Chapter 3: He Broke His Rule for Her

With only minutes left before dinner, Evan approached the emcee and quietly requested a change to the program.

The emcee glanced toward the center of the head table. Adrian gave him a nod.

A staff member soon appeared beside Rosalie. “Mira, Mr. Mercer would like you to join him at the head table.”

Rosalie followed her gaze.

Adrian had changed into a charcoal suit. The smoky-blue tie she had sent him was now knotted neatly at his throat, its silver-threaded rose catching beneath the chandeliers.

Rosalie smiled as she stood.

The tie had been her first test. She wanted to know whether, after five years, Adrian was still vulnerable to the same tricks.

Apparently he was.

At this rate, she might actually get him into bed tonight.

The place to Adrian’s right had been reset for her. Rosalie gathered her skirt and sat down, the blue fabric brushing his trouser leg and carrying a trace of her perfume with it.

Adrian continued listening to the guest on his other side. He didn’t look at her once, as though he had nothing to do with her sudden promotion to the head table. Only the way his fingers tightened around his champagne flute betrayed him.

Rosalie hid her amusement behind her glass.

Once the guests were seated, the emcee introduced the evening’s programs, then turned toward Adrian.

“Please welcome Adrian Mercer, founder of the Mercer Foundation.”

Applause followed him to the stage. Adrian carried no notes. He adjusted the microphone and waited for the room to settle.

“Thank you for being here tonight.”

His voice carried easily through the ballroom.

“Treating leukemia requires sustained investment. Developing new therapies takes even longer, and the cost is enormous. Since its founding, the Mercer Foundation has supported blood cancer research while helping families who cannot afford treatment.”

He paused.

“Medicine cannot promise that every patient will live to see a miracle. What we can do is give more of them the time to wait for one.”

He spoke without theatrics, but the ballroom had fallen silent.

Rosalie watched him from the head table, one finger resting against the stem of her glass.

The restless young man she remembered had disappeared. The Adrian standing beneath the lights was composed and authoritative, every movement carrying the confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

She still would have known him anywhere.

His gaze moved across the audience and paused on her.

Rosalie met it openly, letting him see her approval. Something in his expression eased, and when he continued, his voice had softened.

The applause rose again when he finished, but Adrian remained onstage.

The emcee returned with a smile. “We’d also like to invite Mira, TÉRA’s senior jewelry designer, to join Mr. Mercer for an official photograph.”

Surprised murmurs spread through the room.

Adrian Mercer did not pose alone with women. Everyone who followed New York society knew it.

Rosalie was surprised too. TÉRA had been told that afternoon that the photograph was canceled.

She looked at Adrian. His expression revealed nothing.

He was good at pretending.

With half the room watching, Rosalie set down her glass and walked onto the stage.

Up close, Adrian’s familiar scent reached her—clean, cool, and unmistakably his. Even in heels, she had to tip her face up to meet his eyes.

“Mr. Mercer.”

She offered him her hand with a polished smile.

The cameras lifted. A photograph was already an exception. A handshake would be another.

Rosalie kept her hand extended, confidence shining in her eyes. She knew he would take it.

After a beat, Adrian closed his hand around hers.

His palm was warm and dry, his fingers long enough to envelop her hand. To the cameras, it was perfectly courteous.

Rosalie smiled—and lightly scratched his palm with one fingertip.

His eyes darkened.

Encouraged, she traced one of the lines in his palm, slow enough to remove any possibility of innocence.

She had always known exactly how to provoke him.

Adrian’s breathing deepened. Five years ago, this hand had slipped from his without an explanation. Now she had returned and chosen a room full of cameras to seduce him.

What made her think he would still indulge her?

His fingers tightened, trapping her hand before she could continue. His wedding band pressed hard against her knuckle.

Pain flashed through her. Rosalie shifted beyond the cameras’ view and shot him a warning look.

Adrian met it calmly, satisfaction glinting beneath the surface.

Their handshake lasted several seconds too long. Shutters clicked faster as guests began trading looks.

Adrian finally released her.

Rosalie flexed her aching fingers, then looked down at his left hand.

She knew that ring.

She had drawn every line of it herself. It had been made for the wedding they never reached, along with the matching band meant for her.

She had heard the rumors that Adrian wore a wedding ring. Until tonight, she had never seen which one.

He was still wearing the ring she had made for him.

Somehow, it hurt more now that she knew.

Adrian watched the emotion cross her face before she turned back to the cameras. He joined her beneath the lights, the matching blue of her gown and his tie captured in every photograph.

When the session ended, Rosalie started toward the steps.

“Mira, please stay,” the emcee said.

She turned as he checked the amended program.

“To open tonight’s charity ball, please welcome Adrian Mercer and Mira.”

Rosalie turned to the man beside her.

This time, Adrian made no attempt to hide his intentions. He held out his hand, his eyes fixed on hers.

His voice dropped low enough for her alone.

“Ms. Hayes.”

He smiled faintly.

“Shall we?”