Evangeline walked away, but her heart pounded like a war drum.
She could still feel Killian's gaze on her, like a phantom touch against her skin. Every nerve in her body was on high alert, her mind spinning with possibilities. What was he planning? How would he strike back?
Because he would.
She had challenged him in front of New York's elite, and Killian Thorne was not the kind of man to let that slide.
Which meant she had to be ready.
Taking a slow breath, she moved through the ballroom, ignoring the whispers that followed in her wake. She needed to regroup, analyze, and plan her next move.
But then—
"Ms. Sinclair."
A voice stopped her cold.
Low. Polished. Familiar.
Her pulse spiked.
Because it wasn't Killian.
It was Samuel Graves.
His presence was as commanding as she remembered—broad shoulders filling out his dark tuxedo, his sharp gaze dissecting her in an instant. He was Killian's right-hand man, a shadow in the background of every major deal, every ruthless takeover.
If Samuel was here, it meant Killian wasn't just watching.
He was moving.
"Samuel," she greeted smoothly, turning to face him. She refused to show weakness, even as the weight of his presence pressed against her. "It's been a while."
"It has," he agreed, eyes assessing. "Longer than I expected."
She smirked. "Well, I do enjoy a dramatic return."
Samuel didn't smile. He never did.
"Mr. Thorne would like a word."
Her grip tightened around her champagne flute, but she kept her expression unreadable.
Of course he would.
And she would be a fool to refuse.
So she tilted her head, feigning curiosity. "Now?"
Samuel's gaze didn't waver. "Now."
A slow exhale. Then she drained the last of her champagne and placed the empty glass on a nearby table.
"Lead the way."
---
The Trap
Samuel led her through a set of tall, glass-paneled doors and into the private terrace overlooking the city.
The moment she stepped outside, the hum of the gala faded, replaced by the cool night air and the distant sounds of traffic below. The view stretched endlessly—a sea of skyscrapers bathed in silver moonlight.
But Evangeline barely noticed.
Because Killian was already there.
He stood near the railing, one hand in his pocket, the other swirling the amber liquid in his whiskey glass. He didn't turn as she approached, didn't acknowledge her presence at all.
But she felt it.
The tension. The power shift.
This wasn't an invitation.
It was a trap.
"Samuel," Killian finally said, his voice smooth as silk. "Leave us."
Samuel gave a curt nod and stepped back inside, closing the glass doors behind him.
And then they were alone.
Evangeline folded her arms, refusing to let the silence unnerve her. "You always did love dramatic meetings," she said.
Killian finally turned, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "And you always did love making an entrance."
She smirked. "Wouldn't want you to forget me."
His gaze sharpened. "That was never an option."
The words sent a pulse of something dangerous through her, but she shoved it down. She wouldn't fall into his rhythm.
"So," she said, keeping her tone light, "did you drag me out here to gloat? Or did you just miss the sight of me?"
Killian let out a low chuckle, stepping toward her. "Oh, Evangeline," he murmured. "You always assume you're the one pulling the strings."
She arched a brow. "Aren't I?"
He smirked but didn't answer. Instead, he took another step closer, the space between them vanishing in an instant.
And suddenly, she felt it again.
The past. The memories.
Late nights in his penthouse, whiskey on his breath, the weight of his hands on her skin. The way he used to say her name in the dark, like it belonged to him.
She clenched her fists. Not anymore.
"I'm not here to play games, Killian," she said, her voice steady.
"That's funny," he murmured, tilting his head. "Because you walked into my gala, in my city, wearing that dress, and you expect me to believe this isn't a game?"
Her breath caught for half a second.
But she refused to let him see it.
She took a step back, creating distance between them. "I came back for me. Not for you. And certainly not for whatever little power struggle you think we're about to have."
Killian studied her for a long moment. Then he smirked, slow and knowing.
"You always did lie beautifully," he mused.
She rolled her eyes, turning away. "This was a waste of time."
She had barely taken a step when he spoke again.
"You're making a mistake, Evangeline."
She froze.
His voice was softer now. Quieter.
She turned just enough to meet his gaze. "Excuse me?"
Killian took another sip of whiskey, his expression unreadable. "You think you're in control. That you can walk back into my world and dictate the rules."
He set his glass down on the railing.
"But you forgot something," he continued. "You forgot who I am."
The words slithered down her spine like a warning.
Killian stepped closer again, and this time, she didn't move.
"You forgot that I don't lose," he murmured.
Her pulse slammed against her ribs, but she lifted her chin. "And you forgot that I'm not the same girl you left behind."
Killian studied her for a moment—then, to her shock, he smiled.
Not his usual smirk.
A real, dangerous smile.
"Good," he murmured. "That makes this much more fun."
Evangeline's fingers curled into fists. She didn't know what he was planning.
But she knew one thing.
This was only the beginning.