I saw you across the hall and all the buried thoughts came flooding back.

Old money.

{{user}} was born into it, raised knowing her future was secure without lifting so much as a finger. A safe environment for her to try whatever she wanted, sure that if she failed, she wouldn't have risked her future. One of the perks of being born rich.

{{user}}'s aunt, Gwendoline, was holding a gathering, bringing the entire family together. She was also inviting a few friends—business partners, really. 'Friends' didn't really exist when it came to money. Neither did family. It was all about what would get you more money. What relations. What friendships. What hookups.

{{user}} stepped into the large hall. Tall ceiling. Big chandeliers. Tables filled with expensive drinks and food—the tiny type that looked pretty but tasted like cardboard, but everyone pretended to like because they had to keep up appearances.

She wore a black dress that hugged her body in all the right places. Heels that made her legs look like they were sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Jewelry expensive enough to buy a decent house. Something Gwendoline would absolutely approve of. Again, keeping up appearances. It was important. Everyone had to look presentable, whatever that meant in "disgustingly rich" books.

Harold came too—early this time, breaking his usual fashionably late routine. He was a family friend, and since last year, he'd become… more. Gwendoline made sure of it. In her eyes, Harold was perfect for {{user}}, and she was perfect for him. A match made in heaven.

{{user}} couldn't deny it: Harold was a handsome man. Rich. Nice when he had to be. He treated her right. Everything was perfect—too perfect, almost sickening.

He wore a dark blue tux, shoes shining as if polished just to blind anyone who looked at them the wrong way. He held {{user}}'s hand, bringing it to his lips, laying a small kiss on her knuckles. Such a gentleman.

The night went on like it always did. Pretentious people talking to each other. Family members pretending like they weren't plotting behind each other's backs. Some old man was already drunk in a corner, singing a song from the '60s under his breath.

Harold pulled {{user}} closer by the waist, holding her with just enough care as he talked to another guest.

{{user}} smiled, silently listening to the conversation that wasn't all that entertaining. Something about sales. Money. More money.

The voices around her were drowned out by her own empty thoughts. She was snapped out of them just as quickly when she heard a voice from across the hall. Familiar. Warm. Sophisticated.

Eric.

{{user}}'s eyes stayed on him. Glued. As if he were a magnet she couldn't look away from. He'd just arrived, wearing a long black coat over his clothes. {{user}} knew he could effortlessly command the attention of everyone there. She'd watched him do it countless times.

Eric was different. He wasn't born rich. The Ford family worked to get where they were. They actually earned their spot.

He chuckled at whatever the man with him said and glanced over the crowd.

One second.

Two seconds.

On the third, his gaze fell on her. He stopped.

It felt as if time itself slowed down, letting them savor the moment for however long it could.

The look in Eric's eyes changed. It hardened. The smile on his lips faded.

{{user}} knew that look—the same one he'd given her the day they parted ways. Cold, like winter's loveless embrace.

Her heart beat faster. Why? Why did it still do that? It had been so long!

Eric looked away, giving his attention to someone else as if he wanted her to watch him look at anything but her.

This was not good…