Blake’s POV

“Impossible.” The word came automatically. Audrey was supposed to be at home, resting from her convenient illness. Besides, she’d never –

The thought died as I followed Michael’s finger. There, in the center of the dance floor, was my wife.

The dress she wore was a deep, burning red, cut with the precision and elegance that marked the work of Europe’s finest couturiers. It hugged her figure in a way that made my throat go dry, the material flowing like liquid fire with each step of the waltz. Her dark hair was styled in elegant waves, framing a face that looked both familiar and foreign.

This wasn’t the carefully composed Mrs. Parker who tiptoed around my family’s mansion. This was a side of Audrey Sinclair I’d never seen before – confident, radiant, almost defiant.

She was leading her dance partner through the steps with practiced ease. An unknown man in a black suit, his dancing notably less polished than hers. My eyes narrowed at the sight of his hand resting just a bit too low on her back, and the polite smile playing on her lips. I stood up abruptly, and Michael was a bit stunned. “Sir – ”

I ignored him, already striding toward the stairs. The burning anger in my chest demanded immediate confrontation.

“Blake, darling!”

The sugary-sweet voice cut through my rising anger like a silk-wrapped knife. Laurel stood at the top of the grand staircase, a vision in white. She glided closer, her smile camera-perfect as always.

“Laurel? What brings you to LA?” I found myself asking, momentarily distracted from my intended confrontation.

“For a photoshoot,” she explained, her voice carrying that practiced mix of casualness and charm. “When I heard about tonight’s gala with all these jewelry designers and merchants, I simply had to come. I’m looking for some pieces to endorse, you know.”

Her eyes sparkled as she glanced toward the dance floor. “And when I saw everyone dancing downstairs… I was just thinking how unfortunate it is not to have the right partner for such a lovely evening.”

My eyes drifted back to the dance floor, where Audrey was still moving gracefully with her unknown partner. The sight of her exposed neck as she laughed made my jaw clench.

“Would you like to dance with me?” Laurel’s hand touched my arm.

I nodded, more out of habit than desire. “Sure.”

As we made our way down, I noticed Audrey had switched partners again – now dancing with a man in a navy suit. James Collins.

Her senior from college, the one who’d helped her a lot and almost won her heart before I came into the picture.

They moved with practiced familiarity, close enough now that I could catch fragments of their conversation.

“…still designing?” Collins was asking.

Including mine.

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