Chapter 3 - The Collision
The gallery was packed. Soft jazz played over the speakers, mingling with the clinking of champagne flutes and the low hum of wealthy patrons discussing brushstrokes and investments.
Julian hated art galas. He only attended because the PR team insisted that the CEO of Vance Logistics needed to be seen supporting local culture. He stood near a towering abstract canvas, holding a glass of sparkling water, internally calculating how soon he could leave without causing an insult to the board.
He turned his head to scan for the exit, and the entire world simply stopped spinning.
She was standing across the room.
Elena.
She was wearing a sleek, backless black dress that clung to her curves. Her dark hair was pinned up in an elegant, messy twist. She was speaking to a group of investors, her face illuminated by the warm gallery lights. She looked confident. She looked breathtaking. She looked nothing like the broken, pale woman he had left in the snow.
Julian’s chest tightened so violently he thought he might be having a heart attack. His feet moved before his brain could issue a command. He navigated through the crowd, his eyes locked onto her like a heat-seeking missile.
As he closed the distance, the crowd parted slightly. Elena turned, a polite smile on her face, expecting another patron.
When her eyes met his, the smile vanished.
The air between them turned to absolute zero. Five years of silence, anger, and unresolved agony crashed down in a single fraction of a second.
"Julian," she breathed. Her voice was exactly the same. It sent a shockwave straight down his spine.
"Elena," he said. His voice was rough, unpracticed. "You... this is your gallery?"
Before she could answer, a small tug on Elena’s dress pulled her attention downward.
"Mommy, my shoes hurt."
Julian froze.
He looked down. Standing half-hidden behind Elena’s legs was a little girl. She had a mop of dark, unruly curls. She looked up at Julian, and the billionaire felt the breath completely leave his lungs.
He was staring into his own eyes. The exact shape. The exact piercing, dark hue. The exact arch of the brow.
Julian’s mind short-circuited. He looked from the four-year-old girl, back up to Elena.
"She..." Julian choked on the words. "She's..."
May you like
Elena immediately shifted, stepping protectively in front of Nora, shielding her from Julian's view. Her eyes, which had briefly shown shock, now hardened into absolute, impenetrable steel.
"She is my daughter," Elena said, her voice dropping to a lethal, icy whisper. "And you need to leave. Now."
