I stood at the edge of the ballroom, one hand resting on a crystal flute I didn’t drink from.

From here, I could see my sloppy, good-for-nothing soon to be ex-husband.

Dominic was immaculate in a black tuxedo, hand resting far too comfortably on Isabelle Tan’s waist. He looked like a man born to dominate the room—effortless, controlled, adored.

The projector screen flickered to life at the front of the ballroom. A polished montage began to play—children in classrooms, charity galas, press clippings. The music soared. Applause followed like sheep.

A waiter glided by with champagne. I didn’t take one.

Ten seconds...

The host stepped forward. “And now, a special message from the bride and groom-to-be…”

The lights dimmed dramatically. The screen faded to black. Then Dominic’s calculated and cold voice wafted into the air.

“She’s not going to make it.”

Then came over Isabelle’s voice—

“Are you sure? If she survives, she’ll be a liability.

“So what do we do?”

Silence. Then Dominic again—

“We let her die.”

The hall turned fiery. Ripples. Shifts. Murmurs behind crystal and silk, gasps scattered like broken glass. Phones began to rise like a wave of judgment.

Chaos cracked beneath chandeliers and curated luxury. People moved—toward exits, toward screens, toward answers.

Dominic spun—eyes wild, hunting.

Then he saw me.

And across the havoc, Isabelle turned her head slowly toward me. Her eyes locked onto mine, then the screen, then back. Her expression cracked. Fury poured out. She stormed through the crowd. And then—slap!

Her hand whipped across my face, a brutal slap that echoed above the chaos. My head snapped sideways, but I stood my ground.

“You vindictive little witch,” she spat, trembling, breathless. “I should’ve finished you with my bare hands!”

Blood painted the inside of my cheek. I smiled through it.

“You ruined everything,” she seethed.

I didn’t flinch. “Did I? Because from where I’m standing… it looks like you did that all by yourself.”

Phones filmed. Whispers surged like wildfire. Isabelle Tan, the flawless fiancée, was unraveling for the world to see.

Dominic reached us, tone sharp. “Isabelle, stop—”

“No, Dominic! Let me handle this bitch!” Isabelle shrieked, aiming to slap me again.

But I struck her right away. My palm met her face with such force that her head snapped the other way. Gasps ripped through the crowd like thunder. “That’s for trying to bury me,” I whispered in her ear. “Next time, aim for the heart.”

Dominic grabbed my wrist. “Enough of this bullshit, Therese!” His touch burned against my skin—not from guilt. From thick and cold fury.

“She was supposed to be gone,” he muttered, gaze never leaving me.

“I trusted you, Dom!" Isabelle snapped at him.You said she was handled.

"She was nothing!” Dominic hissed in ragged breaths.

I laughed—a bitter, unholy sound. “Only the dead don't say a thing, Dominic.”

He stared at me, eyes darker than I remembered. Not with regret, but it was something nasty. Rotten. Dominic’s voice cut through the noise. Seething.

“You shouldn’t have come back, Therese.”

I turned slowly, lips curling. “Oh, Dominic…” I said. “I never really left.”

Behind him, Isabelle yanked something from her purse. And then everything went black. Then came a scream… and a terrifying GUNSHOT.

Screams sliced through the ballroom. The screen went dead. The chandeliers flickered. Panic surged like a rising tide.

Someone yelled, “Get down!”

I didn’t move. My ears rang. The acrid scent of gunpowder hung in the air like a curse. Across the chaos, Isabelle stood by the stage, shoulders heaving, eyes wide with something like madness. The gun still smoked in her trembling hand.

“HE IS MINE!” She shrieked. Her voice was shrill, unrecognizable.

I stepped forward. Isabelle pointed the gun toward me—but her hand shook so violently she could barely aim.

“You think he’s yours now?” she snapped. “You think just because you walked back from the grave, he’ll love you again?”

Isabelle’s finger inched toward the trigger.

BANG!

A bullet tore through the wall behind where I’d been standing. Screams exploded again. A chair toppled over. Security lunged at Isabelle, pinning her against the stage as the gun clattered to the floor.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Suddenly, a body slammed into me, causing me to drop on the floor.

But none of it mattered… Because I was in Lance McKinley’s arms. I blinked back the burn in my eyes. Then, I realized—people were watching us. Recording. Whispering.

And Dominic?

He stood across the hall, frozen, jaw clenched so hard it could’ve cracked bone. Our eyes locked.

He tried to erase me, but now he was watching me held by another man—and I could see it written all over his face.

Possession.

The kind of look that said you may have ruined me, but I still own you.

Lance helped me to my feet, one arm protectively looped around my waist. Dominic took one slow, dangerous step toward us.

“You,” he spat, his voice low and sharp. “You’ve got no idea what you’ve just walked into.”

Lance didn’t even blink. “No, you don’t. Because this time, she’s not alone.”

Dominic’s jaw clenched. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Lance didn’t flinch. “The man who actually gives a damn whether she lives.”

With that, he walked me straight out of the ballroom like the ending to every disaster movie. Reporters shouted questions. Security cleared a path. Cameras exploded behind us.

Lance covered me until we slid inside his car. We burst into the night, tires screaming against the pavement.

He glanced at me, voice rough. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a bruised cheek… and a few old wounds reopening,” I whispered.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I swear, if he touches you again—”

“I’m not afraid of Dominic anymore.”

Lance looked over, gaze heavy. “Good. But just in case, I brought backup.”

Silence. Then—

“I thought I lost you,” he said, voice hoarse. “Six years, and I still remember how you looked when you laughed at my terrible pizza. How you always stole the last fry. I’m still into you, Therese.”

I turned to him slowly. But before I could say anything, he tensed.

His eyes snapped to the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

“What is it?” I asked, nervous.

He looked at me. “We’re being followed.”

I turned, craning my head out for the window. And there it was—Dominic’s car—chasing after us like he had a death note clamped around his neck.

We pulled up in front of Lance’s private hotel—a quiet luxury tower tucked away from Sullivan Holdings, far from society’s lenses. He stepped out first, then opened my door like he always used to.

Not because I was weak.

But because he always gave a damn.

Dominic’s car screeched to a stop at the curb just as Lance placed a hand at the small of my back and guided me through the lobby.

I felt Dominic’s rage even without looking. His jealousy and animosity poured through the air like acid rain.

Inside, the marble floor gleamed beneath my heels. The receptionist gave a nod, no questions asked. Lance’s hand never left my back as he led me toward the private elevator.

Dominic’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Therese!”

I didn’t turn. But I heard the disbelief.

Lance pressed the elevator button. The doors slid open with a chime.

Dominic’s footsteps thundered. Lance behind us.

“Therese, don’t walk away from me.”

This time, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “I did that the night you let me die.”

The elevator doors began to close. But just before they sealed us in, he stepped forward and growled, “He’s not who you think he is.”

I didn’t blink. “And you were?”

The lift swallowed us whole.

Inside, Lance said nothing for a beat.

Then softly, “He’s not going to stop, I know.”

“He already is,” I replied.

The elevator dinged on the penthouse floor. We stepped into the private suite—warm lights, quiet elegance, and not a single memory of Dominic. Just clean air.

I walked toward the window, overlooking the city I used to belong to. My phone buzzed again.

Twenty-seven missed calls from Dominic. Then I felt Lance draping a soft blanket around my shoulders.

His voice was low. “You’re safe now.”

___

Three days passed.

The courtroom was sterile—clean lines, ticking clocks, the scent of cold paper and bitter resolve. The judge’s gavel struck once. Just once. But that single crack sliced through nearly a decade of history.

“Divorce granted,” the judge said flatly.

Dominic stood to my left. Silent. Stoic. In that sharp gray suit, he looked like the perfect corporate king. But I knew better. His jaw was tight. His hands clenched.

Rage flickered in the shadows of his eyes. I didn’t look at him as I gathered my things. Outside the courthouse, the city stretched like a freshly scrubbed canvas.

Later that night, the bar pulsed with quiet jazz and golden light, tucked into the heart of Lance’s hotel. Cola was already at our reserved booth, nursing a cocktail that sparkled like her grin.

“To freedom,” she said as I slid in beside her.

“Cheers!” I chimed in, clinking my glass to hers.

Lance joined us later—casual, charming, sleeves rolled up. The staff knew him by name, and the air shifted when he entered. He leaned over to whisper something into Cola’s ear, making her laugh.

I barely spoke. I just listened. Let the music melt into the background while the weight of the day dissolved in champagne bubbles.

No more court dates. No more waiting. No more Dominic. No more mistress along my way. By eleven in the evening, we called it a night.

Cola looped her arm through mine as we stepped out onto the quiet sidewalk, the night air cool and clear. Our heels clicked against the pavement, echoing off the sleeping buildings.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, stripped of her usual sass.

“I think so,” I said. “It doesn’t feel real yet.”

“It will,” she replied. “You just survived hell in heels. Now it’s time to live like you own the damn fire.”

I smiled faintly. “I just want peace.”

Cola stopped walking, gently tugging my arm until I looked at her. “You’ll have it, T. You already are it. He doesn't get to haunt you anymore.”

I nodded, even though a strange chill rippled down my spine. She then got into the car and drove off.

I exhaled and walked the last block alone.

It was past midnight when I returned to my condo. The hallway was still, the lights dimmed to a sleepy amber glow. My heels clicked softly against the marble tiles as I approached the door. I pressed my thumb to the sensor, but I felt something off as I stepped inside.

I slipped off my heels, padding silently across the floor. Then I saw a jacket—draped over the back of the chair. Navy. Wool. Familiar.

My pulse thudded as I turned toward the living room.

And there he was—Dominic.

“You changed the locks,” he murmured, swirling the goblet in his hand.

I stepped back instinctively. “What the hell are you doing here?!”