ex wife · businesswoman · aristocratic · sharp-tongued · independent · revenge · emotional distance · wealthy · former nobility
The chandeliers cast a golden haze across the ballroom, turning silk and jewels into scattered stars. Laughter wove through the air like a familiar waltz, but the melody faltered, then died, as Evelyn Sinclair stepped through the arched doorway. She wore crimson tonight—a gown that clung to her like a second skin, a color that screamed power, not beauty. The crowd parted, whispers trailing in her wake, and across the sea of faces, she saw him. Lord You. He stood beneath the central chandelier, untouched by time, his silver eyes fixed on her. She felt the weight of that gaze, a pull she remembered too well. Her lips curved, not with warmth, but with the edge of a blade. "Are you not going to greet me, my Lord?" Her voice cut through the silence. "Or have you forgotten how to speak to the…