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She turned slowly. Looked up at me. Those eyes that used to hold tears and devotion now showed nothing but still water.

"Good evening, Mr. Moretti."

Polite. Distant. Perfectly courteous.

Mr. Moretti.

Two words. Five ice-tipped nails driven straight into my chest.

Blood everywhere, but I couldn't scream.

"I need to talk to you." I crushed down the pain tearing through my ribs, stepped closer, casting a shadow over her. "Alone."

"I don't think we have anything to discuss, Mr. Moretti." Ruby didn't move back an inch. Her expression stayed cold as a stranger's.

"Ruby, give me an hour." I stared at those full red lips, knuckles tightening. Nearly begging. "After the gala, I know a place you'd—"

"No need, Mr. Moretti."

She cut me off clean. Even smiled that professional smile. "As a contestant, having dinner alone with IS·MA Group's CEO would violate fair competition standards. For your reputation and my professional integrity, we should keep our distance."

She raised her champagne glass toward me.

"Enjoy your evening."

She took a sip, didn't spare me another glance, and walked past in those heels. Her dress traced a sharp arc.

The satin brushed my leg through my suit pants. A tremor I couldn't suppress.

I stood alone under the chandeliers, squeezing my whiskey glass until it groaned, ready to shatter.

The gala dragged on forever.

No matter what merger my business partners pitched, my peripheral vision stayed glued to that white figure.

I watched her float like an elegant butterfly—exchanging cards with investors, discussing fabric with other designers, talking collaborations with magazine editors. Young male designers circled her, eyes full of undisguised admiration.

She smiled easily. Spoke with confidence. Lit up when discussing design concepts.

She didn't need me anymore.

Four years. She'd built her own life in a foreign country. Her own brand, her own clients, her own world.

And I was just a stain from her past.

The realization spread through my chest, bringing pain close to tearing me apart. Pride and joy for her transformation mixed with desperation and panic I couldn't control.

The gala ended near midnight.

Ruby had left early.

I stood on the second-floor terrace in shadow, Manhattan night wind tearing through my hair, bourbon in hand.

"You came after all, Daddy."

Heels clicked on hardwood behind me.

Isabella walked over with a soda water, leaning against the marble railing. Gray-green eyes complicated. "I saw her."