Meet Again

At the undeniable sound of that intimately familiar voice, Valerie’s heart executed a terrifying backflip inside her chest. The blood froze in her veins. Over two long years had dragged by since their bitter courthouse parting, yet her ex-husband, Desmond, was suddenly standing here in the flesh.

He loomed imposingly near the entrance of Crimson Hall, wearing a tailored, long black coat that draped over his broad frame like a mantle of command. The warm, golden ambient lighting caught the sharp, uncompromising angles of his jaw, highlighting a face that had only grown more striking with time. Without lifting a single finger, his incredibly sharp presence effortlessly commanded the entire room's attention. The lively, upbeat chatter of Ronnie’s festive birthday gathering died out, replaced by a collective hush of awe from the guests.

Ronnie beamed, gesturing grandly toward the large table. He purposefully and mischievously directed Desmond to be seated directly beside Valerie.

Panic clawed at her throat. As Desmond strode forward, his polished shoes echoing against the hardwood floor, Valerie gripped the edge of her seat. She discreetly tried to shift her chair to the left, the wooden legs scraping against the floorboards. She desperately attempted to put any physical distance between them, needing just an inch of space to escape the magnetic pull of his proximity.

Ronnie noticed her subtle retreat. A spark of amusement flashed in his eyes, completely ignoring her silent, desperate pleas for mercy. He leaned over the table, taking his matchmaking a step further.

"I was just saying earlier," Ronnie announced loudly and proudly to the table, "this beautiful lady here is with Desmond Hayes, the esteemed CEO of Vanguardcore Group!"

A stunned murmur cascaded through the room. Ronnie openly and shockingly referred to Desmond and Valerie as husband and wife, letting the misconception hang in the air. The awe-struck, completely oblivious guests stared at them with wide, eager eyes.

"Wait, this is Desmond Hayes?" a man across the table whispered, fawning over the revelation. "Ronnie, you sly fox, you never said we'd be drinking with a corporate titan tonight. If we had known, we would have picked up something swanky for Mr. Hayes."

Men scrambled to pour drinks, vying for the billionaire's favor. The women turned their attention to Valerie, their smiles wide. "Mrs. Hayes, you are stunning," one of them gushed, sliding a heavy crystal glass of strong alcohol toward her. "A true power couple."

The title tasted like ash. Before Valerie could formulate a polite refusal, a large, familiar hand reached out. Desmond smoothly leaned in and intercepted the glass meant for her. His long fingers wrapped around the crystal, brushing the rim away from her space. Stepping effortlessly into the role of a protective partner, he set the liquor down on his own side of the placemat.

"She's a lightweight," Desmond coolly noted to the table, his tone steady and dangerously smooth. "She prefers soft drinks."

The proximity of his body sent a wave of heat washing over her. The faint scent of bergamot and crisp winter air clung to his coat, dragging her back to a hundred memories she had tried to bury. Beneath the linen tablecloth, Valerie shifted her leg, trying to pull further away. In her haste, her nylon-clad calf brushed directly against the wool of his trousers.

An accidental, jarring static shock snapped between them.

The sudden jolt sent a flush of pure heat rushing straight up her calf. Valerie gasped softly, her cheeks flushing crimson. Desmond stiffened beside her, shifting in his seat. He reached for his water glass, taking a slow sip as his jaw tightened.

Overwhelmed by his intoxicating proximity and the suffocating atmosphere of the room, Valerie could not bear it any longer. She pushed her chair back, the wood grating loudly. "Excuse me," she announced abruptly, her voice tighter than she intended. "I need to use the restroom."

She did not wait for a response, retreating swiftly into the hallway.

Finding the tiled sanctuary of the restroom, Valerie pressed her back against the cool marble wall. Her heart thundered relentlessly. Pulling her phone from her clutch, she furiously texted Ronnie, ordering him to bring her coat to the elevator so she could sneak out of the hotel unseen.

She paced the patterned carpet near the elevator bank, her arms crossed tight over her chest. A few minutes later, Ronnie rounded the corner, holding her tailored wool coat in his hands. He wore a sheepish grin.

When Ronnie finally arrived at the rendezvous point, she didn't hesitate. Valerie lunged forward and aggressively kicked his shin in sheer, unadulterated frustration.

"Ow! What the hell, Val!" Ronnie hissed, stumbling back and rubbing his leg. "Trying to take down the birthday boy?"

"You had that coming," she snapped, her voice trembling with anger. She snatched her coat from his hands. "You knew about the divorce, yet you still invited him. You're doing this on purpose."

Ronnie sighed, leaning against the wall. He sheepishly admitted his intentions. "Look, he's my buddy, and you're my friend. I was just trying to play matchmaker."

"Save it, Ronnie," Valerie brutally cut him off, her tone slicing through the quiet hallway. "Desmond and I are done. We're not getting back together, not even if you tried to marry me off to the town's team mascot."

She spun around to leave, eager to march out into the night, only to freeze in her tracks.

Standing rigidly by a decorative marble pillar in the shadows was Desmond. His cold, impossibly hard stare was fixed rigidly upon her. He had been standing right there, hearing every single bitter word she had just spat at Ronnie.

The air in the hallway plummeted in temperature. Ronnie’s eyes darted between the two of them, the heavy tension becoming unbearable. Deciding to make himself scarce, an incredibly awkward Ronnie slipped away down the hall to escape the brewing storm.

Desmond stepped forward, closing the distance. His polished shoes made no sound on the thick carpet, but his presence was a physical weight pressing down on her. His expression was a mask of stone, and his voice firm and devoid of warmth.

"Wanted to make it clear, I'm not here for you," he stated, his jaw tight.

Valerie swallowed the lump in her throat. She forced her spine straight and simply offered a calm, detached nod, acknowledging Ronnie's misguided meddling. Without waiting for his rebuttal, she turned on her heel and walked away into the night.

Outside in the crisp air, Valerie approached her trusty, aging Porsche Cayenne. The white paint lacked the luster it once had, but it was hers. As she reached for the driver's side handle, a massive shadow glided into the driveway, blocking the streetlights.

A sleek, monstrously expensive black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up silently beside her. The golden emblem on the hood gleamed under the hotel's portico lights. Valerie stared at the vehicle, a jarring, deeply painful reminder blooming in her chest. It was the exact luxurious car Desmond had vowed to buy her when they were still struggling in a cramped apartment, promising she deserved the best. He had achieved the dream, but they were no longer a team.

The tinted rear window of the Phantom rolled down with a soft mechanical hum, revealing Desmond’s sharp profile.

"Get in. I'll see you home," he commanded with absolute authority.

Valerie frowned, pointing to her Porsche. "I have my own car."

"Get in," he strictly insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We need to discuss the logistics of the house."

Knowing he would sit in that driveway all night until she complied, she signaled the valet to park her Porsche again. Reluctantly, she walked around and settled into the opulent, leather-scented backseat. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, sealing her in a vault of luxury. The privacy partition slid up with a quiet hiss, separating them from the chauffeur.

Valerie crossed her arms, listening defensively as Desmond turned his head toward her.

"The house in Dalmont Estates," Desmond began, his dark eyes piercing through the shadows of the cabin. "I transferred it completely to your name during the divorce settlement. My financial manager informed me today that the property has been empty. Why have you never once stayed there?"

"We're history," she replied crisply, looking out the window to watch the neon city lights blur past the thick glass. "I'm not hanging around in my ex's pad."

Desmond let out a low, humorless breath. Visibly disappointed that she stubbornly preferred her grandparents' modest apartment in Ivywood Estates over the incredibly valuable property he had provided, he shifted in his seat. He stared at the side of her face for a long moment before letting out a sardonic chuckle.

"Fine," Desmond noted, his voice flat. "If you don't want it, I'll just go ahead and sell the property. It’s useless sitting there."

"Do as you like," she drawled, feigning utter indifference. She picked at a loose thread on her coat, masking the nervous tremor in her fingers. The Dalmont house was a mausoleum of their failed marriage. She wanted no part of it.

A frigid, suffocating silence descended upon the luxurious cabin. The only sound was the faint hum of the tires against the asphalt. Attempting to thaw the heavy, silent tension, Valerie decided to shift the topic to something neutral.

"So," Valerie asked casually, turning her head slightly toward him. "How is your mother doing? Is Martha well?"

"She is fine," Desmond answered curtly.

Valerie pressed on, her curiosity getting the better of her. She delicately smoothed her skirt. "And what about your ex? I assume she is back in the picture now that I’m gone. Is she doing any better with her severe depression?"

The moment the words left her mouth, Desmond’s head snapped toward her. A piercing, furious glare ignited in his eyes, so intense it made Valerie physically recoil against the leather door panel. The muscles in his jaw ticked dangerously.

"Drop it," he ordered sharply.

The venom in his voice was unmistakable. He reached down, snatched a glossy business magazine from the seatback pocket, and flipped it open with a loud, aggressive snap, definitively ending the conversation. He didn't speak another word for the rest of the drive, leaving Valerie to listen to her own rapid heartbeat. She had touched a deep, exposed nerve.

The Rolls-Royce finally turned off the main avenue, rolling to a smooth stop at the gated entrance of Ivywood Estates. The wrought-iron gates stood tall, guarding the modest apartment complexes beyond.

Before the chauffeur could even put the car in park, Valerie quickly reached for the silver handle. She was desperately eager to keep him from crossing the threshold.

"Appreciate the lift," Valerie said hurriedly, pushing the heavy door open and stepping out into the cold night air.

Before she could escape toward the pedestrian gate, Desmond raised a teasing, challenging brow from the shadows of the backseat.

"No invite to come in?"

Valerie froze instantly. Her hand gripped the cold metal of the car door handle as her eyes flickered with sudden, sheer indecision. She stared at the illuminated windows of her apartment building in the distance, her mind racing with panic, entirely unsure if Nadine had already brought Arthur back home yet.