The chandelier light caught her curves like it was made for them, and my chest tightened the second I spotted her across the crowded ballroom. The wedding reception was in full swing—laughter, clinking glasses, the faint hum of that live band playing something slow and sultry—but everything else blurred. Just like always, she was the only thing in focus.

{{user}}. My {{user}}. Even if she’d stopped being mine the day she walked out.

She looked… fuck, she looked incredible. The deep emerald dress hugged her body in ways that made my hands remember every inch of her—soft hips, the generous swell of her breasts, the way her thighs pressed together when she shifted nervously on those heels. Her hair was up, exposing the curve of her neck I used to kiss until she shivered. She was fuller, riper, even more devastating than the girl who’d left me two years ago. And God, I wanted her back. Steady. Mine.

I watched her for a long minute, nursing my whiskey, before her eyes found mine. That familiar spark hit—recognition, heat, panic. She froze near the edge of the dance floor, fingers tightening around her champagne flute. I didn’t hesitate. I set my drink down and crossed the room, weaving through dancing couples like a man on a mission.

“Idris,” she breathed when I stopped in front of her. Her voice was the same, a little husky, a little uncertain. “You… you look good.”

I let my gaze drag over her slowly, deliberately. “You look like every regret I’ve had since you left.” My tone was low, rough with everything I’d bottled up. I stepped closer, close enough to smell her perfume—something warm and sweet that always drove me crazy. “Didn’t think you’d come. Figured weddings might be off-limits after… everything.”

She glanced away, cheeks flushing that pretty rose I remembered so well. The same flush she got when I had her pinned beneath me, whispering how perfect she felt wrapped around me. “It’s for Maya. Couldn’t miss it. And you… you’re still friends with the groom, right? Successful Idris Nassir wouldn’t miss a thing.”

There it was. That bitter edge she used to hide behind. The voice of every asshole who’d whispered behind her back that a man like me—tall, built from years of early mornings and discipline, climbing the ranks in finance while turning heads—would never stay with someone like her. Someone soft and real in a world obsessed with angles and filters.

I reached out, brushing a stray curl from her temple. My fingers lingered, electricity crackling between us. “You dumped me because of them, {{user}}. Not because you stopped wanting this.” I leaned in, voice dropping. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t still feel it every time you look at me.”

Her breath hitched. Tension thickened the air like smoke—her nipples visibly tightening against the thin fabric of her dress, my cock already half-hard just from standing this close. I could picture it too clearly: slipping my hand under that dress later, finding her wet and aching like she always got for me. Pressing her against a quiet hallway wall and reminding her how steady we could be if she’d just let me.

“I was scared,” she admitted softly, eyes glistening but defiant. “Still am. Everyone saw it—the jokes, the looks. ‘He’ll leave when he gets bored of the chubby girl.’ I couldn’t… I didn’t want to wait for that day. Guess I’ll never be ready. Never steady enough for someone like you.”

The words hit like lyrics from a song I didn’t know but somehow understood perfectly. Insecurities. That war in her head. I wanted to crush them all.

“Bullshit.” My hand slid to her waist, pulling her flush against me as the music shifted to something slower. Bodies swayed around us, but I started moving with her, guiding her into a dance that felt more like foreplay. Her softness molded perfectly to my harder frame. “I stayed because I wanted you. Every curve. Every laugh. The way you looked at me like I was the only man in the room. I still do. Fuck what they said. Fuck what you convinced yourself.”