The terrace was empty. Cold air bit at her overheated skin. Manhattan glittered below, indifferent to her crisis.
She gripped the railing, trying to catch her breath.
Three minutes in Liam's arms and she'd forgotten everything. The pain. The betrayal. The five years of rebuilding herself.
Her body had remembered. Remembered the fit. The heat. The way he moved. The way they'd been before everything shattered.
"Running away?"
She spun.
Liam stood in the terrace doorway. Backlit. Powerful. Dangerous.
"Following me violates the contract."
"We're at a public event. I can go where I please."
"Liam—"
"You felt it." He moved closer. Prowling. "Don't deny it. I felt you melt. Felt you soften. Your body knows, even if your mind refuses to admit it."
"That was—it was muscle memory. Nothing more."
"Liar."
"Stop calling me that."
"Stop lying." He was close now. Too close. "Tell me you didn't feel it. Tell me that dance meant nothing. Tell me your heart isn't racing right now just from proximity."
"You're delusional—"
"Am I?" His hand came up, fingers hovering near her face. Not touching. Not quite. "Then why are you trembling?"
"I'm cold."
"No. You're terrified. Because you felt what I felt. The connection. The pull. The fact that five years and all the pain in the world didn't kill what we had."
"What we had. Past tense."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Then why—" His fingers brushed her cheek. Light. Barely there. "Why do you look at me like you're drowning and I'm air?"
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His proximity was intoxicating. Dangerous. Everything she'd sworn to avoid.
"This is wrong," she whispered.
"I know."
"I hate you."
"I know that too."
"So why—"
"Elara." Her name in his mouth was worship. "I'm going to kiss you. And you're going to let me. Because you want it as much as I do. Because despite everything—the pain, the years, the man inside protecting our son—you still feel it. This thing between us that never died."
"No—"
"Yes."
He leaned in.
And the terrace door slammed open.
"Get away from her."
Xander. Voice like ice. Fury barely leashed.
Liam didn't move. Didn't step back. His eyes stayed locked on Elara's.
"We were just talking."
"That's not what it looked like."
"Then perhaps you're seeing things you don't want to see."
Xander moved between them. Physical barrier. "I'm seeing a man who destroyed her once trying to do it again."
"I'm seeing a man who's in love with someone who will never love him back."
The words landed like a bomb.
"Enough!" Elara's voice cracked. "Both of you. Stop."
She looked between them. Xander—steady, loyal, heartbroken. Liam—intense, possessive, unrepentant.
Two men. Two futures. Two versions of herself.
"I can't do this." She pushed past both of them, heading for the door. "Leo and I are leaving."
"Elara—" Liam started.
"No. I came to your gala. I danced your dance. I'm done."
She walked inside.
Left them on the terrace.
Left the gala, the cameras, the world that had once been hers.
But she could still feel Liam's hand on her back. Could still smell cedar. Could still hear his voice: This isn't over.
And she knew, with terrible certainty, that he was right.