Chapter 3 THE GALA OF GHOSTS

The Grand Savoy's ballroom was a cathedral of excess, dripping in gold leaf and the suffocating scent of expensive lilies-a smell that made Serafina's stomach turn. It was the favorite flower of the woman who had replaced her. As she stood at the entrance, the heavy oak doors felt like the gateway to a battlefield.

Beside her, Julian Vance-the man who had found her broken in London and helped her forge her empire-offered a steady arm. "You don't have to do this tonight, Sera," he whispered, his eyes scanning the room. "We already have him by the throat. You could just pull the trigger from the boardroom."

Serafina adjusted the silk of her midnight-blue gown, her fingers grazing the cold diamonds at her throat. "No, Julian. I want to see the light leave his eyes when he realizes who is taking his world away. I want it to be personal."

As they stepped onto the marble floor, the sea of elite guests parted. Serafina didn't walk; she glided. She was no longer the girl who hid in the corners of Sinclair's parties. She was the sun, and everyone else was just a cold planet caught in her gravity.

Across the room, Dominic Sinclair stood near a fountain of bubbling champagne. He looked older, sharper, and tired-though he hid it well behind a mask of billionaire arrogance. Lydia was draped over his arm, her laughter shrill and forced, her eyes darting around the room to see who was watching her.

Dominic was mid-sentence with a creditor when his body went rigid. It was as if his very blood recognized her before his eyes did. He turned slowly, his glass pausing halfway to his lips.

The silence that followed was deafening. The orchestra seemed to fade into the background.

Dominic's gaze traveled up the length of her dress, lingering on the curves he used to know by heart, before finally locking onto her face. His jaw tightened so hard Serafina thought she heard it crack. His eyes-those Sinclair-blue depths that used to be her entire world-flashed with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something dark and primal.

"Seraphina?" The name was a ragged whisper that barely left his lips, but in the silence of the ballroom, it felt like a gunshot.

Lydia's head snapped toward her. Her face went pale under her layers of expensive makeup. "That's... that's impossible. She's gone. Dominic, you said she was gone!"

Serafina didn't stop until she was a breath away from him. She could smell him-the cedarwood and the expensive scotch-and for a split second, her heart betrayed her with a painful thud. But then she remembered the check. She remembered the "placeholder" comment. She remembered the sonogram in her pocket that he never cared to ask about.

The ice returned to her veins.

"Good evening, Dominic," she said, her voice smooth as aged bourbon. "You look surprised. Did you think I'd spent the last six years waiting for your check to clear?"

Dominic stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching out as if to touch her cheek, to see if she was a ghost. "Sera... where have you been? What is this?" He gestured vaguely at her, at Julian, at the aura of power she radiated.

Serafina leaned in, her lips inches from his ear. She could feel him tremble-a tiny vibration of his suit jacket that no one else could see. "I've been in hell, Dominic. And I liked the heat so much, I decided to bring some back for you."

She pulled back, her eyes landing on the panicked Lydia. "And Lydia, dear. Your necklace is lovely. It's a shame Sinclair Industries is in such debt; I'm afraid I'll have to liquidate that particular diamond as part of the asset seizure next week."

Lydia gasped, clutching her throat. "Dominic! Do something! Tell her she can't talk to me like that!"

Dominic didn't even look at Lydia. His eyes were glued to Serafina, burning with a frantic, desperate curiosity. "You're the CEO of Valkyrie? You're the one who's been shorting my stock? Why?"

Serafina took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, taking a slow, deliberate sip. She looked him up and down-the way a buyer looks at a piece of fruit that is starting to rot.

"Because, Dominic," she said, her voice ringing out for the surrounding board members to hear. "You told me once that you never lose. I just wanted to be the one to prove you wrong."

She turned on her heel, her silk train whispering against the marble like a warning. Dominic made a move to follow her, but Julian stepped in his path, his hand firm on Dominic's chest.

"The lady is finished with you, Sinclair," Julian said, his voice cold. "Save your breath. You're going to need it to sign the bankruptcy papers."

Serafina walked away, her head held high, ignoring the frantic hammering of her heart. The first blow had been dealt. But as she caught her reflection in the gilded mirrors of the ballroom, she saw Dominic still staring at her-not with anger, but with a hunger that terrified her.

The game hadn't just started. It had become a war.