Chapter 4

Lucian Thorne hated galas. The forced smiles, the superficial chatter, the incessant clinking of champagne glasses—it was all a tedious distraction from real business. Tonight, however, the Annual Thorne Industries Charity Gala felt less like an obligation and more like a battlefield.

He walked into the grand ballroom of The Pierre, the familiar strains of a classical orchestra washing over him. The room shimmered with a thousand crystals, reflecting off designer gowns and bespoke suits. He spotted Serena almost immediately, clinging to a bewildered board member, her eyes scanning the room frantically for him. He ignored her. His focus was singular.

His gaze cut through the crowd, past the usual socialites and power brokers, searching. He needed to find her. He needed to see her, to understand. To beg.

Then, he saw her.

She wasn't just in the room; she was the room.

Elara stood by the grand staircase, bathed in the soft glow of the chandeliers. She was wearing a gown that defied description—a shimmering, deep sapphire creation that clung to her curves like liquid starlight. The back was a daring plunge, revealing a glimpse of flawless skin, and the front shimmered with intricate beadwork that caught every flicker of light. Her hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, a few soft tendrils framing her face, which was exquisitely made up. She looked like a goddess who had descended from Olympus to grace them with her presence.

The meek, timid girl who wore oversized cardigans and hid in the shadows was gone. In her place stood a woman of breathtaking confidence, a force of nature that stole the air from his lungs.

Beside her, Julian stood tall and handsome in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. He was smiling down at her, a genuine warmth in his eyes that Lucian had never once shown his wife.

A familiar pang of nausea hit Lucian, but this time it wasn’t from the stress of a business deal. It was pure, unadulterated jealousy, bitter and corrosive.

"Lucian."

Serena’s voice, sharp and demanding, finally broke through his trance. She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his sleeve. "What are you doing? Everyone’s looking at you. And look at her! She has no right to be here, strutting around like she owns the place!"

"She does own the place, Serena," Lucian muttered, his eyes still fixed on Elara. "Or at least, she owns enough of my place to do whatever she wants."

He watched as Julian leaned in and whispered something to Elara. She laughed, a bright, melodic sound that sliced through the ballroom's din and straight through Lucian's heart. He had forgotten she even could laugh like that.

"Excuse me," Lucian said, pulling his arm from Serena’s grasp. He had to talk to her. He had to know.

He strode towards them, cutting a path through the glittering crowd. He felt a hundred eyes on him, but he didn't care.

"Elara," he said, his voice husky, when he finally reached them. Julian immediately shifted, subtly placing himself more fully between them.

Elara turned, her blue eyes—bluer than the gown she wore—meeting his. They held no warmth, no flicker of their past. Only polite, glacial detachment.

"Mr. Thorne," she said, her tone cool and measured. "I wasn't expecting you to grace us with your presence. I assumed you'd be too busy preparing for our morning meeting."

"I need to talk to you," Lucian insisted, ignoring Julian’s warning glare. "About... everything. The children. Our past."

Elara’s gaze sharpened, a dangerous spark igniting deep within those blue depths. "Our past, Mr. Thorne, is a closed book. As for the children, they are my children. And if you wish to discuss them, it will be with my lawyers. You lost your right to them the day you signed those papers and walked out with her." She gestured subtly towards Serena, who was now glaring daggers from across the room.

"But I didn't know," Lucian pleaded, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "I was misled. I never knew you were pregnant."

Elara’s smile was a cruel twist of irony. "Oh, you knew perfectly well I was pregnant, Lucian. You just chose to believe I was a liar and a thief. You chose her." She paused, her eyes raking over him, stripping him bare. "And now you have to live with the consequences of your choices."

"Elara," Julian interjected gently, "the dance is starting." He offered his hand to her.

She took it, her fingers lacing gracefully with his. "Shall we, darling?"

Lucian watched, helpless, as Julian led Elara onto the dance floor. The orchestra swelled, playing a slow, romantic waltz. Julian held her close, his eyes only for her, a tender smile playing on his lips. Elara leaned into him, a soft, content expression on her face that Lucian realized, with a sickening jolt, he had never once seen directed at him.

His ex-wife, the woman he had discarded, was dancing with another man, radiating a happiness that he had brutally stolen from her. The sight was a knife twisting in his gut.

He knew then. He hadn't just lost a wife. He had lost everything. And he would tear the world apart to get it back.

As the waltz swirled, Lucian felt a sudden, piercing chill. He looked down at his hand, and for a fleeting moment, he could almost feel the phantom weight of a tiny, trusting hand in his. A hand he had never held. A future he had destroyed.

He watched Elara in Julian's arms, the light catching the sapphire of her dress. He would make her laugh like that again. He would be the one holding her. He had to.

He just didn't know how.