God Complex in a Tux

Applause echoed through the ballroom, loud and hollow. Then, just like that, everything went back to normal.

Winona was still staring at me with an expression that could make an angel nauseous. But before she could say anything, a middle-aged woman in a red gown swooped in, dragging her away with some overly dramatic comment about “dinner in the Hamptons next week.”

And me...

I stood there. Alone. Breathing shallow. Heart pounding like it had just run a marathon.

Feeling things that should've died years ago but apparently just took a nap and woke up pissed.

I placed my champagne flute on the nearest tray and tried to make my way toward the exit. But life, as usual, refused to offer me a straight line.

"Dianna..." Mr. Hawthorne’s voice called out near the marble staircase. "Come here. I want to introduce you to some important people from the energy sector. They’re looking for new legal representation. Big opportunity."

Big opportunity. Goddamn it. "Big opportunity" always sounded like the beginning of a slow-burn mental breakdown.

I inhaled, turned around, and forced a smile as he paraded me around like a showroom doll.

Hands were shaken. Names exchanged. None of them stuck.

And then... I felt it.

The air behind me changed. A little colder. A little sharper. Way more dangerous than anyone I'd met tonight.

Mr. Hawthorne cleared his throat. "And of course, Dianna, I want to introduce you to one of our major donors this evening. Mr. Romano."

That word...

That name...It exploded in my ears like a landmine.

Slowly, I turned.

Zane Romano stood just a few steps away. Closer than comfortable. More real than I was ready for.

His eyes locked on mine. No smile. Like time hadn’t touched him at all. Like he was still the man I’d left sleeping in that hotel bed four years ago with one secret too big to share.

He held out his hand. And I... I don’t know why I took it. But I did.

"A pleasure," he said, low and smooth, dripping with irony. "Finally meeting you... professionally."

His hand was warm. But it felt like touching snow.

Mr. Hawthorne clapped my shoulder. "I think you two will get along just fine. Zane Romano is an excellent strategic partner. And Dianna, my God, she just—"

"Could we have a few minutes?" Zane cut in, not taking his eyes off me. "I’d like to speak with Ms. Rosa privately."

Mr. Hawthorne, looking a little confused, chuckled awkwardly and backed away. "Of course. I’ll be just over there. Let me know if you need me, Dianna."

As he walked off, the space around me shrank.

"You’ve always drawn attention," Zane said, his gaze drifting across my face. "But now... you’re sharper than I remember."

I swallowed, throat dry. "And you still talk like people should be grateful to breathe the same air as you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Was that a compliment?"

"It was a diagnosis."

He smiled. Barely. But enough to make my fury crawl right up my throat. "You doing okay?" he asked.

"Are you seriously asking me that? In the middle of a gala, with your company’s name baked into the damn script, and me standing here with zero warning you’d even be in a two-mile radius?"

"So... not okay."

"Mr. Romano..." I called him formally.

He stepped half a foot closer. Too close. Too fast. "Four years," he said. "And you didn’t leave a single trace."

I stiffened. "I had no obligation to leave anything."

"Funny. I thought we had something back then."

I hissed under my breath. "What we had was one bed and two lies. You lied about who you were. And I... I lied to myself thinking you weren’t a monster."

His jaw tightened. Just for a second. "If I’m a monster," he smiled, "why haven’t you stopped staring at me for the last ten minutes?"

I let out a dry laugh. "Because I’m deciding which spot on your face would hurt the most if I punched you."

He leaned in, lips almost brushing my ear. "I missed you, Dianna Rosa."

And just like that, he pulled back.

Looked at me one last time. And walked away.

+++++++++

Out of nowhere, Winona appeared and yanked me upstairs, dragging me into a private lounge where VIPs usually discussed mergers and mistresses in the same breath.

"Sit. Shut up. Drink." She shoved a bright pink cocktail into my hand. "It’s called Trust Fund Baby. Like Zane, but sweeter and less likely to ruin your life."

I took a sip. "I think I need something called Early Onset Menopause."

"Your upper lip is tense, Dee. Drink more."

We sank into a leather couch that was too luxurious for a night already too bleak. Around us, laughter and clinking glasses floated through the air, mixed with lounge music that sounded like depression dipped in glitter.

Drink one led to drink two.

Drink two brought nostalgia.

Drink three let the wrong words slip out.

"You know," I said, swirling ice around the glass, "he hasn’t changed. Still walks around like the world owes him something."

Winona raised an eyebrow. "And you... still can’t say his name in a neutral tone."

"Saying his name neutrally is like calling Hitler ‘a man with ambition.’"

She laughed. I didn’t.

"He said he missed me," I whispered, more to the air than to her.

Her eyes widened. "Shit."

"Yeah."

"Shit shit."

"Yeah."

"Do you wanna go home?" she asked eventually.

I stared down at my glass. "I want to not remember tonight."

And...

I’m not sure when exactly the night started to blur. I just remember Winona laughing, me cursing my heels, and every so often… the scent of aftershave I knew too well.

Warm. Familiar.

Like a door you know you shouldn’t open again.

I remember a deep voice saying my name. A hand on my back. A jacket draped over my shoulders.

A whisper in my ear. "You can’t even stand up straight, Rosa."

After that... nothing.

Just dark.

Morning came too fast. Sunlight slipped through linen curtains, soft but relentless.

And even before I opened my eyes, I knew something was off.

These sheets were too expensive. The mattress, too comfortable.

The air... too calm for my apartment.

My head throbbed. My mouth was dry.

My body felt like it had been run over by memories I’d tried too hard to bury.

I opened my eyes.

The high ceiling. I recognized it instantly. This room... I’d seen it once before. Years ago.

When I was still stupid enough to think love could hit like the first wave and never pull you under.

I turned my head..

And there he was. Lying beside me. Flat on his back, chest half-covered by that ridiculous white blanket.

The one man I’ve never been able to label as finished.

Zane. Romano.

I sat up, breath caught in my chest. My body understood what had happened before my brain could even catch up.

Zane Romano, asleep in his bed, breathing steady. Face peaceful in a way that felt like a betrayal.

And me—

I was wearing his shirt.

That white button-down that smelled like him. That same scent that once wrecked the best parts of me. The shirt clung to my skin like an unspoken confession.

My knees went weak. My hands trembled as I pulled the blanket back carefully, trying not to make a sound.

But inside, everything screamed.

Wrong.

This was wrong. Cursed and dangerous and too familiar.

I placed my feet on the soft carpet. The room felt like a trap dressed in luxury linens.

I picked up my dress from the floor. The black gown I’d hated last night, and this morning... I looked at it like it was a symbol of my own stupidity.

On the table, my phone blinked with 3% battery left. One message from Winona: Who the hell did you go home with, you traitor? I’m with Peter LOL. Your life is more dramatic than an HBO show right now.

I wanted to laugh. What came out was just a breath that bordered on a sob.

Zane stirred beneath the covers. A soft groan. A small movement.

If he woke up... I’d lose control again.

I’d forget all the reasons I ran from him in the first place. And I’d remember everything that ever made me come back, even when it killed me one piece at a time.

I took a deep breath.

Then moved.

I tiptoed through that goddamn penthouse with my heart lodged in my throat. The elevator was slow. Too slow.

I wanted to break it. Or scream. Or both.

When the doors finally opened, I stepped in and hit the lowest floor. My back pressed against the wall. Fingers clutched a tiny clutch filled with nothing but lipstick and lies.

And as the doors closed...

I finally exhaled.