Chapter 4: Back in the Lion's Den

—Celeste—

In the end, I agree with the offer.

The black dress felt like armor, but paper-thin armor that wouldn't protect me from what was coming. I smoothed the simple fabric over my hips for the hundredth time, checking my reflection in the hotel elevator's mirrored walls. Plain. Forgettable. Invisible.

That was the plan, anyway.

"You look beautiful, Mommy." Aria had said that morning, her small hands touching the hem of my dress with reverence. "Like a princess going to a ball."

If only she knew her princess was walking straight into the dragon's lair.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the twentieth floor, and my stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles. Through the opening doors, I could see the Hart Enterprises corporate gala in full swing—Seattle's elite mingling beneath crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses catching the light like tiny stars, and everywhere, *everywhere*, the floral arrangements I'd spent weeks perfecting.

White orchids and deep purple hydrangeas. Killian's favorite colors, though I'd pretended not to remember when Rebecca had "suggested" the palette. The irony wasn't lost on me that I'd decorated his party like a shrine to our failed marriage.

I stepped into the ballroom and immediately felt like I was drowning. The air was thick with expensive perfume and the low hum of power conversations—mergers discussed over canapés, deals struck between dance partners. This was Killian's world, the world I'd never quite fit into even when I'd been his wife.

My hands trembled as I adjusted one of the centerpieces near the entrance, buying myself time to scan the crowd. Where is he? Part of me hoped he wouldn't show, that this whole thing was some elaborate mind game played by people who worked for him but didn't involve him directly.

But I knew better. Killian Hart didn't delegate when it came to things that mattered to him.

"Celeste!"

I spun around, my heart hammering, but it was only Rebecca Morrison gliding toward me in a shimmering silver gown that probably cost more than I made in three months.

"You came," she said, her smile sharp as ever. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I'm a professional," I replied stiffly. "I wanted to make sure everything looked perfect."

"Oh, it does." Rebecca's eyes swept over my simple black dress with barely concealed disdain. "Though you could have dressed for the occasion. This is the social event of the season."

I'd dressed exactly how I'd intended—to blend into the background, to be forgotten the moment I left. "I'm working, not attending as a guest."

"Hmm." Rebecca's smile turned predatory. "Well, Mr. Hart specifically requested that you stay for the entire evening. He wants to thank you personally for your beautiful work."

My blood turned to ice water. "That's not necessary. I should really get back to—"

"Nonsense. You're staying." Rebecca's tone brooked no argument. "In fact, let me introduce you to some of our other vendors. I'm sure they'd love to hear about your... unique background."

She was fishing, I realized. Probing to see what I knew, what I'd admit to. But I'd had five years of practice at being someone else, five years of perfecting the art of invisible survival.

"I'm just a small-town florist," I said with a self-deprecating smile. "Nothing unique about that."

Rebecca's eyes narrowed slightly, but before she could respond, a ripple went through the crowd near the main entrance. Conversations paused, heads turned, and the very air seemed to change frequency.

He was here.

Even before I saw him, I felt Killian's presence like a physical force. The same magnetic pull that had drawn me to him seven years ago in my father's office, the same commanding energy that could silence a room without saying a word.

And then I saw him.

Oh, God.

Five years had only made him more devastating. He moved through the crowd with that same predatory grace, his tall frame cutting through clusters of admirers like a shark through still water. The perfectly tailored tuxedo emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the lean strength that I remembered too well. His dark hair was shorter now, touched with just a hint of silver at the temples that somehow made him look more dangerous, not older.

But it was his eyes that stopped my heart. Those steel-gray eyes that Aria had inherited, scanning the room with calculated precision. Searching.

For me.

"Excuse me," I whispered to Rebecca, my voice barely audible over the sudden roaring in my ears.

I turned and walked quickly toward the massive floral archway I'd designed for the back corner of the ballroom—a cascade of white roses and trailing ivy that created a perfect hiding spot. My hands shook as I pretended to adjust some of the lower branches, using the greenery as a shield while I tried to calm my racing heart.

'He can't see you, Celeste. You're invisible. You're nobody.'

But through the gaps in the flowers, I watched him work the room with the same ruthless efficiency he'd once brought to board meetings. Handshakes, brief conversations, that devastating smile that never quite reached his eyes. He was performing, playing the role of gracious host while his gaze continued to sweep the crowd.

Looking for someone.

Looking for me.

A waiter passed by with champagne, and I grabbed a glass with desperate hands, needing something to occupy them before they started visibly shaking. The bubbles felt sharp against my throat, but the alcohol did nothing to calm the storm building in my chest.

'This was a mistake. This was such a terrible mistake.'

I should never have come. Should never have let Rebecca manipulate me into this confrontation. Should have packed up Aria and disappeared again the moment I'd heard his name.

But where would we go? I was tired of running, tired of looking over my shoulder, tired of building temporary lives that could be destroyed with a single phone call. At some point, I had to stop running and face what I'd left behind.

Just not tonight. Not like this.

I started moving toward the service entrance near the kitchen, keeping to the edges of the room where the lighting was dimmer. If I could just make it to the exit, I could disappear back into my ordinary life and pretend this night had never happened.

"Excuse me, miss?"

I froze. A young man in hotel staff attire had appeared at my elbow, his expression politely professional.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Hart asked me to find you. He'd like to speak with you personally about the floral arrangements. If you could come with me?"

The champagne glass slipped from my numb fingers, shattering against the marble floor in a cascade of crystal and golden liquid. Several nearby guests turned to look, and I felt heat flood my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I—" I knelt to collect the pieces, desperate for a reason to avoid eye contact. "I should clean this up."

"Don't worry about that, miss. Housekeeping will handle it." The staff member's voice was kind but insistent. "Mr. Hart is waiting in his private office. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

'No. No, no, no.'

I straightened slowly, my mind racing through possible excuses, escape routes, anything that would get me out of this building without having to face the man who'd haunted my dreams for five years.

"Actually, I was just leaving," I said, backing toward the service exit. "Emergency at home. My daughter—"

But I'd said too much. The staff member's expression shifted slightly, and I saw the moment he registered the word *daughter*. Rebecca had briefed them well.

"I'm sure it won't take long," he said smoothly. "Just a brief conversation about future business opportunities."

I was trapped. The main entrance was across the ballroom, past Killian and his circle of admirers. The service exit was twenty feet away, but this staff member was positioned perfectly to block my path.

'Run anyway. Just run, Celeste!'

"I really can't," I said, taking another step backward. "I have to go."

The service door was right behind me now. Three more steps and I could push through it, lose myself in the hotel's service corridors, find another way out.

"Miss Whitmore?"

The staff member looked confused as I continued backing away, but I was beyond caring about appearances. Survival was more important than politeness.

Two steps.

One step.

My hand found the service door handle, and I twisted it desperately. It opened into a dimly lit corridor that smelled of industrial cleaning supplies and kitchen grease. Freedom.

"I'm sorry," I called back to the bewildered staff member. "Tell Mr. Hart I had a family emergency."

Then I was through the door and running down the service corridor like my life depended on it. Because in a way, it did. The careful existence I'd built, the safety I'd created for Aria, the peace I'd found in our little flower shop—all of it hung in the balance.

I burst through the exit into the Seattle night, the cold air hitting my face like a slap. My car was three blocks away in a public parking garage, and I half-ran, half-walked through the empty streets, my heels clicking against the pavement like a countdown.

'He knows you're here. He knows you exist. This changes everything.'

By the time I reached my car, I was shaking so violently I could barely get the key in the ignition. My hands fumbled with the metal, dropping them twice before I managed to start the engine.

You made it. You escaped. He didn't see you.

But as I pulled out of the parking garage, something made me glance back at the hotel entrance one last time.

And there he was.

Killian stood at the top of the marble steps, his tall frame silhouetted against the golden light spilling from the ballroom behind him. Even from this distance, even in the darkness, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his head turned slowly as he scanned the street.

Looking for something. Looking for someone.

Looking for me.

Our eyes met across the distance—or maybe I imagined they did—and I saw his expression shift. That familiar mask of control slipped for just a moment, revealing something dark and unreadable underneath. Recognition. Certainty.

He knows.

I pressed my foot to the accelerator and pointed my car north toward Bellingham, toward home, toward Aria. But as Seattle's lights blurred past my windows, one terrifying thought echoed in my mind:

He'd missed me by seconds. But next time, I might not be so lucky.