Chapter 6: Collision Course

The ballroom glowed with the kind of light that made everything look effortless. Chandeliers scattered gold across polished marble; champagne shimmered in crystal flutes; conversation rippled like silk. The charity gala was Ethan’s masterpiece, part fundraiser, part social spectacle   and Rae, as always, was meant to be the centerpiece.

Her reflection caught in the mirrored pillars, hair swept in soft waves, gown a whisper of ivory satin. She looked composed, elegant, perfect. Unreal.

“Smile,” Ethan murmured, his hand sliding to the small of her back. His voice was velvet over steel. “You’re the reason half these people showed up.”

Rae obeyed. Her smile appeared on cue, graceful and easy, though her stomach felt hollow. She had learned long ago how to perform happiness in public and how to look radiant while slowly unraveling inside.

Across the ballroom, a low hum stirred her attention. Laughter, a ripple of movement, then a familiar voice, deeper now, rougher with age. Dane Mercer.

He was standing near the bar, the dark suit sculpting every line of his tall frame, his posture clean and self-contained. His hair, slightly longer than she remembered, fell over his forehead in that deliberate imperfection he never tried to fix. He looked like a man who had rebuilt himself from something raw  and had done it without apology.

Their eyes met across the crowd.

The world didn’t stop, but something inside her did.

For a suspended heartbeat, the chandeliers dimmed, the orchestra softened, the glittering world blurred into insignificance. Her chest tightened not from surprise, but recognition. The memory of sculpted clay, rough laughter, the scent of sawdust and summer light. The ache of everything left unsaid.

Then Ethan’s voice cut through the haze. “You all right?”

She blinked, grounding herself in the moment. “Yes. Just warm.”

“Good,” he said smoothly, already distracted by a donor who’d just walked in. “Let’s make sure we’re seen near the auction tables.”

He took her arm, the gesture polished, practiced, a silent reminder that appearances came first.

Lila appeared at Rae’s side, balancing a glass of white wine and a smirk. Her gown, emerald and daring, caught the light like envy itself. “You’re staring,” she said under her breath.

“I’m not.”

“You are. And he’s staring back.” Lila’s tone softened. “Rae, whatever that was between you two… it still is.”

Rae inhaled sharply. “He’s here for work. So am I.”

“Sure,” Lila murmured. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Before Rae could respond, the host called everyone’s attention to the stage. The auction was beginning. Ethan’s moment to shine. His voice carried through the microphone, confident and warm. “Tonight, we celebrate artistry, resilience, and the spirit of rebuilding beauty from what’s been broken.”

Rae froze.

The screen behind him lit up with an image of her sculpture. Fragments of You.

It stood center stage, bathed in light: marble fractured and rejoined, veins of gold running through the cracks. She had sculpted it years ago, before everything fell apart. It had been Dane’s commission, a piece he’d never collected.

“Created by my fiancée, Rae Collins,” Ethan continued, smiling as though he’d built her with his own hands. “A symbol of renewal and strength. Proof that even the broken can become whole again.”

Applause followed. Cameras flashed. The crowd admired the art without knowing what it meant   the pain that shaped it, the hands that once steadied hers as she carved.

Across the room, Dane’s jaw tightened. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his eyes said everything. He remembered.

Rae’s pulse raced. She clapped along with everyone else, the sound hollow in her ears.

When the crowd drifted toward the buffet, she escaped through the nearest set of glass doors, the night air hitting her like a confession. The terrace was quiet, the city stretched out below in soft glittering light. She leaned on the railing, her chest rising and falling too fast.

The door clicked behind her.

“You still hate crowds,” came a voice, low and certain.

Her breath caught. “And you still don’t know when to leave things buried.”

Dane’s reflection appeared beside hers in the glass, broad shoulders, sharp profile, eyes that didn’t know how to look away.

“Some things don’t stay buried,” he said, stepping closer. His tone was quiet but steady. “Not when they were never finished.”

She turned, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “You shouldn’t have come tonight.”

“You knew I’d be here.”

“I didn’t ”

“Yes, you did.” His words were soft, but they left no room to hide. “You sculpted the same piece that ended us and let him auction it like a trophy. You wanted me to see.”

Her throat ached. “That’s not true.”

“Then tell me what is.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m marrying him, Dane.”

“I know.” His jaw flexed. “Does he know how much of you isn’t his?”

Her breath hitched. His nearness was intoxicating, the scent of cedar and something darker, the familiar warmth that once made her reckless. He didn’t touch her, but she felt it all the same   the gravity of everything between them, the weight of unfinished things.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“Don’t what?” His voice dropped lower. “Remind you who you were before him?”

“I’ve changed.”

“Then why do you still look at me like that?”

Silence stretched between them, trembling with restraint. Her pulse thudded painfully in her chest. She wanted to move, to breathe, to forget but her body refused to listen.

The door opened again, a sharp click against marble.

“Rae?”

Lila’s voice, soft and steady. Her silhouette filled the doorway, the golden light behind her a quiet warning. Her gaze shifted from Rae to Dane, reading everything in an instant.

Lila exhaled slowly. “You can’t rebuild your life with ashes still burning,” she said, her tone neither harsh nor kind, just true.

Rae’s throat tightened. The night felt suddenly too still, too bright.

Dane’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, a silent promise, or maybe a goodbye. Then he stepped back, straightened his jacket, and disappeared into the ballroom, swallowed by the glow and noise.

Rae stood frozen. The hum of the city below pulsed faintly, a rhythm she couldn’t escape. She gripped the railing until her fingers trembled.

Behind her, Lila moved closer, resting a hand on her arm. “He’s not your past if you keep turning toward him.”

Rae blinked hard. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Lila said quietly. “But you get to choose which fire burns you.”

Rae’s eyes lifted to the horizon. Somewhere inside, the sculpture still existed, marble fractured, gold threaded through the seams. Beauty from brokenness.

But tonight, all she could feel was the heat of everything coming undone.