Chapter 4: A Dance with Fire

The gala was in full swing, a dazzling spectacle of laughter, clinking crystal glasses, and hushed, conspiratorial conversations, all weaving a complex tapestry of sound throughout the opulent grand ballroom. Luna held her posture poised, every muscle taut, her lips curved in an effortless, practiced smile, a mask she had perfected over time. But beneath the polished surface, her mind churned, a whirlwind of anxious calculations. Every glance, every subtle gesture, every seemingly innocuous interaction in the room felt like a deliberate move in a high-stakes chess game she hadn't quite mastered yet, a game with rules she didn't fully understand. She felt like a pawn, moved at will.

Killian stood beside her, an imposing figure of composed power, his presence radiating an almost palpable energy. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, a touch meant to be possessive, a public declaration, yet it felt more like a subtle, chilling warning. He had told her they needed to be perfect tonight, and she intended to play her part flawlessly, no matter the cost.

"Mrs. Blackwell," a smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. Luna turned, her smile never faltering as she met the gaze of an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a sharp, calculating expression. "Or should I say, Miss Aldridge? I must admit, I was surprised to hear about your sudden return."

Luna recognized him instantly—Jonathan Walsh, one of Killian's father's oldest business associates. He had been at the engagement party all those years ago, before everything fell apart.

"Mr. Walsh," she greeted, tilting her head slightly. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. His gaze flickered toward Killian. "And you, my boy, always full of surprises."

Killian gave a polite nod, his grip on Luna tightening for just a second before he spoke. "Change is inevitable, Mr. Walsh. It's how we adapt that matters."

The older man chuckled. "Indeed. And you've certainly adapted well." His eyes lingered on Luna, curiosity evident. "I do hope this time things end differently."

Luna's chest tightened, but she forced a graceful laugh. "I think we've both learned from the past."

Mr. Walsh hummed in response before excusing himself to mingle with another group. The moment he was gone, Luna exhaled slowly.

"Careful," Killian murmured beside her, his voice just low enough for her ears. "People are watching."

She lifted her champagne flute to her lips, masking her irritation. "I'm aware."

Killian's gaze remained steady. "Are you?"

Before she could respond, the music shifted, and couples began drifting toward the dance floor. Luna watched as Celeste Monroe stepped into Killian's line of sight, a knowing smirk on her perfectly painted lips.

"Killian," Celeste cooed, sauntering toward them. "A gala wouldn't be complete without a dance. Care to join me?"

Luna felt the tension in Killian's frame before he masked it with a polite but firm expression. "I'm afraid my wife has already claimed this dance."

Celeste's smirk faltered for the briefest second before she turned her gaze to Luna. "Oh? How lovely."

Luna met her stare head-on, refusing to back down. "Yes. And we wouldn't want to disappoint the guests, would we?"

Killian extended a hand toward her. "Shall we?"

Luna placed her hand in his, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to her own sudden chill, allowing him to lead her onto the crowded dance floor. The moment his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, a familiar, unwelcome heat flushed through her, and she felt her pulse quicken. Their eyes met, and for the first time that night, a flicker of something raw and undeniable, something unspoken, passed between them, shattering the carefully constructed facade.

"Jealous?" Killian murmured, amusement flickering in his voice.

Luna arched a brow. "I should be asking you that."

His lips twitched as he guided her into the dance. The world around them faded, leaving only the rhythm of the music and the slow, deliberate steps they took together.

"You handled Whitmore well," Killian admitted after a beat of silence.

Luna smirked. "I can handle a lot more than you think."

He studied her, his grip tightening slightly. "I don't doubt that."

For a moment, Luna let herself get lost in the dance, in the way Killian's touch felt both foreign and familiar all at once. But the moment was shattered when a sharp voice cut through the air.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

Luna turned her head just as a man in a tailored navy suit approached, his movements fluid and predatory. His piercing blue eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine, a cold premonition.

Adrian Carlisle.

Her breath hitched, caught in her throat. It had been years since she had last seen him, but she would recognize him anywhere, his presence a dark, unwelcome shadow. The man who had once held the strings to a dangerous secret she thought was long buried, now resurfaced.

Killian's grip on her waist became steel-like. "Carlisle."

Adrian's gaze flickered between them, his smirk widening. "Killian. And Luna. What a sight. I must say, I never expected to see you two together again."

Luna forced herself to remain calm, to maintain the veneer of composure, but she could feel her heart hammering a frantic tattoo against her ribs, a stark betrayal of her outward stillness. Adrian had never been one to engage in frivolous encounters, never one to speak without a calculated purpose. If he was here, in this place, at this time, it meant something significant, something potentially dangerous.

Killian's voice was ice. "What do you want?"

Adrian tilted his head. "Oh, nothing. Just a friendly visit. And perhaps a small reminder that the past has a way of catching up to us."

Luna swallowed hard, her fingers digging slightly into Killian's shoulder. This wasn't just a reunion.

It was a warning. A danger.

And she had a feeling that the game she had been pulled into was far from over.