After My Ex Kissed My Stepsister at the Gala

My office was quiet. Rain hit the frosted glass window in a steady rhythm. Dominic sat across from my cheap metal desk. He had his sleeves rolled up. He looked tired, but his eyes were sharp.

"Ricardo has a blind spot," Dominic said. He tapped a blue folder with his pen. "He likes the thrill. He likes high-stakes investments. Things that make him feel smarter than everyone else in the room."

I leaned forward. I looked at the spreadsheets. The numbers were massive. "He gambles."

"Exactly," Dominic nodded. "His ego is his weakness. He built his reputation on being untouchable. If we present him with a rare, aggressive opportunity, he won't look away. He can't."

I picked up my phone. I scrolled through my contacts. I stopped on a name from college. Marcus Vance. He ran a boutique investment firm now. He owed me a favor.

"We need bait," I said softly. "Something irresistible."

We built the trap over the next three days. It was a dummy tech-infrastructure fund. High risk, massive projected return. It looked like a goldmine. Marcus fed it to Ricardo's inner circle through a trusted broker. I made sure it looked exclusive. Ricardo hated missing out on exclusive deals.

I waited. I barely slept. I lived on cold coffee and the hum of my laptop.

On Thursday morning, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Marcus.

*He bit. Two million initial buy-in.*

I stared at the screen. My heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm. I touched the gold locket at my neck. Ricardo was bleeding liquidity. The war had officially started.

Friday night, I had to put my armor back on. It was an industry cocktail event at the Plaza Hotel. I needed face time with the board members Ricardo had sidelined. I needed them to see me.

I wore a dark green silk dress. It had a high neck and long sleeves. It felt safe. I kept my hair pulled back tight.

The ballroom was loud and suffocating. It smelled of expensive perfume, gin, and roasted nuts. Crystal chandeliers threw harsh light over the crowd. I spent the first hour talking to two older executives. I smiled. I planted seeds of doubt about Ricardo's recent spending. I was in control.

Then I went to stand near a marble pillar. I held a glass of champagne. I didn't drink it. I just watched the room. I mapped the power dynamics.

Then I saw him.

Paxton stood near the center of the room. He wore a midnight blue suit. It fit his broad shoulders perfectly. He looked powerful. Untouchable. He commanded the space without even trying.

But he wasn't alone.

Nora Whitfield stood right next to him. She was a Manhattan socialite. I knew who she was. Everyone did. Her blonde hair fell in soft, perfect waves. Her red lips curved into a bright smile. Her laugh carried over the low jazz music. It was light and easy.

She leaned in close to Paxton. She placed a manicured hand flat on his chest.

My fingers tightened around my champagne flute. The thin glass felt cold and fragile.

Nora was everything I wasn't. She was uncomplicated. She didn't carry a war with her. She didn't have a father who ruined people. She didn't have a mother to avenge. She just wanted him, openly and easily.

She whispered something to him. She tilted her head back and smiled. She looked at him like he was the only man in the room.

A hot, sharp pain flared beneath my ribs. It felt like swallowing a live coal. I forced myself to take a slow breath. I told myself it was fine. I told myself this was what I wanted. I wanted him to be safe. I wanted him to be happy. I pushed him away in my office to protect him.

But looking at Nora's hand on his chest made me sick. I refused to name the feeling. I wouldn't call it jealousy. I just stared at the bubbles rising in my glass. My chest felt hollow.

I looked up again. Paxton's head turned.

Across the crowded, noisy room, his dark eyes locked onto mine.

The air vanished from my lungs. Time slowed down. The chatter around me faded into a dull white noise.

I waited for him to step away from Nora. I waited for him to drop his polite smile. I waited for him to look angry.

He didn't.

He stood perfectly still. He held my gaze. His eyes were hard and flat. They challenged me. *You threw me away,* his eyes said. *You said no. Watch what happens next.*

Nora traced a finger down his lapel. Paxton didn't flinch. He didn't break eye contact with me. He let her touch him. He let her claim his space. He stood there and let me watch another woman touch the man I loved.

Then, slowly, deliberately, Paxton turned his head away from me. He looked down at Nora. A slow, devastating smile spread across his face.

It was a smile I remembered. A smile he used to give me when we woke up together in his cramped dorm bed. It was warm. It was private.

He gave it to her. Right in front of me.

The cruelty was calculated. It was a knife twisted straight into my gut.

My breath hitched. The room suddenly felt entirely too hot. My skin felt tight. The walls were closing in. I couldn't breathe.

I walked over to a passing waiter. I set my full glass of champagne on his silver tray. My hand shook slightly. I curled it into a tight fist at my side.

I didn't look back at Paxton. I turned around and walked out of the ballroom.

I pushed through the heavy glass doors into the cool night air. The city was loud. Horns blared. Tires hissed on the wet pavement. I wrapped my arms around myself and walked down the street. I walked fast. My heels clicked hard against the concrete.

I just needed to get away. I needed to escape the image of his smile. But it followed me into the dark. It burned behind my eyes. I pushed him away. I did this. And it was destroying me.