Ariana's eyes remained fixed on Zayn's back as he faded into the murmuring crowd. The past clawed at her chest, uninvited. Old memories knocking against her ribcage like fists on a locked door. She hadn't expected to see him—hadn't expected to feel anything.
Then came Ivan's voice, low and quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the noise around her.
"You still thinking about him?" His words weren't mocking. They weren't soft either. They were sharp-edged… with something else hiding beneath.
She stiffened and turned to him slowly. "What?"
He was already watching her. Those icy, unreadable eyes studying every twitch of her expression like a puzzle he already knew how to solve.
"I know him. I know what he did," Ivan said simply, eyes still on her. "And I know he didn't deserve you."
Her breath caught. She blinked. How…?
He leaned in a little, voice lowering to something velvet and rough. "A guy would be insane to hurt a woman like you. Or let you go."
Ariana swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Her chest fluttered. She hated that it did.
He hadn't touched her, hadn't even moved closer than a whisper, but her body reacted all the same. As if the air between them had its own heat. Its own pulse.
Her voice came out quieter than she intended. "You've been doing a lot of that lately… saying the right things."
Ivan tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. "Maybe I mean them."
Her brows rose, but she masked the way her heart skipped. "Right. And maybe I'm the Queen of England."
His smirk deepened, unfazed. "You could be. You've got the attitude."
She turned away before he saw the way her lips twitched.
But deep inside, her mind wasn't laughing.
No.
She was fighting the strange urge to fall into something she had no business wanting.
Because this was Ivan Garcia.
Playboy. Arrogant. Dangerous.
A man who could afford to drop ten million like it was pocket change, and still have enough charm left over to make her knees weak.
She reminded herself—sternly—that she wasn't looking for anything. That she should just focus on her studies. That she didn't need anyone. Especially not him. Especially not someone who looked like he'd break hearts before breakfast.
If she ever let herself fall again, it wouldn't be for a man like that.
Hell no.
She would rather stay single forever.
______
Just then, a familiar voice called out across the velvet-lit room.
"Didn't expect to see you here, Ivan"
Ivan turned slightly, the corners of his lips twitching into a cool smile. "Zayn."
Ariana's eyes flicked upward at the name, her spine instinctively straightening.
And there he was.
Zayn.
Taller than she remembered. Sharper. Richer. His suit tailored to perfection, and his hair slicked back with that same smug elegance he carried back in high school. But his eyes—those piercing eyes—were frozen the moment they landed on her.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
As if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Ariana.
His Ariana.
Or rather… the girl who used to be his.
But this—this woman sitting beside Ivan, in a dress that hugged her body like a second skin, hair pinned up to reveal her delicate collarbones, and a soft glow on her cheeks—was something else entirely.
God, she looked stunning. Not in a loud, obvious way, but effortlessly. She had grown into herself, no longer that shy, stubborn girl from high school who kept her heart locked behind clever remarks.
Zayn felt the breath leave him.
She didn't even look at him. Not really. Her gaze brushed over him for a fleeting second before returning to Ivan, as if he—the boy who once held her heart—was just another face in the crowd.
That stung.
His jaw clenched.
He'd told himself over the years that she probably didn't care anymore. That what they had—short, naïve, fragile—had been forgotten by now but he couldn't stop loving her. She was the girl he genuinely fall for, he genuinely cared for but a mistake he did made him lose her. And he didn't get the courage to even apologize, he left after she told him they should break up. He had tried to get over him but he couldn't.
And now, seeing her like this… beside Ivan, of all people…
It was a knife.
Ariana. The girl who made him work for every smile. The one who laughed at his jokes but refused to let him kiss her until she was sure. The girl he hurt. The girl he cheated on.
He looked at her hand. It wasn't in Ivan's. But her body was angled toward him, and her lips tilted slightly upward as Ivan murmured something to her. She was comfortable around him. Drawn to him.
Zayn hated that.
And more than anything, he hated the idea that she might be one of Ivan's girls.
But no.
No. Not Ariana.
She wasn't the type to fall for a man like that—not easily. He knew her. It took effort to get past her walls. It took time. Ariana wouldn't be a toy in Ivan's collection. She was too proud. Too strong.
She had been his once.
And now?
She wouldn't even look at him.
Zayn forced a neutral expression, nodding briefly to Ariana, though she barely acknowledged him.
Ivan watched the interaction closely, his smirk lazy but his eyes sharp with quiet challenge.
"Something you need, Zayn?" he asked casually, resting one arm behind Ariana's chair.
Zayn's lips twitched. "Just saying hi."
Ivan chuckled low. "Then say it."
Their gazes locked—rivalry thickening the air between them.
Zayn's eyes flicked one more time to Ariana, but this time she didn't flinch. She simply looked at Ivan and said something under her breath that made the corner of his mouth twitch.
Zayn took the cue.
He stepped back.
But even as he walked away, his heart thundered in his chest.
She was still the only girl who ever left him breathless.
And now… she wasn't his anymore.
_____After the auction
The car ride back was quieter than Ariana expected. The city lights blurred outside the window, casting golden glows across Ivan's face as he sat with one arm draped over the seat, relaxed but unreadable. She had too many questions. Too many emotions buzzing inside her to sit still.
His expression was calm—annoyingly calm—but she wasn't going to let that auction scene slide.
She turned looking at him.
"Ivan," she called, folding her arms,
He turned slowly, one brow raised, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. "Yes, Miss Ariana?"
"Can we talk?"
"About the auction?" he said, "Or the fact that you couldn't stop staring at your ex?"
She blinked. "What—? That's not—" She took a breath. "Okay, first of all, I wasn't staring. Second, you just spent twenty million dollars to... what? Puff your chest?"
Ivan stepped closer, the smirk deepening. "Jealous?"
She scoffed, "Please. I'm just trying to figure you out."
"Hmm," he murmured, circling her slowly like a predator amused by his prey. "You're not supposed to figure me out. That ruins the mystery."
She laughed dryly. "Mystery? You mean drama, right? You ignore me when I get here, and then suddenly I'm gifted with luxury items and walked into an auction like your date."
He stopped in front of her again, eyes locking with hers. "You are beautiful, Ariana. But don't flatter yourself—I didn't buy those things to impress you."
"Then why?" she asked, voice softer now, unsure.
He tilted his head. "Maybe to remind you that you're worth that much. Or maybe…" his gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then slowly lifted again, "I just enjoy seeing you flustered."
She opened her mouth, stunned, but no words came.
"And tell me," he added, voice dipping lower, "are you flustered?"
Her cheeks warmed before she could stop it. She hated that he could do this—unravel her composure with a few words and that stupid, breathtaking face of his.
She cleared her throat and glanced away. "You're full of yourself."
"Maybe," he whispered. "But you walked in that auction hall tonight looking like sin in heels. Don't act like you didn't know what you were doing."
Her breath caught. Every nerve in her body was on edge. Her lips curved slightly into a shy smile, but her eyes drifted back to the window. The movement of the car, the stillness of the night, and the soft echo of Ivan's compliment seemed to settle her heart. Slowly, her voice faded, her replies shorter—until silence stretched between them, gentle and undemanding.
When Ivan looked over again, he noticed her head leaning against the window, her lashes soft against her cheeks, lips parted slightly in sleep.
She'd fallen asleep.
A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he turned his eyes back to the road. The city lights painted soft patterns over her face—she looked peaceful, free from the usual walls she kept up around him. There was no tension in her brow, no trace of suspicion or guardedness. Just... Ariana.
Beautiful, complicated Ariana.
He whispered, "Talks non stop then crashes like a kid"
She let out a faint, barely audible snore.
He blinked—and, to his surprise, smiled. Just a little.
"Huh," he said under his breath, almost amused. "You snore."
He didn't know why it didn't annoy him. Normally, things like that did. But hearing it now? It was… oddly calming. Real. Human. And for someone like him, who spent most of his time around rehearsed perfection, that tiny imperfection felt refreshing.
By the time they reached the house, she was still deep asleep. Ivan didn't bother waking her. He stepped out of the car, came around, and opened her door. She shifted slightly, but didn't stir.
"Seriously?" he muttered.
With a grunt of resignation, he leaned in and lifted her carefully into his arms. She didn't weigh much. Her head fell gently against his chest, and she let out another small snore. He smirked, carrying her inside with quiet steps.
The house was quiet. Ivan made his way upstairs, pausing in front of her bedroom door. He nudged it open and carried her inside.
As he lowered her onto the bed, her fingers twitched—and caught the edge of his blazer.
He froze.
She wasn't awake. Not really. But her hand clung to his suit as if refusing to let him go.
Ivan stared at her, puzzled.
"This girl," he muttered under his breath.
She pushed him away when awake—glared at him, questioned everything—but here she was, holding on to him in her sleep.
He shook his head with a dry chuckle and slowly, gently, peeled her fingers from the fabric.
After removing her heels, he lifted her legs up onto the bed, careful not to jostle her. Then he pulled the blanket over her body. She snuggled into the pillow, utterly unaware of the man standing beside her, watching.
He hadn't done anything like this before. Not for anyone. Not because he cared—because he doesn't—but because… well, he didn't even know why.
Still, it wasn't awful.
He turned off the bedside lamp and slipped out.
_____
Ivan went to his study room, he tossed his suit onto the nearby chair, unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, and stood by the window.
With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and reached for the box of cigarettes. He pulled one out, let it sit between his lips, but didn't light it yet. Instead, he just stared at it. A smirk crept on his face.
Zayn.
Of course she still loved him.
Ivan wasn't blind—he saw the way her mood changed when she saw him. The way her eyes dimmed with disappointment or brightened with memory. There was a history there. Something unresolved.
And somehow, it bothered him.
Not because he liked her. He didn't.
She was complicated. Stubborn. She talked too much and challenged him at every turn.
But she'd been Zayn's first.
The idea of her—his target—still having feelings for Zayn annoyed him more than it should've. This was supposed to be simple. Let Zayn watch as Ivan took the one girl who'd ever mattered to him. Let Zayn feel what losing tasted like.
"You gonna be mine soon" he said and lit the cigarette.