Behind The Mask

Chapter 9: The Ambassador

POV: Fiona

The grand ballroom of the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris was sparkling with gold light and crystal chandeliers.

Inside, the room was filled with world leaders, diplomats, and some of the most powerful people in Europe. Waiters in white gloves carried trays of expensive champagne, and the air hummed with the sound of a dozen different languages being spoken at once.

I stood near the center of the room, holding a crystal glass of sparkling water.

"That was an incredible speech, Ambassador Caldwell," a kind, older man with a thick French accent said to me. He was the Minister of Education for France. "Your passion for global charity is truly inspiring. The United Nations is very lucky to have you representing them."

"Thank you, Minister," I replied, offering him a warm, confident smile. "Every child deserves a chance to learn, no matter where they are born. We are just doing our part to make that happen."

He bowed his head respectfully and walked away to join another conversation.

I took a slow sip of my water, letting out a quiet breath.

Ambassador Caldwell. Even after two years, hearing that title still gave me a small thrill.

I looked down at myself. I wasn't wearing the cheap thrift-store suits and the soft, submissive pastel dresses of a billionaire's wife. Tonight, I was wearing a stunning, floor-length emerald green gown that wrapped perfectly around my curves. My hair was swept up into an elegant twist, and a pair of simple diamond earrings sparkled in the light.

My mind briefly flashed back to that rainy night in New York two years ago. I remembered sitting in the back of the taxi, watching the Jordan estate disappear. I had left with absolutely nothing. No money and no clothes.

The first six months had been brutally hard. I flew to Europe, using the very last of my savings to rent a tiny, freezing room in Geneva. I worked three part-time jobs just to eat, while volunteering every single free hour I had at a global charity organization. I worked until my hands bled and my eyes burned. I refused to fail.

My hard work paid off. I was hired full-time. I led a massive relief project that caught the attention of the United Nations. I rose through the ranks faster than anyone in their history. I poured all the passion and fire that Maxwell had tried to put out into my career.

Maxwell.

Just thinking his name used to make my chest ache. Now, it felt like remembering a bad movie I had watched a long time ago.

I knew what had happened to him, of course. You couldn't be in the global business world without hearing about the spectacular fall of the Jordan Corporation.

After I left, his grandfather kept his promise. Arthur froze Maxwell's shares. The investors pulled out. The stock prices crashed. Maxwell was forced to step down as CEO, and the company was broken up and sold in pieces.

I hadn't spoken to him since the night I left my wedding ring on the dining room table. I didn't care where he was or what he was doing. My life is here now.

"Fiona! There you are!"

I turned around and smiled as my assistant, named Chloe, rushed over to me with a tablet in her hands.

"The German delegates absolutely loved your proposal," Chloe said, her eyes shining with excitement. "They want to schedule a formal meeting for tomorrow morning to discuss funding. You did it!"

"We did it, Chloe," I corrected her gently, tapping my glass against her tablet in a mock cheer. "Make sure they get the best coffee in the city for that meeting. We need them in a good mood."

"Already on it," Chloe grinned. Then, she looked over my shoulder, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Oh, wait. Did the guest list change? I thought this summit was strictly for diplomats and politicians."

"It is," I said, turning my body slightly. "Why?"

"Because there are some private businessmen walking in," Chloe whispered, nodding toward the grand entrance of the ballroom. "And one of them is coming straight this way. Wow. He looks intense."

I casually turned my head to look at the entrance.

The ballroom was crowded, but the sea of people seemed to naturally part to let the new arrivals through.

A tall man in a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit was walking through the crowd. His shoulders were broad, his jaw was sharp, and his dark, messy hair was exactly how I remembered it.

The air in my lungs vanished.

It was Maxwell.

For a split second, the music, the talking, the clinking of glasses—it all faded into complete silence.

He looked older. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a tense, heavy weight seemed to sit on his shoulders. But he was still the most striking man in the room.

He was looking down at his phone, walking purposefully toward the center of the ballroom alongside two older businessmen.

He didn't know I was here.

My heart gave one hard, painful thump against my ribs. I instantly shut it down. I reminded myself that I wasn't that girl anymore. I did not run, and I did not hide.

I stood my ground, my posture perfectly straight, my chin held high. I simply watched him approach.

Ten feet away.

Five feet away.

Suddenly, Maxwell slipped his phone into his pocket and looked up.

His eyes swept across the room, and then, they landed directly on me.

Maxwell stopped walking so fast that the man behind him almost crashed into his back.

His eyes widened in absolute, breathtaking shock. His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. His eyes darted over my elegant green gown, my posture, and the people surrounding me.

He looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

I looked back at him with the calm, cool indifference of a stranger looking at a bug on the sidewalk.

Maxwell took a shaky, desperate step toward me, his voice barely a whisper that only I could read on his lips.

"Fiona?"