A Bitter Reunion

Three agonizing years had evaporated since the brutal severing of her marriage. The scene shifted violently from that cold, darkened hospital parking lot to a blinding, chaotic array of luxury cars. A relentless swarm of hungry reporters and flashing camera lenses clogged the grand entrance of River City’s opulent Hilton Hotel. Tonight was Vanguard Group’s highly anticipated cocktail party, a glittering trap designed to gather every major business tycoon in the city. Journalists shoved against the velvet ropes, desperate to capture exclusives that would dominate tomorrow’s front pages.

Around eight o'clock, an imposing, pristine Maybach glided to a halt at the curb.

"It’s Mr. Hayes! Mr. Hayes from Vanguard Group is here!" The press mob surged forward, an ocean of microphones extending toward the vehicle.

Tristan Hayes, Clara's incredibly demanding boss, stepped onto the plush red carpet. Dressed in a flawless white suit, he flashed an arrogant, camera-ready smile to the crowd. A moment later, the stunning supermodel Stella emerged from the opposite side, shivering slightly in a gorgeous strapless evening gown. Tristan confidently reached out, claiming her hand as they paused to indulge the rapid-fire camera flashes.

Trapped in the front passenger seat, Clara felt entirely out of place. She clutched a heavy leather briefcase against her chest, watching the glamorous display through the tinted glass. She sighed deeply internally. Who on earth dragged their lowly, overworked assistant to such a high-society media circus? Tristan Hayes was out of his mind.

Her bitter musings were cut short by the driver. "Assistant Vance, please exit the vehicle," he prompted urgently. "The young master will not be pleased if we delay him any further."

Bracing herself, Clara grabbed the thick handle of the briefcase. She pushed the door open, ducking her head as she hurried out into the dazzling, chaotic night air, desperate to avoid the blinding flashes.

She rushed frantically to catch up with her boss's long, confident strides. But before she could close the distance, a sudden, collective gasp rippled through the mass of reporters behind her.

"It’s Dominic Thorne! Dominic Thorne is here too!"

The sheer mention of that name sent a visceral shockwave straight through Clara’s spine. Her breath caught in her throat. Against every shred of self-preservation, she instinctively turned her head.

A luxurious, immaculate Aston Martin pulled up to the hotel entrance. Security guards in crisp uniforms quickly swarmed the perimeter, holding back the frenzied crowd. The heavy car door swung open, and out stepped Dominic. He wore a dashing, perfectly tailored black suit that clung to his broad shoulders. Even bathed in the harsh glare of camera lights, his commanding presence was just as captivating, enigmatic, and entirely suffocating as it had been three years ago.

Clara stood frozen, her fingers digging into the leather of her briefcase. The security team rushed around the hood to open the other door. Chloe stepped out elegantly. She was draped in a striking crimson gown, offering the rabid cameras a perfectly practiced, shy smile as she took her place beside him.

"What a beautiful couple!" the reporters gushed shamelessly, their voices carrying over the noise.

"One is the beloved daughter of a secretary, whereas the other is the owner of a major shopping mall. They are perfect for each other!"

Clara watched their grand display, the blood roaring in her ears. Her heart, once soft, hardened into solid ice. She smiled coldly to herself. Of course, the cheating man and his homewrecking mistress would be perfectly suited for one another. They were a match made in hell. Absolutely disgusted by the sight of them, she quickly turned on her heel and sprinted after Tristan.

Tristan and Stella had already stepped into the VIP elevator. Seeing the heavy metal doors sliding shut, Clara dashed forward, thrusting her arm out desperately to stop them. The sensors beeped, and the doors retracted just in time.

Clara stumbled inside, her chest heaving as she gripped the briefcase. Tristan looked at her disheveled state and snickered mercilessly.

"Assistant Vance, you seem to enjoy scaring people, don’t you?" he drawled, his tone dripping with condescension.

Clara immediately lowered her head, hiding the flush of humiliation. "I apologize."

"Keep up next time," Tristan snorted dismissively. "If you don’t pull yourself together, you’ll get fired!"

"Yes, I understand," she murmured.

Once they reached the eighteenth floor, Tristan possessively wrapped his arm around Stella’s slim waist. Just before stepping out toward the glittering main hall, he paused and shot a strict glare at Clara.

"Wait for me in the lounge," he commanded. "Remember to come as soon as I call for you. Otherwise, I will deduct your bonus by half if I can’t find you!"

Clara sighed in immense relief. Grateful to avoid the suffocating crowd, she slipped down the corridor and into the quiet lounge at the very end.

Mere moments after the lounge door clicked shut, the other elevator chimed softly. Dominic stepped out alongside Chloe. He paused abruptly in the middle of the corridor. His sharp eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman's retreating back just as the lounge door sealed shut.

His heart skipped a sudden beat.

Was that her?

He stared at the wooden door, his pulse drumming. Then, he quickly suppressed the thought. There was no way. Clara had vanished from the city three years ago without a trace. He convinced himself he must be imagining things, plagued by ghosts of the past.

"Dominic, what are you looking at?" Chloe asked, following his gaze to the empty hallway.

Dominic broke his stare and dismissed it casually. "Nothing much. Let’s go."

For over an hour, Clara waited patiently in the isolating lounge. Her stomach growled audibly, echoing in the quiet space. She rubbed her abdomen, mentally cursing her selfish, privileged boss. Tristan was out there enjoying fine wine and a high-class buffet with a gorgeous model in his arms, while his dedicated assistant starved in a back room.

Finally, her phone vibrated. It was Tristan.

"Get yourself something to eat from the hall," he instructed sharply over the line. "Remember what I told you. Don’t go wandering around! Head back to the lounge and wait for me there once you have finished!"

Clara cautiously slipped out of the room and into the glamorous, brightly lit hall. The space was packed with people dressed to the nines, glittering under crystal chandeliers. Clara merely glanced at the elegantly dressed crowd, keeping her head down as she made a direct beeline for the expansive buffet tables.

Her hunger took over. Armed with a porcelain plate piled with delicate food and a refreshing glass of juice, she stepped away from the table, urgently searching for a quiet place to sit down and eat.

However, before she managed to do so, a harsh, demanding voice called out to her from behind, shattering her brief moment of peace.

"Bring me something to eat!"