Chapter 3: The Ex-Factor
1271 Words
The Montclaire Gala was nothing like Emery expected. It was worse and somehow more dazzling.
Held in a restored historic estate overlooking the Hudson, the venue was dressed in gold, crystal, and old money arrogance. The ballroom glowed with chandeliers large enough to crush a Bentley, and every corner smelled faintly of privilege and imported roses.
Emery’s heels clicked on the marble as she and Dominic entered hand in hand. The buzz of cameras still echoed in her ears, but inside, it was all soft murmurs, polite air kisses, and cold champagne.
“Don’t let them scare you,” Dominic whispered beside her. His voice was smooth but sharp, like velvet over a blade.
“I’ve handled in-laws at Christmas. I can survive this,” she murmured back.
He laughed quietly, his hand resting at the small of her back, warm and grounding.
Heads turned.
Some people stared.
Others whispered.
But most smiled... tight, calculating, curious.
Dominic Maddox, Manhattan’s elusive billionaire bachelor, had brought a date. Not a model. Not an actress. Someone no one recognized. Which made Emery the most interesting woman in the room.
“Well,” she muttered. “If I trip, I’m taking you down with me.”
“Fair trade,” he said.
A suited waiter floated by with champagne flutes. Dominic took two, handing one to her.
“Rule four,” he said.
“I thought we only had three.”
“New one: never let go of your drink. These people feed off awkward silence.”
Emery raised her glass. “To survival.”
They clinked.
“To war,” Dominic replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Thirty minutes in, Emery had already smiled too much, lied about enjoying caviar, and learned more about hedge funds than she ever wanted to. Still, she held her own. Years of navigating small-town politics and job interviews had given her social camouflage.
Dominic never left her side.
He was an expert at this, laughing, deflecting, charming without committing. But every now and then, he looked at her, not around her, not past her, but at her, like she was the only thing anchoring him in this whirlwind of performance.
It made her chest tighten.
Which was very off-script.
“I think I’ve made five new enemies,” she whispered between conversations.
“Congratulations. They only hate people who pose a threat.”
“To what?”
“Everything.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t actually like any of these people, do you?”
“God, no,” he said. “Except my mother. Occasionally.”
“Where is she?”
“Plotting, probably.”
The music shifted into a waltz. The crowd parted like a well-dressed sea. Couples began gliding to the dance floor with effortless grace.
Emery tensed. “Please don’t say we have to...”
“It’s expected,” Dominic said, already offering his hand. “You’ll be fine.”
She gave him a look. “I dance like a malfunctioning Roomba.”
He smirked. “Then let me lead.”
She hesitated. Then placed her hand in his.
The moment they stepped onto the floor, something changed.
He held her like she mattered.
Not as a prop. Not as a pawn.
Like she was part of him.
Their bodies moved in sync, slow, deliberate, wrapped in tension so thick it made her nerves hum. The room blurred. The music faded. There was only the warmth of his hand and the calm strength in his frame.
“This is dangerous,” she whispered, too aware of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
“I know.”
They spun, turned, and fell into a rhythm that wasn’t just dance... it was something else.
Connection.
Emery blinked. This wasn’t acting. Not entirely. And the flicker of something in his eyes told her he knew it too.
Then came the ice.
“Dominic.”
Her voice was sleek, polished, and soaked in venom.
Emery turned.
Vanessa Hart stood at the edge of the dance floor like a perfectly dressed warning label. She wore red...the color of war and diamonds like armor. Her smile didn’t touch her eyes, which were fixed on Dominic.
Dominic straightened. His hand on Emery’s back shifted, but didn’t retreat.
“Vanessa,” he said coolly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I wasn’t going to come,” she said, her gaze sliding to Emery. “But then I saw the pictures. Had to see for myself.”
Emery felt Vanessa’s scrutiny like needles. The once-fiancée. The woman who almost married the tycoon now holding Emery like she was a treasure.
Vanessa turned her full attention on her. “You must be Emery. You look… sweet.”
“She is,” Dominic said quickly. “And very real.”
Vanessa’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “Of course. Just surprising. You usually prefer someone… shinier.”
Emery smiled brightly. “He says I have a matte finish. Less glare in photos.”
Dominic choked back a laugh.
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “Enjoy the spotlight, Emery. It’s… temporary.”
She turned on a stiletto and vanished into the crowd.
Emery exhaled. “Wow. She should bottle that energy and sell it as insecticide.”
Dominic didn’t laugh this time. He looked distant.
“She used to be better at pretending.”
“You okay?” Emery asked softly.
He blinked. “Yeah. Just… history.”
She hesitated. “Do you want to go after her?”
He met her gaze. “No. I want to stay exactly where I am.”
They slipped away from the dance floor, finding a balcony that overlooked the glowing river.
Emery leaned on the railing, the cool air brushing her skin.
“I didn’t expect her to be that stunning,” she admitted.
“She’s always been good at entrances. Less so at exits.”
Emery glanced at him. “What happened?”
He hesitated.
“She wanted a life that fit her version of success. A man she could mold, events she could dominate, a future she could script. I didn’t fit.”
Emery nodded slowly. “You don’t strike me as moldable.”
“I don’t bend easily. And when I did… I broke.”
His voice was quieter now. Real.
“I wasn’t enough for her,” he added.
“She was wrong,” Emery said.
He looked at her. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you held my hand when I wanted to run. I know you looked at me like I wasn’t invisible in a room full of billionaires. That counts for something.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he reached for her hand again.
Not for the cameras.
Not for show.
Just… because.
Later, in the car, Emery’s phone buzzed again. Another headline.
Dominic Maddox’s New Flame Dazzles at Montclaire—EX Vanessa Hart Outmaneuvered by Mystery Girlfriend
She tilted the screen toward him.
“Look at us. Outmaneuvering.”
He chuckled. “You’re officially more famous than me.”
“Not sure how I feel about that.”
“You’ll survive.”
She leaned her head back against the seat. “Tonight felt… different.”
He glanced at her. “You regret it?”
“No,” she said truthfully. “But I think we just added another problem.”
“What’s that?”
“This fake relationship? It doesn’t feel very fake anymore.”
Dominic went still.
The car rolled through the city, quiet and slow.
Finally, he said, “Then maybe we’re faking the wrong thing.”
- Writer
