Reconquistando a mi ex esposa

The Blackwood Estate stood as a towering symbol of wealth and influence, its grandeur casting an imposing shadow over the city skyline. It was a place where only the most elite gathered, a haven for billionaires, politicians, and socialites who measured power in whispers and sealed deals with a clink of crystal glasses. Tonight, the estate was alive with music and laughter, the grand ballroom a spectacle of shimmering lights, flowing champagne, and breathtakingly expensive gowns.

Isla Carter adjusted the strap of her deep emerald dress, her fingers grazing the soft silk as she scanned the crowd with barely concealed unease. She was out of place here, surrounded by women who wore their privilege like a second skin and men who had the world at their feet. She hadn’t wanted to come, but her best friend, Elena, had insisted, dragging her into a night she was already regretting.

“You look like you’re about to make a run for it,” Elena teased, nudging Isla’s arm as they stood near the bar.

“That’s because I am,” Isla muttered, swirling the untouched champagne in her glass. “I don’t belong here.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “You belong anywhere you want to be. Besides, do you know how hard it was to get us into this gala? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

Isla scoffed. “To what? Gawk at the rich and powerful?”

Elena leaned in conspiratorially. “No. To meet them. You never know, Isla. Maybe you’ll catch the eye of someone important.”

Isla snorted. “I’d rather gouge my eyes out than entertain one of these entitled men.”

Elena giggled, then suddenly stilled, her eyes widening. “Oh. My. God.”

“What?” Isla asked, frowning at her friend’s sudden change in demeanor.

Elena grabbed Isla’s wrist and pulled her closer. “Do not freak out.”

“That’s a terrible way to start a sentence,” Isla deadpanned. “What is it?”

Elena subtly tilted her head toward the grand entrance, where a ripple of whispers had spread through the crowd. Isla followed her gaze—and immediately felt her stomach drop.

Killian Blackwood had arrived.

The man who owned half the city. The man whose name was spoken with a mixture of reverence and fear. The man who never made public appearances unless it served a calculated purpose.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he exuded an aura of cold authority. His chiseled features remained impassive as he strode into the ballroom, his sharp eyes scanning the room with detached boredom. Conversations quieted in his wake, the sheer force of his presence commanding attention.

“Elena,” Isla said slowly, her grip tightening around her glass. “Please tell me this isn’t his gala.”

Elena winced. “Okay, so maybe I left out that tiny detail.”

Isla let out a quiet curse. “Unbelievable. Why the hell would you bring me to one of his parties?”

Elena gave a sheepish shrug. “I figured you’d never come if I told you the truth.”

“You figured right,” Isla snapped, her pulse hammering. “This is the man who crushed my father’s company without so much as blinking.”

Elena winced. “Yeah, about that… I thought maybe seeing him in person would change your mind. Maybe he’s not as bad as the rumors say.”

Isla scoffed. “Or maybe he’s worse.”

She turned away, intending to leave, but the waiter at the bar intercepted her with a polite nod. “Miss Carter, a request has been made for you.”

Isla frowned. “A request?”

The waiter gestured toward the far side of the ballroom, where a dark corner lounge sat, separated from the rest of the guests. Killian Blackwood stood there, his gaze locked onto hers like a predator assessing its prey.

Her stomach twisted. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Elena grabbed her arm. “Isla. Killian Blackwood just asked for you. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“It means I’m leaving,” Isla hissed, but Elena held firm.

“No. It means you go over there and find out why a man like him is interested in you. This is huge.”

Isla clenched her jaw, torn between every instinct telling her to walk away and the undeniable pull of curiosity. What could he possibly want with her?

Before she could decide, a deep, velvety voice cut through the space between them.

“You don’t seem the type to ignore an invitation.”

A shiver ran down Isla’s spine as she turned, meeting the piercing gaze of Killian Blackwood up close. His presence was suffocating, overwhelming, and yet… strangely magnetic.

She lifted her chin, masking her nerves with a sharp smile. “I also don’t respond to summons like a trained dog.”

His lips curled in amusement. “I suppose that means you’re the exception in a room full of people who would kill to be in your position.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And what position is that?”

“Mine,” he said simply, his voice smooth as silk, but carrying an edge that sent her heart into a chaotic rhythm.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, tension thickening between them. Then, to her utter annoyance, he extended a hand.

“Dance with me.”

She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

Killian arched a brow. “Is it because you don’t know how to dance, or because you’re afraid?”

Her pride flared. “Of you? Hardly.”

“Then prove it.”

Before she could overthink it, she placed her hand in his. A jolt of something electric shot through her as he led her to the dance floor, pulling her effortlessly into his arms. The music slowed, and for the first time that night, Isla felt like she was in the eye of a storm.

Killian’s grip was firm, his movements deliberate as he guided her across the floor with an ease that spoke of experience and control. His eyes never left hers, dark and unreadable.

“You’re quite bold,” he mused. “Not many would speak to me the way you just did.”

“I’m not like most people,” she replied smoothly.

“No,” he agreed, his fingers tightening slightly around hers. “You’re not.”

Silence stretched between them before he finally spoke again. “Your father was Richard Carter.”

Isla stiffened at the mention of her father’s name. “You already knew that before you called me over.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I did.”

Her breath hitched. “Then why ask?”

His gaze burned into hers. “Because I wanted to see how you’d react.”

She swallowed, her pulse hammering. “And?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’re intriguing.”

The song ended, but Killian didn’t let go immediately. Instead, he leaned in, his voice brushing against her ear. “I don’t believe in fate, Miss Carter. But you being here tonight… that’s something I might have to reconsider.”

Then, just as smoothly as he had pulled her in, he released her, stepping back as if nothing had happened.

Isla could only stare, breathless and shaken, as Killian Blackwood walked away—leaving her with more questions than answers.

And an uneasy feeling that this was only the beginning.

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