Chapter 13: Chapter 13: Shadows in Red
“Not my first gala.”
He sighed and straightened. “I’ll be back,” he said.
But then—he saw it again.
She nodded, watching him go.
Celia had loved dancing.
And just like that, he melted back into the crowd.
“Beautiful dress,” he said casually.
Melanie let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”
The woman turned.
Melanie’s heart thudded.
Aaron raised a brow, amused. “Smug little threats? You’ve grown claws, Mrs. Westwood.”
But Melanie was different. Her movements were tentative, graceful, unsure—but real. Her smile didn’t carry ghosts. Her eyes met his with something warm, something that grounded him.
You’re losing it, Westwood.
No. She was standing up.
“For protecting me. For not making me feel like I don’t belong.”
It couldn’t be her.
That was Leo’s cue.
He approached the figure slowly, careful not to blink. Not to break the illusion.
But it had shaken him more than he’d like to admit. The resemblance was uncanny—enough to stir something long buried. Enough to remind him why he avoided places like this.
She was gone.
Just as he turned to head back inside, his eyes caught movement—a woman in red, standing at the far end of the hallway, facing the other way. Her posture. Her hair. The same silhouette that had haunted him in dreams and regrets.
Melanie’s smile didn’t waver. “You’re just upset he chose someone who didn’t need his money to feel valuable.”
Leo stood frozen, fists clenched.
Without thinking, Leo moved.
It wasn’t her.
There was a glint in his eyes—not flirtation. Something colder. Like he was testing her.
Leo’s eyes darkened. “Careful.”
That earned her a small smirk. “You’re my first brave one.”
“Maybe,” she replied. “But I’ve also grown a spine.”
Each step felt heavier, weighed down by the past. The air was cooler here, thinner. He could hear the faint humming of the chandeliers above, like ghosts whispering.
She blinked up at him, surprised by the note of admiration in his voice.
Who the hell was that?
His heart skipped. “You do.”
Melanie turned.
His heart skipped.
Aaron stood too close to Melanie.
Melanie’s eyes drifted to the dance floor. “So, We still don’t get to dance?”
And behind her, Leo returned—his eyes scanning the crowd, narrowing when he saw the tension in her shoulders.
That made Aaron’s lips twitch—almost like he wanted to laugh. “So naive. He marries you out of nowhere, drags you into a world you don’t belong to, and you think that’s love?”
“You’re not bad at this,” she said.
Leo paused. “You want to?”
It wasn’t her.
Aaron tilted his head. “Still haunted, huh?”
But his instincts were already screaming.
She was speaking.
“It will if I have to bite,” she said.
Aaron leaned forward, his smile sharper now. “You’ve got a mouth on you. That won’t last.”
“Celia?” he breathed, the name like poison and prayer on his tongue.
She used to laugh when he stepped on her toes, then kiss him under chandeliers just like this one.
A tap on her shoulder.
Aaron leaned in slightly. “You really believe Leonard cares about you?”
“I know your type,” she continued. “Bitter little men who think power is in intimidation. But you only look big because you surround yourself with shadows.”
“For what?”
He stepped between them, slow and deliberate.
Then—
Aaron smirked. “Some things never change.”
As they swayed, Leo’s thoughts drifted.
He inhaled deeply, dragging his fingers through his hair.
When he stepped back into the ballroom, the noise returned all at once. Warm lights, slow music, clinking glasses. Laughter that felt too bright. Too hollow.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Melanie smiled, cold. “He doesn’t need to lie to get attention. You do.”
He took her hand and led her to the floor.
They stood there a second longer before he handed her a glass of champagne.
Aaron took a step back, expression faltering.
Just a trick of the light.
“You’re still not drinking?” she asked.
Her fingers curled slightly against his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Before she could reply, a server leaned down and whispered something in Leo’s ear.
“Not yet,” he said with a tilt of his head. “But we will.”
Their eyes met briefly. The music spun around them.
Aaron’s smirk wavered.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” Melanie said, voice calm but biting, “but if you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ll need more than smug little threats and creepy smirks.”
Leo slowed his pace just enough to listen before interfering.
Aaron’s gaze shifted lazily. “Leonard,” he said. “You’re raising quite the storm.”
Leo looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. “You didn’t. You held your ground.”
“I don’t trust anything I didn’t pour myself.”
“She’s not your friend. And you’re out of line.”
But this time—she wasn’t shrinking away.
Dead and buried.
Leo looked away. “Here. In this room. With me.”
“Or your first fake wife?”
The dress was different up close. The hair—shorter. Her eyes were unfamiliar. She gave him a confused glance before walking away, disappearing into the powder room with a huff.
Leo’s breath fogged faintly as he stood just outside the ballroom, near the arched marble threshold. His chest rose and fell with quiet intensity, his mind a war zone of memories and shadows. The glimpse he’d caught earlier—the crimson dress, the black hair, the haunting elegance—was still fresh in his mind.
She hesitated, then smiled. “I think it’ll help me feel less like I accidentally walked into a Netflix drama.”
Her lips lifted. “That’s… paranoid.”
“You think I’m scared of you?” Melanie’s voice was calm, controlled. “You don’t even scare yourself. That’s why you provoke people—you’re trying to feel relevant.”
“Thanks,” she replied cautiously. “Do we know each other?”
He gave her a glance. “That’s surviving.”
Leo blinked. That fire in her—he hadn’t seen it before. And it stunned him.
She blinked. “What?”
Aaron raised his hands mockingly. “Just a friendly conversation.”
And then he saw them.
Before she could say another word—he was gone. Slipped into the crowd like mist.
He didn’t ask right away.
Leo’s tone was ice. “Step away.”
A breath of laughter escaped him. “Come on then.”
The hallway was still. Too still.
The man standing there was unfamiliar. Tall, well-dressed, early thirties maybe. His face was handsome in an ordinary way—but his eyes? Cold. Sharp. Intelligent.
He turned to Melanie. “Watch your back, Mrs. Westwood. You’ll realize soon enough what being married to him really costs.”
A cruel coincidence.
