The air stiffened the moment Caroline locked eyes with Lucien Moreau.
He chuckled swirling the wine in his hand , he was dressed in a grey suit with his hair tousled as if he just combed his hand through it with his blue piercing eyes drawing attention from women.
Caroline's eyes sharpened into daggers, and for a second, she looked ready to march over and throttle him in front of the entire ballroom. Instead, she folded her arms tightly and snapped her gaze to Anastasia.
"How do you know him?" she hissed, her voice tight with barely concealed rage.
Anastasia blinked. "Lucien?" she asked, as if unsure why it mattered.
Caroline raised a brow. "Yes, Lucien. That man whose Aston Martin I accidentally—" she corrected herself—"allegedly scratched. She couldn't believe she was here facing him again.
Anastasia suppressed a smile. The image of Caroline arguing with Lucien at a police station wasn't hard to imagine.
"He's Dante's best friend," Anastasia replied with a shrug. "We also went to Harvard together."
Caroline's nostrils flared. "Best friend? Of course." Her voice was acid sharp, but she held it back. With a dramatic toss of her hair, she added, "I'm not standing anywhere near that man. Not tonight." Then she turned on her heels and disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind the scent of roses and fury.
Anastasia sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Before she could gather her thoughts, a warm hand snaked around her waist. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Don't you ever announce your presence like a normal person?" she muttered, forcing a tight smile as she glanced up.
Dante Montgomery's smirk deepened as he pulled her closer, his hand possessively firm at her waist. "Where's the fun in that?" he murmured.
His voice was low, intimate, and dangerous. Anastasia wanted to glare, to step away, but doing so would only invite more attention. They were supposed to look like a couple madly in love.
Lucien chuckled, watching them with unreadable eyes. His gaze flicked from Anastasia to Dante, then back again.
"You two," Lucien said slowly, "back together after all this time. And engaged, no less."
There was an edge in his tone—part disbelief, part curiosity.
Dante's grip on her tightened. "We're very much in love," he said sarcastically and Lucien's eyes glinted with a smile.
Lucien chuckled. "I see . You do deserve each other " With a nod, he excused himself, disappearing into the crowd as swiftly as Caroline had.
Anastasia shifted uncomfortably under Dante's hold.
" You're really enjoying this ?" she murmured.
He leaned closer. " Don't read too much into this , it's just for show " Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "We're not going back to the Montgomery estate tonight."
She stiffened. "What?"
"My grandfather wants to see us. He asked me to bring you to the Montgomery ancestral home."
Anastasia barely suppressed a groan. Another round of introductions. More masks. More lies. She nodded silently.
A guest approached Dante—a tall man in a black tuxedo, gesturing with urgency.
"Give me a minute," Dante whispered, then stepped away to speak with him.
Anastasia let out a breath and turned her eyes toward the dancers gliding across the marble floor. The chandeliers overhead cast glittering gold flecks over everything, but nothing could shake off the growing sense of unease crawling up her spine.
A man approached her.
Tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a jagged scar slicing down from his left brow to the curve of his cheek, he smiled—too pleasantly. His tailored suit was understated but clearly expensive, and his cold eyes didn't match his grin.
"Do you remember me?" he asked, his voice low and slick.
She frowned. "I'm sorry… should I?"
The man chuckled, then extended a hand. "I was one of your father's closest allies."
Anastasia took the handshake, but something about the man made her skin crawl. His grip was firm. Too firm. He didn't let go.
"You're taking the CEO seat," he said, eyes glinting. "Bold move."
Anastasia held his gaze. "I was born for it."
"Perhaps." He leaned in slightly. "But if I may offer a word of advice—don't."
"Why not?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral even though her heart skipped.
"It's not just the Laurent Corporation that's under your name now, is it?" His eyes gleamed. "Your father was a man of secrets. Some of them are… much larger than anyone realized. And now they all belong to you."
Anastasia's heart thudded. Only one person had access to those blueprints , only her —those hidden documents her father had quietly passed on. They were locked away, in a room no one else knew about. Or so she had thought.
But she smiled. Cool. Unfazed. "I think I'll manage."
The man still hadn't let go of her hand.
"You've grown," he said quietly, eyes trailing across her face and lower. "Into a far more beautiful woman than I expected."
Anastasia's spine went rigid. Her smile faltered, and she yanked her hand free.
"Excuse me," she said sharply, stepping back.
Before she could make a clean exit, Dante returned.
"There you are," he said smoothly. "Shall we dance?"
Anastasia almost said no. Almost. But she saw the way the scarred man watched her and decided a dance floor was safer than standing alone.
Dante pulled her into his arms and led her onto the floor. As the music swelled, they began to move, his hand gripping her waist, his other lifting hers.
" I thought you hated me , but you're acting nothing like it " Anastasia muttered, trying to maintain a smile.
Dante leaned in, brushing his lips near her ear. " Trust me I still do ."
Her heart thumped at the closeness, but she kept her glare steady.
"Stop pretending this is real," she hissed under her breath.
He twirled her with a flourish before pulling her back close. "You're mine, Anastasia. You were always mine. I'm just reminding you that our breakup was a mere separation."
" You're insane !" she snapped, even as the heat between them threatened to betray her.
The dance continued, the room fading around them. For one maddening moment, she felt like it really was five years ago—when his touch wasn't a game and her heart hadn't learned how to armor itself.
But then the spell shattered.
Across the room, Maxim Anstorne stood by the bar, swirling wine in his glass, detached and distant. The scarred man approached him.
"So this is the Laurent girl?" he asked, eyes following Anastasia on the dance floor.
Maxim gave a slow nod, his gaze unreadable.
"She's more than just a figurehead," the man said. "There are layers to what her father left behind. Blueprints. Keys. Hidden accounts. And she holds them all keep an eye on her and I'll alert the rest "
Maxim's grip tightened around the stem of his glass.
"Interesting," he murmured.
The scarred man smiled. "We only need to peel back her layers… one by one."