Chapter6
1179 Words
Anyta
The look on Everett’s face was priceless.
For a man who had built his entire life on control, composure, and cold authority, seeing his mask slip for even a second was enough to make me savor the moment. His mouth opened slightly, as if words had betrayed him. His hand, the same one that had once worn the ring binding me to him, froze midair as he stared at me.
I didn’t look away. Not once. I held his gaze with a small, almost mocking smile tugging at my lips.
“Hello, Everett,” I repeated, softly this time, like a secret between us that nobody else at the door could understand.
The guests behind me shifted impatiently, curious why the line had stopped. His assistant, hovering a few steps away, quickly stepped forward as if to smooth over the awkward pause. But Everett raised his hand slightly, stopping her.
“Miss Rushmore,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate, though the slightest quiver betrayed him. “What an… unexpected surprise.”
I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Unexpected? I thought I was invited. Or was that not your handwriting on the card?”
His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking. He recovered quickly, but not before I caught it. “The invitation was from the family. I didn’t think you would actually come.”
“Oh, but why wouldn’t I?” I leaned closer, lowering my voice so only he could hear. “This house was once mine, after all.”
For a second, I thought he might snap. But instead, he stepped aside, his hand gesturing toward the open doors. “Welcome back… Miss Rushmore.”
The name slid off his tongue like poison. I smiled, brushing past him with deliberate grace, my black halter dress flowing around me like ink spilling across the marble.
Inside, the Ashbourne mansion looked just as I remembered it. High ceilings draped in crystal chandeliers, marble floors polished so perfectly that my reflection followed me with every step, and walls lined with oil paintings of long-dead ancestors glaring down at the living. Nothing had changed—except me.
Once, I had walked into this house as a bride, timid and wide-eyed, unsure of how to fit into Everett’s world. Now, I was no longer a girl bound by fear. I was a woman with a career, confidence, and secrets of my own.
The hum of conversation surrounded me. Laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint melody of a string quartet filled the air. I felt the eyes of strangers trail over me, whispers already spreading.
“Who is she?”
“Isn’t that…?”
“Impossible. She looks—”
I ignored them. Let them talk. I had been invisible once, but now, I wanted every gaze on me.
A waiter passed by and I took a glass of champagne, swirling it between my fingers before lifting it to my lips. The golden liquid burned pleasantly down my throat. I needed that burn.
“Anyta?”
The voice pulled me from my thoughts. I turned and nearly laughed. Siena.
My younger sister stood only a few steps away, draped in a silk gown the color of emeralds. Her hair was pinned back elegantly, her lips painted a shade too bold for her usual timid style. But her eyes—those wide, guilty eyes—were still the same.
She froze when our gazes met, her glass trembling slightly in her hand.
“Siena,” I said, my voice calm, too calm.
“You… you came back.” Her words were barely a whisper, yet I heard the panic behind them.
I took a slow sip of champagne, savoring the way she squirmed. “Did you miss me, little sister?”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. For a moment, we just stood there, two Rushmore sisters staring across years of betrayal and silence. Then she excused herself hastily, nearly spilling her drink as she disappeared into the crowd.
I laughed softly to myself. Some things never change.
But before I could savor that small victory, another presence pulled at me, heavier, darker. Everett had followed me inside.
I didn’t need to turn around to know it. His energy filled the room long before his footsteps reached me. A predator, always circling.
“Three years,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something sharp. “And not a word.”
I placed my glass on a nearby table and turned to face him. He stood impossibly close, towering over me, still in that perfectly tailored suit that fit like it was sewn onto his skin. His eyes were darker than I remembered, stormier.
“You didn’t deserve a word,” I replied.
His jaw clenched again, and for the briefest moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Regret, perhaps? But it was gone as quickly as it came.
“You’ve changed,” he said finally, his gaze trailing over me in a way that felt more like a calculation than admiration. “You’ve become… harder.”
“Maybe I had to.” I straightened my shoulders. “You left me no choice.”
His lips parted, as if to argue, but footsteps approached and interrupted us.
“Everett, darling!”
A woman in a glittering silver gown slipped between us, draping her hand on Everett’s arm as though it belonged there. She was stunning, in that polished, practiced way that only wealth could buy.
She looked me up and down with an expression that screamed disdain wrapped in a smile. “And who is this?”
I smiled sweetly. “Anyta Rushmore. His wife. Well… ex-wife.”
The woman’s eyebrows shot up, and Everett’s hand twitched as if he wanted to pull away from her but didn’t.
“Ah,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “The infamous Anyta. I’ve heard so much.”
“I’m sure you have.” My tone was sharp enough to slice glass.
Everett shifted uncomfortably, his composure cracking once more. For a man who always controlled the narrative, he suddenly had no control at all.
The woman leaned closer to him, whispering something that made him stiffen. Then she excused herself, leaving us once again face to face.
I tilted my head. “Girlfriend?”
He ignored the jab. “Why are you here, Anyta?”
I took another glass from a passing tray and raised it between us. “To remind you that you don’t get the last word. Not anymore.”
His eyes darkened, and for a heartbeat, I thought he might grab my arm like he used to. But instead, he stepped back, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. “You’ve walked back into the lion’s den.”
I leaned closer, letting my breath brush against his ear. “Then I guess it’s time the lion learned who he caged.”
Before he could reply, I walked away.
- Writer
