Seducing my Ex-husband back (Claire) novel Chapter 14

Chapter 14

GHOSTS BETWEEN US

-CLAIRE’S POV~

I’m fucked.

That’s the very first sensible thought I have as I look at myself in the small mirror above the bar cart in the conference room.

I have a smear of lipstick on.

My hair is mussed.

I look exactly like what I am….a woman who just let her ex–husband touch her in ways that would destroy two engagements and a marriage.

Perfect.

I grab a napkin and try to fix the damage, but my hands are shaking too badly to be effective.

Richard’s words echo in my head like a death sentence: ‘You’re still mine. You’ll always be mine.‘

The worst part? He’s right.

I take a shaky breath and smooth down my dress. Time to go back out there and pretend I’m not falling apart. Time to be Claire Winfred, successful businesswoman and devoted fiancée to Alexander Hayes.

Time to lie my ass off.

The ballroom hits me like a wall of sound and light when I slip back inside.

Nothing’s changed, the same glittering crowd, the same orchestra, the same champagne flowing like water.

But everything feels different now.

Tainted.

“There you are.”

I freeze. Alexander appears at my elbow, devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, concern etched across his perfect features.

“I was starting to worry. You’ve been gone for….”

“Just needed some air,” I interrupt, forcing a smile that feels like broken glass. “You know how these events can be.”

His green eyes scan my face, and I see the exact moment he notices something’s off. The tiny crease between his brows. The way his jaw tightens almost gradually.

“Claire.” His voice drops to that low, intimate register that usually makes my knees weak. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look…” He reaches up to touch my cheek, and I have to force myself not to flinch. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

More like being thoroughly manhandled by one.

“Dance with me,” he says suddenly, offering his hand. It’s not a request.

I let him lead me onto the dance floor, hyperaware of every eye in the room watching us.

We’re the golden couple tonight–billionaire and his beautiful fiancée, the fairy tale everyone wants to believe in.

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If only they knew how fucked up fairy tales are.

Alexander pulls me close, one hand splayed possessively across my lower back. We move together perfectly, like we’ve been doing this for years instead of months.

He’s an incredible dancer, all smooth confidence and perfect timing.

So why does it feel like I’m dancing with a stranger?

“Talk to me,” he murmurs against my ear. “Something’s wrong.”

I can feel Richard watching us from across the room. Can practically feel the heat of his stare burning through my dress.

When I catch sight of him over Alexander’s shoulder, he’s standing with Monica, her red dress a slash of color against his dark suit. She’s laughing at something he said, her hand possessive on his arm.

The perfect couple. Just like Alexander and me.

“Claire.” Alexander spins me, bringing me back against his chest. “You’re not here with me.”

The words hit like a physical blow because they’re true.

I’m not here with him. I’m still in that conference room, pressed against the wall with Richard’s hands on my skin and his voice

in my ear.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m just tired.”

“Liar.” But he says it gently, without accusation. “Did someone say something to upset you? One of the investors? Thomas?”

God, he’s so good. So concerned. So completely undeserving of what I’m putting him through.

“No, nothing like that.” I force myself to meet his eyes. “I promise, I’m fine.”

The song ends, and I pull away before he can question me further. “I need some air. Real air this time.”

Before he can stop me, I’m weaving through the crowd toward the balcony doors. I need space. Need to think.

Need to figure out how to salvage this nightmare before it destroys everything I’ve worked for.

The rooftops were calm and not crowded. From the terrace, I can see the city is spread out below as if a glittering carpet had been

laid down.

I grip the railing and take gulping breaths of the cool night air, trying to center myself.

“Running away again?”

I spin around, my heart lurching. Monica stands in the doorway, elegant and predatory in her red silk. She looks like a goddess of war, beautiful and terrible.

“I needed air,” I say carefully.

“Mmm.” She glides toward me, champagne flute in hand. “Funny. Richard needed air around the same time you did. What are the odds?”

My blood turns to ice. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Don’t you?” She stops just close enough to be intimidating. “You always did wear white when you were pretending to be innocent, Claire. Some things never change.”

The insult hits its mark, but I refuse to let her see it. “And you always did look better in red. The color of blood suits you.”

Her laugh is like breaking glass. “There’s my old friend. I was wondering when she’d show up.”

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“We were never friends, Monica. Friends don’t sleep with each other’s husbands.”

“You’re right.” She takes a sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving mine. “Friends don’t. But desperate women do.”

“Is that what you were? Desperate?”

“Weren’t we all?” She moves closer, and I catch her perfume–something expensive and cloying, “The difference is, I went after what I wanted. You just sat there and let it slip away,”

“I trusted you.”

“Your first mistake.” Another sip. Another step closer.

“Did you know he used to call your name in his sleep? Even after we were married, even after you’d disappeared like the coward you are he had call for you.”

The words are designed to hurt, but they hit a different target than she planned. Because if Richard was calling my name in his sleep, it means…

“You are getting good at lying Monica.”

“Am I?” Monica’s smile is sharp enough to cut. “Ask him yourself. Oh wait–you already did, didn’t you? In that little conference room?”

My calm cracks. “You might want to watch your mouth, Monica, the wrong words could create damage.”

“I know Richard Blackwood better than anyone. I know the way he looks when he wants something he can’t have. And tonight?” She leans in close, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Tonight he looked at you the way he used to look at me. Like he wanted to devour you whole.”

“Monica!”

“The question is, Claire…..what are you going to do about it?”

Before I can answer, heavy footsteps echo across the terrace. We both turn to see Richard striding toward us, his tie loosened and his hair Messy.

There’s something wild in his eyes, something dangerous.

“Ladies.” His voice is rough around the edges. “Am I interrupting something?”

Monica straightens, instantly transforming back into the perfect wife. “Just catching up with an old friend.”

“I’m sure you were.” His gaze locks on mine, and I feel that familiar pull in my chest. “Monica, why don’t you go back inside? I need to speak with Claire. Alone.”

“Richard…..”

“Now.” The command in his voice brooks no argument.

Monica’s jaw tightens, but she knows better than to push. “Of course, darling. Don’t keep her too long. Alexander will worry.”

She brushes past me, pausing just long enough to whisper, “Some battles aren’t worth winning, Claire. Some men aren’t worth the fight.”

Then she’s gone, leaving Richard and me alone under the stars.

He moves closer, and I can smell whiskey on his breath. “She’s right, you know. About me calling your name.”

“Richard, don’t…”

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“We were never friends, Monica. Friends don’t sleep with each other’s husbands.”

“You’re right.” She takes a sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving mine. “Friends don’t. But desperate women do.”

“Is that what you were? Desperate?”

“Weren’t we all?” She moves closer, and I catch her perfume–something expensive and cloying. “The difference is, I went. after what I wanted. You just sat there and let it slip away.”

“I trusted you.”

“Your first mistake.” Another sip. Another step closer.

“Did you know he used to call your name in his sleep? Even after we were married, even after you’d disappeared like the coward you are he had call for you.”

The words are designed to hurt, but they hit a different target than she planned. Because if Richard was calling my name in his sleep, it means…

“You are getting good at lying Monica.”

“Am I?” Monica’s smile is sharp enough to cut. “Ask him yourself. Oh wait–you already did, didn’t you? In that little conference room?”

My calm cracks. “You might want to watch your mouth, Monica, the wrong words could create damage.”

“I know Richard Blackwood better than anyone. I know the way he looks when he wants something he can’t have. And tonight?”

She leans in close, her voice dropping to a whisper.

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