her?
And I wasn’t disappointed.
She’d walked in exactly as I expected—defensive, sharp-tongued, trying to sound composed while clearly braced for a fight.
Watching her like that, pushing back just enough to unsettle her, had been… exhilarating.
Not because I needed to dominate the exchange, but because she reacted every time, no matter how hard she tried not to.
I played along for a while, then I was done.
I hadn’t lied when I said I was busy.
My schedule was packed, and I had no intention of spending my weekend trapped in a three-piece suit, listening to forced laughter and polite complaints dressed up as conversation.
That alone would’ve been reason enough to decline the invite.
But then she’d handed me an opening by saying they’ll do anything.
Of course I pounced on it.
For someone that has handled a lot of negotiations and stuff, who knew how to push, how to stall, how to draw lines and protect them, I’d been pleasantly surprised when she accepted my request.
All week after, she’d shot me glares whenever we crossed paths coupled with the irritation she didn’t bother hiding anymore.
I noticed every one of them.
And I had no intention of easing up.
Letting the uncertainty sit with her was far more interesting.
“What’s making you smile like that, sir?” George asked from beside me.
I schooled my expression.
“I wasn’t smiling.”
He gave me a look.
“You were grinning,” he said.
“Properly.
From ear to ear.”
I turned to him, unimpressed.
“Mind your business, George.”
He only chuckled, completely unbothered by the glare I sent his way.
Apparently today wasn’t one of those days.
It was Saturday.
The day of the fundraising event.
Yes, I had decided to go after all.
Not out of obligation.
Definitely not goodwill.
There was a very appealing arrangement tied to my appearance, and I planned to enjoy every second of keeping Corinne unsettled.
The children were already with my parents, dropped off the night before, which meant I didn’t have to rush back or pretend I had other priorities pulling me away.
“You said you weren’t attending,” George continued.
I adjusted my cuffs.
“I reconsidered.”
He waited a beat.
“Because?”
I shot him a look.
“Do you plan to interrogate me all night?”
”I’m just curious,” he said.
I smoothed my jacket, eyes still on my sleeves.
“What’s with the sudden concern?
You were the one complaining about my lack of a social life not too long ago.
Why are you bothered now that I’m trying to make an effort?”
Even if the said effort was for a selfish purpose.
“I don’t know, I guess I’m just worried,” he said.
“About what exactly?”
”You’ve been acting a bit different these past couple of days.”
I thought about it for a second.
I haven’t done anything remarkably out of character.
Nothing that screamed midlife crisis or complete loss of control.
Just… a few small deviations.
Stepping into a nightclub.
Meeting the kids’ homeroom teacher in person instead of delegating it.
Insisting on handling drop-offs and pick-ups myself, which had forced me to reshuffle an entire work schedule I usually guarded with my life.
Sneaking out on a weekend to check if a certain dancer was ill.
And now, agreeing to attend a fundraising event after making it very clear for years that social gatherings weren’t my thing.
Right.
Maybe George has a point after all.
“You’re imagining things.”
”Am I?”
I didn’t answer that.
Instead, I focused on strapping my watch, the faintest hint of anticipation settling in my chest.
“Relax, nothing is going to happen.” I said eventually.
“I’ll show my face for thirty minutes.
Shake a few hands and leave.”
George didn’t argue, which told me exactly what he thought of that plan.
“Of course,” he said instead.
“The car is ready whenever you are.”
”Thank you,” I called after him as he turned to leave.
I checked my reflection once more, fixed my hair then shrugged into my suit jacket.
Everything was perfectly in place.
As it should be.
That was the problem.
The whole drive there was spent in my head.
Every passing street gave me another reason to call it off.
Another excuse to turn back.
I was half tempted to tell the chauffeur to turn the car around, but I didn’t.
I’m not even going to lie—Corinne Sterling was getting under my skin.
She really was.
In my defense, when I don’t understand something—or someone—I obsess.
I pull at every loose end, chase every thread, and dig until I know the why behind it all.
That’s exactly what this is.
I needed to know why she disappeared.
Why she resurfaced in Brooklyn.
Why she has a dozen names and identities.
Once I figure it out, maybe, just maybe, I can let go.
But when the car pulled up in front of the venue, and I stepped out to see her waiting, I realized why “figuring it out” was going to be far harder than I imagined.
Standing there was Corinne.
Not the one I’d tracked through layers of sweaters, cardigans, and glasses.
Not the one who hid behind baggy clothes and careful distance.
This was a version of her I hadn’t prepared for.
She’s wearing on a sleek black dinner dress that perfectly hugged her curves, heels that made her posture sharper, hair pulled back so neatly it almost gleamed, and makeup so subtle it barely needed to exist to make her impossible to ignore.
And, of course, that look—the one she reserved just for me—the signature glare was also present in the getup.
She gave me a once over.
“You’re late, Mr.
Delacroix.”
I let my eyes roam for a second longer than polite, the corners of my mouth tugging into a faint smirk.
Oh boy.
This was going to be a long night.