Have I met him before?

Evelyn’s POV

The brightly colored chandeliers glimmered above us,  their crystals scattering light across the crowded banquet hall. Laughter, clinking glasses, and low murmurs of conversation pressed around me, but all of it faded as soon as I spotted him.

Wyatt.

He stood near the far corner, sharp in a tailored suit, a glass of whiskey balanced carelessly in his hand. The sight of him hadn’t changed much.

He still looked pretty much the same. Still broad-shouldered, with that same quiet air of arrogance that commanded attention without him even trying. Only, this time, another woman hung on his arm, her short dress gleaming like she was the diamond of the evening.

I smoothened my dress and exhaled slowly, already starting to approach them.

But then my eyes drifted, almost against my will, and froze.

A familiar presence, but the face was a first. Never seen him before.

He had only just entered, the crowd parting as if unconsciously making space for him. His height, his build—so achingly familiar, too close to the male escort I once hired. My pulse stuttered, my mind betraying me with the memory of hands that had gripped my waist, of straddling him in the dark, of a voice whispering against my ear.

No. Impossible.

Yet when his eyes should have met mine, he turned deliberately away, as though I were invisible. A denial sharp enough to cut.

And then he was moving. Not toward me—but toward Wyatt.

“Wyatt.” His voice rang clear, familiar, confident as he clapped a hand on my husband’s shoulder. Not the tone of an acquaintance—this was deeper, older, carrying the weight of brothers-in-arms.

“When did you get back? You vanish into your empire for months, then resurface as though the world still waits for you.”

Wyatt turned to the man. The balance of power shifted in the air the moment the man entered and spoke.

“Ben!” Wyatt exclaimed “ It’s been long.”

Ben.

The name anchored itself in me, heavy and undeniable.

Wyatt, the man who once held every corner of my life in his hand, looked diminished beside him—his arrogance paling against the effortless authority Ben carried just by standing there.

And then, for the briefest fraction of a second, his eyes slid toward me. A pause. A stillness. Recognition.

My breath caught.

Ben chuckled, his tone deliberately light,  “Still, we should fix that. You and I—brothers for life. Our families tied together for years. When’s the last time we sat down just the two of us, huh? Seems like ages.”

I stood at a distance, watching, forcing myself to remain composed while every nerve in my body screamed otherwise. My eyes flicked again to Ben. He was too familiar, too at home in his interaction with Wyatt.

Deep down, my instincts whispered. That stance. That air. That presence.

It was familiar.

Too familiar.

The woman’s voice broke the moment, her laugh cutting through the room as she leaned into Wyatt.

“Honestly, Wyatt, you should make time for your closest friends.”

Ben’s gaze flicked toward her. “Even your girlfriend agrees.”

I clenched my fists at my side, nails digging into my palms. Every second I lingered, the strange sense of déjà vu grew stronger. My wolf stirred uneasily, pacing within me as if urging me to look closer.

Ben’s words replayed in my head, smooth and deliberate as he lifted his glass. He had known exactly what he was doing—talking up Judy in front of everyone, deliberately preserving her face, while I, his brother’s wife, stood in their plain view.

Heat drained from my cheeks, leaving me pale. The humiliation was sharp, cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. So this was what the others saw, that I wasn't in any way valued.

A legitimate wife, and yet… unwanted.

My heart pounded louder, tangled between anger and something far more dangerous. No. It couldn’t be him. Someone that cold, that harsh, couldn’t possibly be the same man who had once held me so carefully, so reverently, in the dark of that hotel room.

Alex had told me the escort wasn’t anyone I’d know—anonymous, transactional.

And yet…

I found myself staring again, at the lines of Ben’s shoulders, the way his head tilted just slightly, as though I had seen him in that exact posture before. My wolf stirred uneasily, claws raking at the edges of my control. Instinct didn’t lie. Not mine. Not a wolf’s.

Who are you really, Ben?

And why does your presence feel so familiar… like that night?