Chapter 1

"Looks like they're here," John murmured, his elbow lightly brushing against hers. She carefully placed the vodka glass on the table, her attention shifting to the venue's entrance. A figure stepped out from the dimness, his posture striking a chord of recognition in her. He paused, extending his arm for his soon-to-be wife, his lips curling into a smile that Vlada knew was as beguiling as it was insincere.

As the couple, freshly bonded by engagement, made their entrance, a wave of applause washed over them. Her heart pounded in her chest, her years of evading his presence suddenly collapsing under the weight of this moment. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her hold on the glass-cleaning cloth, her gaze tracking their progress through the sea of well-wishers.

“He’s Lazare Ibañez, the son of Lionel Ibañez, the late race car driver. He’s a one lucky useless spoiled brat, living off his parents’ money and the things they owned. All this jerk has to do is keep everything.”

I know. She wanted to say but refused not to. The reason why she chose to work for John tonight isn’t his business to know and isn’t something she would like to talk about with him so she remained silent.

“What about the girl he’s going to marry? Do you have an idea of who she is?” She continued wiping the glasses, acting as though she knew nothing about these people who ruined her life.

John struggled with his shoulder. “Oh well, I know nothing much about her other than she likes dating men who have influence and live off the fame she gets by doing so.”

“Interesting,” she stated as she put the last glass of champagne she’s left to wipe.

Resting her elbows on the polished bar counter, she folded her arms, her gaze steady. Time seemed to have skipped him; he remained the youthful figure who once exploited her naivety. Yet now, there was an unmistakable air of refinement about him, a stark contrast to his previous rough-around-the-edges demeanor. He looks happier.

Her eyes, hardened by years of tear-stained pillows, bore into him, the sight of his well-being fueling the fires of her resentment. She hadn't weathered countless storms just to let his mere presence wound her anew. She stood there, a testament to her resolve, ready to show him that she held the power to shatter his world, much like he had once shattered hers.

“You okay?”

She blinked twice, mustering a faint smile as she met John's gaze, determined to keep her emotions in check. 

“I was just lost in thought," she replied, her words masking the seething anger that simmered beneath the surface.

"You appeared quite upset. Your clenched jaw and tense shoulders gave it away," he observed.

Upset is an understatement. The truth was she was livid.

“Vlada!”

Just as Vlada was about to speak, a voice echoed from behind her, slicing through the air. She pivoted on her heel, her gaze meeting that of the woman who had interrupted her. Recognition dawned in her eyes as she identified the woman as Lazare's sister, Leila. Vlada's eyes widened in surprise, a silent gasp suspended on her lips.

“Oh God, I thought I’d never get to see you again!” Leila wrapped her arms around Vlada, holding her in a tight embrace.

For a moment, Vlada froze, her body rigid with surprise. It had been years since she last saw Leila and the young girl she remembered had blossomed into a beautiful woman. A secret smile tugged at the corners of Vlada's lips, a silent acknowledgment of the passage of time. Then, gently, she returned the hug, her arms encircling Leila in a warm, sisterly embrace.

“It's been quite a while, hasn't it? Three years, if my memory serves me right,” she remarked, her eyes fixed on her with a scrutinizing gaze, her hands gently squeezing her shoulders.

“I'm doing well. And how about you? You've certainly undergone some changes. You've grown taller,” she observed.

Leila let out a soft chuckle. “I would have been offended if you hadn't mentioned it. By the way, did my idiot brother  invite you?”

She shook her head immediately. “No, I'm here as the assistant to the bartender,” she replied, gesturing towards John, who was busy concocting drinks as the crowd began to place their orders.

A gentle warmth spread across Leila's face, her features softening with concern. Vlada, unsure of the meaning behind the expression, wiped her damp palms on her apron to avoid Leila’s eyes.

“If you find yourself struggling financially, remember that you can always reach out to me, Vlada,” Leila offered, her voice filled with genuine care.

Vlada shook her head, a determined look in her eyes. “I appreciate your concern, Leila, but I assure you, I'm managing just fine. There's nothing to worry about.”

Leila's butler approached her, his voice barely audible as he whispered a message. Vlada, intrigued, remained silent, her eyes fixed on the program about to commence.

She felt a sense of urgency to meet with Lazare before it began. It had been her carefully devised plan all along. She cast her gaze around, searching for any sign of Lazare and his fiancée, but they seemed to have vanished without a trace.

Where is he? She clenched her hand into a fist.

"Vlada, I have to leave. The party is about to start," she hurriedly informed. "Rest assured, I won't disclose your presence to my brother, to put your mind at ease." A sigh escaped her lips, carrying a weight of understanding. "I acknowledge the stupidity that my brother had done, which is truly unforgivable. I won't attempt to persuade you to forgive him, but I do hope that, in time, you’ll be able to find in your heart to let go of that anger. You both deserve to be happy, especially you.”

A glimmer of hope flickered within Vlada as she yearned to trust Leila's words. She longed for the wounds to mend and for inner peace to prevail, despite the excruciating pain she had endured in a marriage that had always felt like a solitary journey. However, she desired nothing more than for him to be held accountable for his actions. Determination surged through her veins as she vowed to bring him to justice, to dismantle his world no matter what the costs were.

Vlada's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, a hint of bitterness lingering. "Time will tell," she managed to say.

Leila, on the other hand, was fishing her phone out of her purse, her brows furrowing in frustration. "That scatterbrain! The party is about to start and he's nowhere to be found. He really can't sit still, can he?" Her eyes darted across the crowd, searching for her elusive brother.

Vlada, choosing to remain silent, turned her attention back to John. They had drinks to prepare and she was eager to make herself useful. As for Lazare, she had no idea where he could have disappeared. She hoped, though, that wherever he was, he wasn't with his fiancee.

John, busily drying his hands with a towel, shot a curious glance in her direction. "How do you know the groom's sister?" he asked.

"We were friends in high school," she replied, her words brief and to the point.

John nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "You don't need to play ignorant about their family, though."

A lump formed in her throat, but she kept her lips sealed. There was no need to explain herself, not when her presence at this engagement party was merely a ruse, with John as her unwitting accomplice.

"I need to take a leak," she announced abruptly, hoping to put some distance between her and John before his curiosity could get the best of him.

He nodded towards the lush garden. "You'll find the restroom to the left," he informed her.

With a determined stride, she set off in search of Lazare. She knew him well enough to guess his likely hiding spots—somewhere quiet, away from the crowd, a place where he could enjoy a smoke in peace. Her search led her down a dimly lit path in the heart of the garden.

He was nowhere to be seen.

She paused, inhaling deeply, as she tried to get a sense of where he might have gone. However, in an instant, her senses were overwhelmed by a familiar scent.

Her nostrils were filled with a familiar and captivating scent of smoke. Amidst the air, a strong and intoxicating aroma, with a subtle hint of cherry, wafted towards her.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she murmured to herself, a sudden realization dawning upon her. “T-That smell…”

Swiftly turning around, her eyes fell upon Lazare, who stood there with his hands casually tucked into his pants pockets, a cigarette perched between his lips.

Just as she was about to speak, he abruptly seized her, pulling her forcefully towards him. His index finger grazed her cheek, tracing the delicate pattern of her freckles.

A rush of adrenaline surged through her veins, causing her heart to race, and she found herself breathless, unable to feel her face. A mischievous smirk played on his lips as his fingers trailed along the back of her neck, his hand gently cupping it, drawing her closer to him. Leaning in slightly, he removed the cigarette from between his lips and exhaled a wisp of smoke, which danced delicately across her face.

"It's been a while, Mrs. Ibañez," he murmured in a gravelly voice that left Vlada's throat parched.