Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Hannah's POV

The air in Sarah’s condo was thick with the scent of hairspray and expensive perfume. It was a far cry from the salt-tinged breeze of the island. Sarah was a whirlwind of energy, darting between her vanity and the full-length mirror, her laughter echoing against the glass walls that overlooked the city.

​"Hannah, stop fidgeting! If you keep biting your lip, the lipstick won't stay, and we spent twenty minutes getting that shade of deep rose perfect," Sarah scolded, though her eyes were sparkling with excitement.

​I sat on the edge of her plush velvet stool, my hands cold. "I don't know if I can do this, Sarah. I feel like I’m wearing a costume. Back home, the fanciest thing I wore was a sundress for graduation. This... this feels like armor."

​"That’s because it is armor," Sarah said, turning me around to face the mirror.

​The emerald green silk flowed down my frame, catching the light in a way that made me look like I had brought a piece of the forest with me. My hair was swept up in a loose, elegant bun, a few stray tendrils framing my face—a soft contrast to the sharp, cold world we were about to enter.

​"You look breathtaking," Sarah whispered, her excitement momentarily softening into genuine pride. "Luke Cromwell isn't going to know what hit him. And Mateo? He’s going to be tripping over his own feet."

​"That’s exactly what I’m afraid of," I admitted, my voice small. "I’m just the girl who films the story. I’m not supposed to be the one in the frame."

​"Tonight, the rules don't apply," Sarah insisted, stepping into her own sleek black cocktail dress. "Tonight, you’re not a junior editor. You’re the woman who saved the king. Even if he’s too vain to admit it yet."

​A sharp honk from the street below interrupted us. I walked to the window and saw Vince’s reliable, slightly battered sedan parked among the sea of gleaming white SUVs and sports cars.

​"The carriage is here," I said, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

​We headed down, the elevator ride feeling like a descent into a battlefield. When we stepped out onto the curb, Vince was leaning against his car. He had actually traded his usual wrinkled button-down for a decent suit, though he still looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

​He straightened up when he saw us, his gaze lingering on the emerald dress. He whistled low, a rare grin breaking through his cynical exterior.

​"Well, look at you two," Vince said, opening the back door for us with a mock-theatrical bow. "I hope the ballroom has insurance, because the 12th floor is about to cause some structural damage."

​"Shut up, Vince, and drive," Sarah laughed, sliding into the seat.

​As we pulled into the stream of traffic heading toward the Grand Ballroom, the neon lights of Makati blurred past the window. My phone buzzed in my clutch. A text from Ashton: 'Just landed in Manila. Catching a cab to the hotel. Break a leg tonight, Hannah. I’m closer than you think.'

​I gripped the phone tight. Ashton was here. The dress was on. The stage was set.

​"You okay back there?" Vince asked, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

​"I'm ready," I said, and for the first time that night, I actually meant it. "Let's go show them what the island is made of."

The Grand Ballroom of the Manila Peninsula was a fortress of gold leaf and crystal. Outside, the humid city air was thick with the scent of rain and expensive exhaust, but inside, the climate was controlled to a perfect, shivering cold.

​As Vince’s car pulled up to the curb, the difference was staggering. Valets in crisp white uniforms moved like clockwork, opening doors for men in tailored tuxedos and women draped in diamonds.

​"Deep breaths," Sarah whispered, grabbing my hand as the valet reached for our door. "Eyes up, shoulders back. You’re not a guest, Hannah. You’re an event."

​Vince stepped out first, adjusting his tie with a grimace. He walked around to help us out. When I stepped onto the red carpet, the weight of the emerald silk followed me like a shadow. For a second, the flashbulbs from the media line blinded me. They weren't flashing for me—they were waiting for the board members—but the sudden burst of light made my heart gallop.

​"Stay close," Vince muttered, tucking my arm into his. "We’re heading for the back entrance of the ballroom. Let the executives have the main stairs."

​We moved through the crowd, a small island of 12th-floor rebels in a sea of corporate giants. As we entered the main hall, the scale of the "Cromwell Legacy" finally hit me. Thousands of white lilies hung from the ceiling, their scent almost suffocating. At the far end of the room, on a raised dais, sat the Cromwell board.

​And there he was.

​Luke was standing near the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of men who looked like they were auditioning for his favor. He wore a black tuxedo so sharp it looked dangerous. He wasn't smiling. He was listening to someone speak, his head tilted slightly, his expression one of bored, regal indifference.

​"There's the shark," Vince whispered. "And look who’s circling."

​On the opposite side of the circle stood Mateo Velez. He looked like the sun to Luke’s moon—warm, approachable, and wearing a velvet jacket that made him stand out from the sea of standard black wool. He was holding a glass of champagne, and the moment his eyes scanned the room, they stopped.

​On me.

​Mateo didn't hesitate. He excused himself from a group of investors and began walking toward us, his stride confident and predatory.

​"Hannah," Mateo said as he reached us, his voice cutting through the ambient roar of the string quartet. He ignored Sarah and Vince entirely. "I was beginning to think you’d decided to stay in the dark tonight."

​"I prefer the light, Mateo. You said so yourself," I replied, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice.

​He took my hand, his thumb grazing my knuckles in a way that felt far too intimate for the middle of a ballroom. "The green... it suits you. It makes everyone else in this room look like they’re wearing black-and-white film while you’re in Technicolor."

​From the corner of my eye, I saw the circle around Luke shift. The King had noticed the movement in his court.

​Luke turned his head. His gaze swept over the crowd, landing first on Mateo, then dropping to Mateo’s hand holding mine, and finally traveling up to my face.

​The silence that followed, at least for me, was deafening. Luke didn't look away. His jaw tightened so hard I could see the muscle pulse. For a moment, the "CEO mask" didn't just crack—it shattered. The coldness in his eyes was replaced by a raw, burning recognition that he seemed to be fighting with every ounce of his will.

​He whispered something to the man beside him and began walking toward us.

​"The shark is moving," Vince murmured, stepping back to give them space. "Brace yourself, Hannah."

​Luke stopped three feet away. He didn't look at Mateo. He didn't look at Sarah or Vince. He looked only at me, his breathing shallow, his eyes searching the emerald silk as if he were trying to remember where he had seen that specific shade of forest before.

​"Martin," Luke said, his voice a low, gravelly friction. "You’re late. And you’re out of uniform."

​"I'm not on the clock tonight, Mr. Cromwell," I said, tilting my chin up. "I'm just a guest."

​"She’s my guest, Luke," Mateo interjected, his grip on my hand tightening as he pulled me half an inch closer to his side. "And I think she looks exactly how she’s supposed to look. Unforgettable."

​Luke’s eyes flickered to Mateo for a fraction of a second—a look of pure, unadulterated loathing—before returning to me. "I need to speak with you. Privately."

​"She’s in the middle of a conversation, Luke," Mateo countered, his voice smooth but dangerous. "Don't be a bore."

​"I wasn't asking you, Velez," Luke snapped. He looked back at me, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a plea disguised as a command. "The shore, Hannah. The footage. I need to know where it was."

​My heart stopped. He had used my name. Not 'Martin.' Hannah.

​Just as I opened my mouth to answer, my phone vibrated in my clutch. I didn't need to look at it to know who it was. Ashton was in the city. The past was no longer a memory—it was standing at the door.

The vibration in my hand was like a physical jolt, a sharp reminder that while these two men were fighting over their "Legacy," a real person—the one who had helped me stitch Luke back together—was waiting for me.

​I looked at Luke, then at Mateo, and slowly pulled my hand back. The silence between us was a live wire.

​"I have to take this," I said, my voice barely audible over the swelling crescendo of the violins.

​"Hannah, wait—" Luke started, his hand reaching out as if to catch the name he had finally spoken, but I was already stepping away, retreating into the shadows of the velvet curtains near the balcony.

​I pressed the phone to my ear.

​"Ash?"

​"I'm outside," Ashton’s voice came through, clear and grounding, devoid of the artifice that filled the room behind me. "I just saw the news feed. The 'Cromwell Gala.' I saw you on the livestream, Hannah. You look like a stranger in that dress."

​"I feel like one," I whispered, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the balcony door. "He’s here, Ash. He used my name. He asked about the shore."

​"Of course he did," Ashton replied, his tone hardening. "Because his soul remembers even if his brain is broken. But don't give him everything yet. I’m standing at the security gate. They won't let me in because I’m not on the 'Golden List,' but I can see the lights from here."

​"I'll come down. I'll get you in."

​"No," Ashton said, and I could hear the determination in his breath. "Stay there. Look him in the eye and tell him he’s not the only one with power in this city. I’m heading to the hospital for my check-in, but I'm not leaving Manila until he looks at you and sees the girl from the boat. Not the employee. The girl."

​"Ash..."

​"Go back in there, Hannah. Don't let Mateo win, and don't let Luke forget. I'll see you tomorrow morning. And tell that shark... tell him a storm is coming for his glass house." He knew Mateo because I told him stories.

​I hung up, staring at my reflection in the glass. The emerald green of my dress looked like the deep sea. I took a breath, smoothed the silk over my hips, and turned back toward the golden light of the ballroom.

​Ashton was right. I wasn't here to be a prize. I was here to be the reminder.