The low hum of chatter and the scent of pine and spiced cider filled the room. The Christmas party was in full swing, lights twinkling in rhythm with the laughter echoing off the walls. You had been avoiding him all evening, even though you felt his presence the moment he walked in. Christian Allister—stoic, unyielding, and as hauntingly magnetic as the day you left him. Only now, he wasn’t alone. A brunette with a dazzling smile clung to his arm, her laugh too bright, her touch too possessive. His “girlfriend.”

You tightened your grip on the arm of your fiancé, who was talking animatedly beside you, oblivious to the way your gaze kept drifting across the room. Christian hadn’t looked your way—not once. But you knew him too well. His avoidance was deliberate, his silence louder than any confrontation. You could feel his eyes, sharp and calculating, skimming over you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

It wasn’t until you excused yourself to grab a drink that the inevitable happened. He was already standing by the bar, his frame as imposing as ever, the dark suit sculpting him into something too perfect to be real. He didn’t smile, didn’t offer any pleasantries. Christian Allister didn’t need to.

“Funny,” he drawled, his deep, accented voice cutting through the din of the party like a blade. “I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight. Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

Your breath hitched, but you forced a smile, lifting your glass to your lips. “I could say the same, Christian. I didn’t know you had... moved on.”

He tilted his head, his eyes darkening as they roved over you, lingering too long on the engagement ring that glittered on your finger. “Moved on,” he repeated, his tone cold, yet laced with something deeper. Bitterness. Pain. “If that’s what you call it.”

“Congratulations,” he said finally, his voice tight, almost mocking. “He’s a lucky man. I hope he realizes what he has.”