Chapter 4

The silence that fell when I entered the ballroom was so absolute that I could hear the exact sound of Sebastien’s heart stopping when he saw me.

My heels clicked on the polished marble. *Click. Click. Click.* Like a clock ticking down the final seconds of a doomed man. The dress was black, strapless, with a side slit that revealed my leg exactly as far as I wanted. The diamonds around my neck and wrists didn't just sparkle; they blinded. Every stone had been bought by me, with a receipt in the name of **Grace Elizabeth Moreau, CEO of Steel & Diamond.**

“Who is that woman?” I heard someone murmur near the champagne fountain.

“I don’t know, but she just sucked the air out of the room.”

I smiled to myself. Five years ago, I was the woman serving champagne at Sebastien’s parties, a invisible ghost whose name no one bothered to remember. Now, I didn’t need to introduce myself. My presence was a loud, beautiful scream.

I made my way through the crowd, chin held high. Businessmen stepped aside as if parting for a hurricane. Women calculated the cost of my dress with narrowed eyes. Then, the whispers changed. “It’s Montgomery’s ex,” they hissed. “The one who disappeared.”

*I didn’t disappear,* I thought. *I just went into the dark to sharpen my teeth.*

Then, I saw him.

Sebastien was standing by the bar, a whiskey in his hand and his tie loosened. He was still handsome, but the marble-like arrogance of his youth had softened into something bloated and desperate. He smelled of defeat even before I reached him.

Our eyes met.

His blinked first—incredulous, then fearful, before snapping back into that mask of superiority I knew so well.

“Grace?” His voice was deep, calculated to seduce, but it didn't stir a single hair on my body.

“Sebastien,” I replied, not stopping until I was inches from his space.

“My God, look at you,” he said, ignoring the investors he’d been begging for scraps moments before. “You’re… different.”

“The word you’re looking for is 'successful'.”

“The word I’m looking for is 'unrecognizable'.”

“That works for me, too.”

Sebastien’s gaze swept over my jewelry and the cold confidence in my eyes. His expression shifted into a crooked, knowing smile—the smile of a man who believes every woman has a price tag.

“Did you find yourself a sugar daddy, Grace?” he asked in a low voice, leaning in with a false intimacy that used to make me melt. “I’m not judging. Everyone survives as best they can.”

“Funny you should mention that.”

“Why?”

“Because in this scenario, Sebastien… *I’m* the sugar daddy.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. His brain, hardwired to see me as a mouse, couldn't process the predator standing before him. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn't expect you to. You’ve always been slow to catch on to the important details. That’s why your company is on the verge of bankruptcy while I’m drinking champagne at a party I paid for.”

“What are you talking about?” His tone sharpened. The mask was cracking. “Did you start some costume jewelry business?”

“Something like that. It’s called Steel & Diamond. Maybe you’ve heard of us? We’ve been quite active lately.”

The name hit him like a physical blow. Sebastien paled, his fingers tightening around his glass. The pieces fell into place with the agonizing slowness of a rusty machine.

“It can’t be,” he murmured. “That company bought my debt. That company is going to…”

“...foreclose on your mansion, your office, and even the silverware Katerina loved so much,” I finished with a sweet, lethal smile. “Yes. *That* company. *My* company.”

“Impossible. You were… nothing.”

“A little mouse? A speck of dust in the wind?” I tilted my head. “All those years you spent trying to impress a woman who left you twice, I was working. I was learning. I was becoming the person who would eventually own you.”

“Don’t mention Katerina.”

“Why? Do you still moan her name when you’re trying to forget how much you’ve failed?”

He fell silent. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to swallow the humiliation. The great Sebastien Montgomery stood there with his future in tatters. Suddenly, his tone shifted to something honeyed and desperate.

“Grace… let’s talk. We can fix this. You and me. Us.”

“Fix what? We didn't have anything, Sebastien. You had a maid with a wedding ring. I had a prison.”

“That’s not true. We were happy.”

I laughed. It was a sharp, jagged sound that cut through the music. “*You* were happy. I spent my time making the bed you used to dream of someone else in.”

“I’m not with her anymore! We broke up years ago.”

“What a shame. Did she realize you were broke before or after she packed her bags?”

His jaw tensed, his hands trembling. He slammed his glass down on the table. “Grace, stop playing boss and come home.”

The guests nearby went still, pretending not to listen while hanging on every word.

“You don’t have a home anymore, Sebastien,” I replied with a calm that chilled the air. “It’s mine. At ten o’clock tomorrow, your office will be locked. Your mansion will be seized. You have nothing left.”

“This is revenge.”

“No. It’s business. ‘It’s not personal, Grace,’ isn't that what you told me every time you chose a meeting—or a mistress—over me? Well, now I’m the one calling the shots.”

Sebastien opened his mouth to roar back, but a hand suddenly rested on my waist. Firm. Warm. Territorial. Dominic Rossi stepped into the light, his woody cologne enveloping me.

“Is this man bothering you, darling?” Dominic asked, his eyes never leaving Sebastien’s.

“Not at all. We were just discussing the vacancy of his estate.”

Dominic turned his gaze toward Sebastien with a smile as sharp as a razor. “Montgomery. It’s been a while.”

Sebastien’s face went from shock to a fury so pure I could almost smell it. “Rossi. So it’s *you*. You’re the one behind this.”

“Behind, beside, and in front if necessary,” Dominic replied, pulling me closer. “But don’t get it twisted. This isn't my move. It’s hers. I’m just the partner cheering her on while she ruins you.”

“So you work for my ex-wife now? The great Dominic Rossi on his knees for a woman?”

“Not on my knees, Sebastien. Standing tall and getting paid very well. There’s a difference.”

“This is pathetic!” Sebastien spat.

“Pathetic was your business management,” I interjected, bored of being talked about like a trophy. “And pathetic is the fact that you had to lose everything to realize I was worth more than all your mistresses put together.”

Sebastien took a lunge toward me, his face contorted. His hand shot up—to grab me, to threaten me, I don't know. He never got the chance. Dominic stepped in with a speed that silenced the entire room.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” Dominic said in a voice so low and deadly the musicians stopped playing.

Sebastien froze. His hand hung in the air like a dead bird.

“This isn't ending like this,” he muttered.

“You’re right,” I said, facing him down. “Tomorrow at ten, you go back to being the nobody you always were before you inherited a fortune you didn't earn. Goodbye, Sebastien. Enjoy your last night in 'your' house.”

I turned, Dominic’s hand steady on my waist, and began to walk away. Behind us, I heard the crash of a glass hitting the marble.

But Sebastien wasn't done. He moved quickly, fueled by three whiskeys and a lifetime of entitlement. He clamped his hand onto my arm with desperate, bruising force. I turned to find his eyes bloodshot and his dignity in rags.

“Grace, enough of these games!” he roared. “Whose money is it? Who did you sell yourself to? Rossi? Some dying old man? Tell me who’s using you!”

“No one is using me, Sebastien.”

“You’re lying!”

“The money is mine. The company is mine. And you...”

My voice trailed off as Dominic’s hand clamped down on Sebastien's wrist like a steel vice, the sound of bones groaning under the pressure filling the small gap between us.