The hotel ballroom shone with golden light, the kind that made everything look lovely — even things that weren't.
Amelia tweaked the satin of her blue dress and tried to smile. She'd taken an hour to get her hair just right, another hour to convince herself to be here. Daniel's company was hosting its annual gala, a party to honor "success and integrity." She couldn't help but roll her eyes at the irony.
In the corner of the room, Daniel was already surrounded — coworkers, financiers, fans. His laughter came out with such ease, deep and mellow, and no one could see the fine spark of annoyance behind it. That was his gift: being faultless while everything else around him unraveled.
Amelia clutched her champagne glass and pretended to listen to the discussion at her table. She'd learned a long time ago that silence was wiser than opinion.
"Mrs. Cross," someone spoke behind her. Deep. Smooth. Polished like marble.
She turned — and saw into eyes she didn't recognize.
Julian Royce wasn't what she'd expected. His attitude was subdued but finished, as if the air around him decided to obey him. Dark suit, perfectly tailored with careless ease, tall, calm. But his eyes had her — not cold, not kind, but observing. As if he could see more than he was permitted to.
"Mr. Royce," she said, remembering the name from Daniel's stories. The boss man. The man her husband envied and hated. "It's nice to finally meet you."
"Likewise," he replied. "Daniel's talked about you."
She smiled weakly. "All good things, I hope."
He didn't answer immediately. He regarded her instead — for a second too long, not boorishly, but with interest. "He told me that you keep everything together," Julian said at last. "That he's lucky to have someone so… patient."
Patient. A word that left a flavor of ash in her mouth.
"Marriage requires it," she replied softly.
Something flickered in his eyes, brief and unreadable. "And yet," he grumbled to himself, "sometimes patience hides a storm."
Before she had a chance to answer, Daniel stood beside her, his hand wrapping around her waist possessively. His smile was toothy. "Julian. I see you've met my wife."
"We were just discussing something," Julian replied, his face unreadable. "You're a lucky man."
Daniel's hold pressed a little tighter. "I know.
Amelia didn't budge, the pressure of Daniel's hand steady against her side. She sensed the chill below his heat — a memory she didn't need spoken.
Julian's gaze lingered an extra beat, then nodded and continued by. But in him, something clung to her — a serenity that wasn't neutral, a silence that wasn't hollow.
Later in the evening, after the gala ended and the clapping had subsided, Amelia followed Daniel to the car. He said nothing. He did not need to.
She knew what would transpire when they were alone — the accusation, the cold questions, the suspicion that she had not deserved.
And yet, as she faced back toward the ballroom, she caught a glimpse of Julian Royce at the edge of the group, gaze on her once before he looked away.
He'd barely said anything. But for the first time in months, someone had looked at her as if she weren't nothing.