Chapter 8

The Montgomery Estate in Paris had seen its fair share of extravagant events, but tonight, it was hosting a spectacle.

The engagement gala of Sloane Montgomery and Vincent Saint-Clair was the most talked-about event of the season. Every guest was a billionaire, a celebrity, or a power player in some industry that controlled the world. Photographers lined the gated entrance, waiting to capture the first glimpse of the couple who had turned a corporate merger into a love story.

Sloane had spent the last hour perfecting every detail.

Her dress was haute couture, custom-made in deep scarlet, with a dangerously low back and a slit that climbed higher than was appropriate for a woman about to become a wife. Diamonds adorned her wrists and throat, but the real statement was the Montgomery heirloom ring on her left hand. The same one her mother had worn. The one that now tied her to Vincent in the public's eyes.

She looked every bit the untouchable, breathtaking queen the world expected her to be.

And yet, as she descended the grand staircase leading into the ballroom, she felt a familiar burn of irritation at the man waiting for her at the bottom.

Vincent Saint-Clair.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, he looked the part of the devoted fiancé. But Sloane knew better. The slight tilt of his lips? The lazy amusement in his gaze as he watched her descend? He was enjoying this far too much.

She reached the final step, slipping her hand into the one he offered, her skin brushing against his. A necessary illusion.

"You're late," Vincent murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She smiled sweetly for the cameras. "You're predictable."

His fingers tightened briefly around hers—a silent warning—before he brought their clasped hands up to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

The crowd ate it up.

Flashes erupted around them, the sound of photographers calling their names blending into the symphony playing in the background.

Vincent leaned in, his lips brushing against her cheek, his breath warm against her skin. "Smile, sweetheart. You don't want them thinking our engagement is already crumbling."

Sloane turned her head slightly, just enough that their lips nearly touched. Her own smile was pure venom. "Oh, darling. Let them think what they want."

Vincent chuckled softly, a sound only she could hear. "You really don't like losing, do you?"

Before she could answer, a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

"Sloane, my dear."

Her entire body stiffened.

She turned just as Vivienne Montgomery stepped forward, flawless as ever in an icy blue gown, her platinum hair pinned into a sleek chignon. Her mother's gaze flickered over their clasped hands before she gave them both a practiced, charming smile.

"You two look positively radiant," Vivienne said smoothly, accepting the kiss Vincent pressed to her cheek. Of course he played the role of the perfect future son-in-law.

"Mother," Sloane greeted, matching her cool tone.

Vivienne linked her arm through Sloane's, guiding her away from Vincent. "Come, let's introduce you to some of our guests."

Sloane didn't look back at him, but she could feel Vincent's gaze lingering on her as she walked away.

The first part of the night was exactly as expected. Polite conversations, backhanded compliments, the usual dance of power and status. But Sloane was used to it. She could play this game in her sleep.

And then she saw her.

Genevieve Anderson.

Tall. Blonde. Effortlessly elegant in a champagne-colored dress that clung to her slender frame.

Sloane didn't tense, didn't react, but something sharp and unspoken settled in her chest.

Genevieve wasn't on the guest list anymore. She had made sure of that.

Yet, here she was. And she wasn't alone.

She was standing next to Vincent.

Sloane didn't hear a single word of the conversation happening in front of her. Her mother was still speaking, someone was laughing softly, but none of it mattered.

Because Genevieve was smiling at Vincent in a way that felt too familiar. And Vincent was letting her!

Sloane reached for a glass of champagne from a passing server, taking a slow, deliberate sip.

Genevieve didn't belong here. And yet, she had come anyway. Which meant only one thing. 

The girl wanted a fight.

She smiled, slow and lethal. 

Well in that case, she'd be happy to give her one.

Sloane tilted her head slightly, watching from across the ballroom as Genevieve placed a delicate hand on Vincent's forearm, laughing at something he said.

It wasn't a loud, attention-seeking laugh. It was soft, intimate, calculated.

Sloane's nails pressed against the cool glass of her champagne flute, though her expression remained perfectly composed. Unbothered. Effortlessly amused.

Vivienne's voice was little more than background noise now, the conversation around her fading as she studied the scene before her.

Genevieve was playing her hand beautifully—subtle, elegant, intentional. The kind of woman who didn't need to create a spectacle to make a statement. She had been removed from the guest list, yet she still showed up. That alone told Sloane everything she needed to know.

Vincent had yet to look in her direction. A calculated move, no doubt.

Good.

Sloane smirked against the rim of her glass. Let the bastard think he was winning.

She turned back to the group in front of her, effortlessly sliding back into the conversation. A few perfectly timed laughs, a strategic brush of her fingertips against an admiring business mogul's arm. Subtle moves, but enough to ensure that when she did approach Vincent, she would have an audience.

Let him think he had all the control.

She would remind him what real control looked like.

Finally, after just enough time had passed, she set her champagne glass down, excused herself with a dazzling smile, and made her way across the ballroom.

The moment she stepped within earshot, Vincent glanced up.

His eyes flickered over her, sharp and unreadable. She didn't miss the way his fingers tightened around his glass.

Genevieve, to her credit, didn't flinch. Instead, she turned, expression poised, lips curving in a polite, almost mocking smile.

"Sloane," Genevieve greeted smoothly. "You look stunning."

Sloane returned the smile, slow and venomously sweet.

"Genevieve," she said, voice like silk. "I wasn't aware you were on the guest list."

Genevieve's smile didn't falter. "Oh, I wasn't. But you know how these things are. The right name and the right connections can get you anywhere."

Sloane let out a soft laugh, tilting her head. "How charming."

Vincent, the bastard, remained silent, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement.

Sloane turned to him, her smile never slipping. "Darling, I didn't realize you were catching up with old friends."

Vincent's smirk was slow. "Would you like an introduction?"

"Oh, no need," Sloane said, tilting her head slightly. "Genevieve and I are already acquainted. Though I can't imagine what she and my fiancé would have to discuss."

Genevieve's smile sharpened. "Oh, nothing too important. Just reminiscing about old times."

Sloane let the words hang in the air, a quiet hum of tension weaving through the space between them.

Then, she stepped closer, slow and deliberate. She let one perfectly manicured hand slide over Vincent's chest, smoothing over the lapel of his tuxedo.

She felt, more than saw, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

"Well," she murmured, voice just for him now, "I'd hate for you to dwell too much on the past."

Vincent's lips parted slightly, his breath just a fraction heavier.

Genevieve's polite smile turned tight.

Sloane lifted her gaze back to Vincent, her fingertips still resting over his heart.

Then, because she had never been one to play fair, she leaned in and pressed a slow, featherlight kiss to the corner of his jaw.

The air crackled. Vincent's grip tightened around his glass, and she felt the sharp inhale he took.

Genevieve watched everything.

Sloane pulled back, letting her fingers trail off his suit like she had never been affected at all.

She turned to Genevieve, smile flawless.

"Enjoy the party," she said sweetly, then slipped her arm through Vincent's and led him away, leaving nothing but the scent of victory in her wake.

She didn't look back. She didn't have to.

She had already won.