The Gala was a masterpiece of money and mirrors. No expenses was spared in its preparation.
The ladies wore Luxury gowns. There was Gold wine. Press was there taking their flashes.
But Ava wasn’t there for photos.
She walked in dressed in obsidian silk — sleek, calm, unreadable — until she saw her.
Delilah.
By the champagne fountain. Laughing. Holding court like a queen returned from the dead.
Ava approached, fire hidden behind every graceful step.
Delilah turned just as Ava reached her.
The crowd sensed tension. Phones lifted. Flashes from the cameras of the press, blinked.
“I’m surprised you showed up,” Delilah purred. “I expected you'd be home licking your wounds — or Liam’s boots.”
Ava smiled.
“A decade later and you’re still bitter I outran you", Ava said.
“Oh, sweethear
