Episode5
1127 Words
The dress wasn’t for him.
Leona told herself that as she stood in front of the mirror in the guest room, smoothing her hands over the silky emerald fabric. She wasn’t wearing it for Adrian. She wasn’t wearing it because it hugged her waist or exposed just enough collarbone to tempt a man she once called husband.
She was wearing it because the estate was hosting a charity gala tonight, and Blaise insisted she appear “For optics,” he said.
But as she fastened the last gold earring, and saw the way her eyes darkened when she thought of Adrian’s stare, she couldn’t lie to herself anymore.
Part of her wanted to be seen.
Adrian didn’t knock when he entered, He froze mid-step when he saw her.
Leona turned from the mirror, one heel still unfastened, her bare leg curled slightly under her as she sat on the velvet bench.
His eyes moved over her like a slow burn. From her tousled curls to the curve of her collarbone to the slit in her dress that stopped mid-thigh.
“Wow,” he said quietly.
She looked up. “That’s all?”
He tried to smile. Failed. “If I say anything more, I’ll embarrass myself.”
She arched a brow. “Since when does Adrian Saint-Laurent get embarrassed?”
“Since you walked back into my life wearing that.”
She looked away. “It’s just a dress.”
“No, it’s a memory, one I'd never forget”.
She stilled.
He took a slow step forward, hands in his pockets, came closer to her, keeping eye contact then asked “How were you able to keep a handsome man like me and make me fall in love with you”? For sure married you're married, it must be love.
“That’s because I already had you.”
He tilted his head. “Did you?”
Leona stood, brushing past him to grab her clutch. “Don’t flirt with me.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m remembering.”
The ballroom was all light and crystal.
Chandeliers hung like stars overhead. Waiters moved like shadows between guests in tuxedos and silks. The air smelled like money, cologne, and champagne.
Adrian stood beside her, one hand pressed to the small of her back. Possessive. Protective. Like instinct.
Leona didn’t move away.
Everyone watched them. Whispers trailed behind her like perfume. Adrian Saint-Laurent, back from the dead, with a mystery woman who looked too much like a love story.
Blaise approached with two glasses of red.
“Mrs. Saint-Laurent,” he said with a smirk.
“Ms. Wanjiru,” she corrected, taking a sip.
Adrian chuckled. “She’s stubborn, Blaise. You remember that?”
“Every day of my life.”
Leona turned to him. “And you remember nothing, but still believe I’m your wife?”
Adrian’s voice dropped. “I don’t believe it, Leona. I feel it.”
She stared at him.
The music shifted. A waltz. Something old, elegant.
“Dance with me,” he said.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I remember what it felt like the last time.”
He stepped closer, voice softer. “Then let me make you feel something new.”
His hand was warm against her waist.
Leona’s heart pounded as they moved in slow circles across the marble floor. His other hand held hers gently, his fingers brushing the inside of her palm like a whisper.
She didn’t look up at him.
If she did, she knew it would all crumble the distance, the dignity, the wall she’d spent three years rebuilding.
“I still don’t know how to dance,” he murmured near her ear.
“You’re doing fine.”
“You’re leading.”
“I always had to.”
He twirled her once. She stumbled slightly, and his arm caught her lower back firm, grounding.
Their faces were inches apart.
“I remember this,” he whispered.
She frowned. “What?”
“Not the event. Not the ballroom. You. This feeling. Like my chest is full of heat and silence.”
Her throat tightened.
“Stop,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid of what comes next.”
He didn’t answer.
Because he was afraid too.
They returned to the estate well past midnight.
Alora was asleep. The staff had vanished. The hallway echoed beneath her heels as Leona stepped out of her room, hair unpinned, dress unzipped halfway.
She didn’t know what she was doing.
She didn’t knock. Just pushed the door open.
Adrian stood shirtless by the window, the city lights casting silver over his skin. He turned slowly, surprised but unreadable.
“Leona?”
She stepped inside. Her dress slipped lower on her shoulders. Her voice was barely a breath.
“Do you want to remember me?”
He moved toward her slowly. “Every inch.”
She reached behind her and let the zipper fall.
The dress slid to the floor.
Adrian didn’t move, He didn’t touch her. Just stared like she was a flame and he was cold for too long.
“I’m not asking for forever,” she said, voice trembling. “Just tonight.”
“Why?” he whispered.
“Because I want to feel something that’s mine again.”
His hands reached for her face. “You’re mine.”
“No,” she said, eyes glassy. “Not anymore.”
But still she let him kiss her.
Soft at first. Then harder. Hungry. Familiar.
His mouth traced the places he didn’t remember but his body did.
Her shoulder. The space beneath her jaw. The inside of her wrist.
She kissed him like she was drowning. Like she’d forgotten how to breathe without him.
Their bodies pressed, tangled, relearned.
When they fell back into the sheets, skin to skin, nothing about it felt new.
It felt like a memory finally catching up.
Afterward, she lay beside him in the dark, hair spread across the pillow, eyes open.
He didn’t speak.
She didn’t expect him to.
But after a long stretch of silence, he whispered, “I think I loved you.”
Her chest twisted.
“You did,” she said. “But you loved power more.”
He turned his face to hers. “Then help me remember what mattered.”
Leona wanted to believe him.
She wanted to believe in second chances, and men who change, and nights that heal wounds too deep for words.
But as her fingers traced the scar on his shoulder the one he didn’t know she’d kissed before
She realized something cruel:
She had never stopped loving him.
And if he broke her again…
There would be nothing left to piece together.
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