Chapter 7

The invitations went out the next morning.

Elegant white envelopes with embossed gold lettering, addressed to the most powerful names in high society. By noon, news of the engagement gala had spread across social media like wildfire, plastered across every gossip column and financial magazine.

Saint-Clair & Montgomery: The Merger of the Century.

Sloane barely glanced at the headlines. She had expected the spectacle, expected the world to eat up the story of two dynasties colliding, but she had no patience for the theatrics.

The gala was happening at the Montgomery Estate in Paris, because of course her mother wanted complete control over the event. Sloane could already picture it. Towering floral arrangements, diamond chandeliers, a guest list that read like a who's-who of global billionaires.

Her entire life, Vivienne Montgomery had curated perfect illusions, and this was no different.

Sloane sat at her desk in her Paris office, flipping through the finalized guest list. Every important name was there.

Her gaze landed on one she hadn't expected.

Genevieve Anderson.

Sloane's grip on the page tightened.

She had only met Genevieve once, years ago at a gala in New York. Tall. Blonde. Beautiful in that effortless French way. And the woman who had, at one point, been very close to Vincent Saint-Clair.

Sloane wasn't sure what Genevieve had been to him. A past lover? A serious relationship? Vincent had no public dating history, which meant anyone from his past was a mystery.

And yet, here she was, invited to their engagement party.

Sloane's stomach twisted with something she refused to name.

Her intercom buzzed.

"Ms. Montgomery," her assistant's voice came through. "Mr. Saint-Clair is here to see you."

Sloane sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Send him in."

The door opened, and Vincent walked in like he owned the place.

He was dressed in one of his usual tailored suits, navy this time, the crisp white shirt beneath unbuttoned at the collar. He had that same effortless confidence, the kind that irritated her more than it should.

Sloane didn't bother standing. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Vincent smirked. "I see the invitations went out."

She folded her hands on her desk. "Let me guess. You're here to complain about the venue?"

He exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. "No. I expected your mother to control the event. I came for something else."

She arched a brow. "And that is?"

Vincent pulled a chair across from her and sat down. Too comfortably.

"The guest list," he said simply.

Her fingers twitched against the desk. "What about it?"

"I saw a name that caught my attention."

Sloane's pulse skipped. She kept her expression carefully neutral. 

"Oh?"

Vincent's blue gaze darkened slightly. "Genevieve Anderson."

A slow smirk curled her lips. "Interesting. I was going to ask you about that."

Vincent leaned back, studying her. "Were you?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Who is she to you?"

Something flickered in his gaze. Amusement. Or maybe something else.

"No one important."

Sloane let out a sharp laugh. "I doubt that."

Vincent didn't break eye contact. "She was a business contact."

"Was?"

"She wanted more," he admitted easily. "I didn't."

Sloane's nails tapped against the desk. "And yet, she's on the guest list for our engagement."

Vincent exhaled slowly, as if debating something. "She's a test."

Sloane's brows furrowed. "A test?"

Vincent's lips curved slightly, dangerously. "She wants to see if we're real."

Sloane scoffed. "We're not."

He smirked. "She doesn't know that."

"Are you saying she's going to try something?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," Vincent said, completely unbothered. "And when she does, it will be the perfect opportunity for you to prove to the world that I belong to you."

Her breath caught. He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, but the words wrapped around her like a challenge.

Vincent Saint-Clair was daring her.

She lifted her chin. "And what makes you think I care enough to stop her?"

Vincent leaned forward, his gaze flickering to her lips, then back to her eyes.

"You will," he murmured, voice like a promise.

Her pulse thundered, but she refused to look away. She would never fall into whatever trap he was setting. And yet, a part of her was already plotting exactly how to win.

She refused to be the first to look away.

Vincent's words hung between them, thick with unspoken meaning. You will.

Sloane's pulse hammered in her throat, but her expression remained perfectly unbothered, bored even. She tilted her head slightly, a slow smirk curling on her lips.

"You sound very sure of yourself, Saint-Clair," she murmured, dragging out his name in a way she knew irritated him.

Vincent didn't blink. "I am."

Sloane exhaled a sharp laugh, shaking her head. "You really do think every woman in your life exists to fight over you, don't you?"

His smirk was infuriatingly lazy. "Not every woman." He let his gaze trail over her, slow, assessing. "Just the ones who think they can have me."

Her nails curled against her desk, but she refused to take the bait. "Well, good news. I have no interest in claiming you."

Vincent hummed, as if entertained by her denial. "We'll see."

She exhaled sharply. "Let me make something very clear. I have no intention of playing some ridiculous territorial game with Genevieve Anderson. If she wants you, she can have you."

He studied her, tapping a single finger against the arm of his chair. "If that were true, sweetheart, you wouldn't still be talking about her."

A muscle ticked in her jaw. The worst part? He wasn't wrong.

She hated that Genevieve's presence irritated her. Hated that some part of her was already calculating how to make sure the woman knew exactly where she stood.

Sloane Montgomery did not fight for a man's attention. But she would never let anyone think she had lost, either.

She reached for the guest list still spread across her desk and plucked a pen from her drawer. In one smooth, decisive stroke, she crossed Genevieve's name off the list.

Vincent watched her, expression unreadable.

She set the pen down and met his gaze. "Problem solved."

For the first time, Vincent actually looked surprised.

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Interesting move."

Sloane leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "What's wrong, Saint-Clair? Were you hoping for a jealous catfight?"

Vincent smirked, slow and lethal. "No. But I do love watching you play the game."

She ignored the heat curling in her stomach. "Then consider this my first move."

His blue gaze flickered, like he was cataloging every single thing about her in this moment.

Then, he stood. Smooth, composed, unshaken.

"Duly noted," he murmured, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket.

Sloane leaned back, tilting her head. "That's it? You're not going to argue?"

Vincent exhaled a quiet laugh. "Why would I argue? You just made my job easier."

Her brow furrowed. "How?"

He smirked, stepping closer, just enough to make her breath catch.

"Because now," he murmured, voice low, "you've just proven to yourself that you care."

Her pulse skipped.

She hated him. She hated that he was already in her head, seeing things she hadn't even admitted to herself.

Vincent watched her for a second longer, then turned and walked toward the door.

Before he left, he glanced back. "I'll see you at the gala, sweetheart."

And then, just to be a bastard, he added, "Try not to miss me too much."

The door shut behind him before she could throw something at his head.

Sloane exhaled slowly, fingers curling into fists. She wasn't jealous. She was in control.

And at the gala, she was going to remind Vincent Saint-Clair exactly who he was dealing with.