Part 7 ( Ellie )

My body moves on instinct, but my mind is still stuck. The warmth of Juliet's hand lingers against my palm, like a brand seared into my skin. My new dance partner takes my hand, leading me into the next turn, but I barely register it. The air in my lungs is sharp, too sharp, burning with every inhale.

What the fuck just happened?

Juliet Baldwin.

Juliet.

Here.

At this masquerade.

I barely manage to keep my composure as I move through the dance, my grip automatic, my feet finding the rhythm without my brain truly processing anything. The music continues, smooth and elegant, but everything feels wrong.

The Juliet I spent years trying to forget. The same Juliet who built an empire while I was rebuilding myself.

Fuck.

My grip tightens slightly around my current partner's waist, my jaw locked as I push through the steps. I don't even glance at them, don't care to. My focus is entirely on the way my heartbeat refuses to slow down, the way my skin still hums with the ghost of her touch.

How the hell is she here?

No. That's not the question.

The real question is, how the hell did I not know?

CEO of Baldwin Lux. That name isn't just recognizable; it's everywhere. Her empire stretches across industries, an untouchable force ruling the highest echelons of society. I've seen that name before, in articles, on magazine covers, in whispered conversations at exclusive events. But I never once put the pieces together. Never once realized she was the one behind it.

How could I have been so blind?

My hands flex slightly, the fabric of my gloves tightening against my fingers.

Because you never let yourself look, my mind supplies bitterly. Because you didn't want to know.

The realization tastes acidic.

The music swells, and I turn, switching partners once more. I barely glance at the woman in front of me, offering a brief, polite nod before following the next sequence. My body is still running on autopilot, the echoes of the last dance still ricocheting inside my head.

Juliet's eyes.

The way they widened in that split second before we both realized. The way her fingers tensed around mine, just for a moment, like she was caught in the same impossible moment I was. The way neither of us spoke.

The way neither of us moved to break away.

I swallow hard, trying to focus, but my chest feels tight, my pulse erratic.

I need to get out of here. I don't belong in this world. I never have.

She does.

The woman I once knew, the one who once held my face between her hands and told me I was the only future she wanted, she doesn't exist anymore.

The Juliet Baldwin standing in that ballroom, wrapped in red and black, moving like she owns every soul in the room?

I don't know her.

And yet, my body still reacts like I do. Like some part of me recognizes her anyway. Like some part of me still remembers.

Fuck.

I push down the sharp, suffocating weight pressing into my ribs, trying to focus on the present, on the damn dance, but it's impossible.

The final note of the waltz lingers in the air, a slow, haunting melody that should fade into the next movement. But I don't wait.

I don't wait for the applause, for the polite bows, for the murmurs of appreciation that follow a performance like this. My steps are quick, purposeful, cutting through the crowd as I head straight for the bar. I don't look back.

I can't. The moment I do, I'll see her. I'll see Juliet Baldwin. I'll see the proof that she's not the girl I used to know.

I reach the bar, exhaling a sharp breath through my nose as I press my hands against the polished wood. The bartender glances at me, waiting.

"Scotch," I say, my voice even despite the chaos in my head. "Neat."

He nods, turning to grab the bottle, and I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the tension sitting heavy between my ribs. My heartbeat is still erratic, my mind racing, looping the last five minutes over and over like a cruel fucking joke.

Juliet. Here.

How the hell did I not know? How did I not put the pieces together?

My fingers twitch against the bar top as the bartender places my drink in front of me. I grab it immediately, taking a slow, steady sip. The burn is sharp, familiar, grounding.

It doesn't help. Nothing will.

I inhale through my nose, flexing my grip around the glass, forcing my mind to stop spiraling, to stop remembering, to stop feeling.

"Ellie?"

The name is cautious, like the person saying it isn't entirely sure if they're seeing things correctly.

My shoulders tense. Slowly, I turn. Mia.

She's perched at the bar, half-leaning against the counter, a nearly empty glass of wine in front of her. Her dark mask covers most of her face, but her lips are parted slightly in shock.

"What the fuck?" she finally breathes.

I stare at her for half a second longer before exhaling sharply and turning back to my drink. "Mia."

She leans forward, eyebrows furrowed beneath her mask. "What are you doing here?"

I take another sip of scotch, letting the heat settle in my chest. "Drinking."

Mia lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, drinking. That's great. You want to try that answer again, Ellie?"

I huff through my nose, rolling my shoulders. "I was invited."

Mia's expression twists, something sharp flickering behind her eyes. "By who?"

I tap my fingers against my glass, my jaw tight. "Anthony."

Mia stares at me for a long second, her head tilting slightly. Her lips part like she's about to say something, but then she stops. Pauses. And then, ever so slowly, something shifts.

Understanding dawns in her features. I see it the moment it clicks.

Her brown eyes widen slightly, her body stiffening before she lets out a soft, almost disbelieving breath.

"Oh my god," she murmurs. "You didn't know."

My throat tightens. I don't confirm it. I don't have to.

Mia watches me for another moment, then sits back in her seat, dragging a hand down her face. "Holy shit."

I say nothing, gripping my glass harder, letting the alcohol burn as I take another slow sip.

Mia exhales deeply, shaking her head. "You had no idea this was her event, did you?"

My jaw ticks.

She huffs out a quiet laugh, but there's no amusement in it. "Fuck, Ellie."

I roll my shoulders, keeping my expression even. "Does it matter?"

Mia's eyes snap to mine, sharp and unyielding. "Does it matter?" she echoes, her voice incredulous. "You're standing in her ballroom, at her event, after not seeing her for years, and you're asking if it matters?"

I don't answer. Because yes, it fucking matters.

It matters more than I have words for.

Mia watches me closely, like she's trying to peel back the layers of whatever I'm thinking, but she doesn't press. Not yet. Instead, she shakes her head again, taking a sip of her wine. "Jesus."

Silence stretches between us, thick and weighted.

Finally, she exhales sharply and leans forward, resting her elbow on the bar. "So," she says, her voice quieter now, more measured. "You saw her."

It's not a question. I don't deny it. My grip tightens around my glass as I nod once.

Mia studies me for a long second before letting out a breath. "And?"

And what? And I felt like the fucking air was stolen from my lungs? And my body recognized her before my mind could catch up?

I swallow hard, glancing down at my drink. "And nothing."

Mia scoffs, but there's something gentler in it now. "Liar."

I huff, rubbing my temple. "Mia."

"Ellie."

"She's not the same," Mia murmurs, her voice dipping into something quieter, something almost... sad.

I lift my gaze to hers. She swirls her wine glass slowly, her brown eyes flickering with something distant. "You know that, right?"

I don't know what to say to that. Of course, I know. I saw it. I saw it in the way she carried herself, in the way she moved, in the way she looked at me like she didn't know whether to run or to stay.

Juliet Baldwin is not the same girl I knew.

I don't answer Mia. She watches me for another moment, then sighs, running a hand through her hair.

Mia watches me carefully, then shakes her head, finishing off the last of her wine. "Look, I don't know what the hell's going through your head right now. But if you think, for even one second, that things are the same between you two..."

She trails off, before she meets my gaze again.

"They're not."

Bella's voice cuts through the thick air between me and Mia, startling me out of my thoughts.

"There you are," she says, relief in her tone as she steps closer. "I was starting to think I'd lost you in this maze of rich people."

I blink, dragging myself back to the present as Bella reaches me. Her gaze flicks to Mia, and she pauses for a second before breaking into a small, surprised smile.

"Mia?" Bella tilts her head slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Mia, still leaning against the bar with a drink in hand. "Same thing as you, I imagine. Being forced into fancy clothes and pretending this is enjoyable."

Bella lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

I force myself to breathe normally, even though my mind is still a fucking mess.

Juliet.

She's still in the ballroom, somewhere beyond the crowd, beyond the dance floor I fled from. I don't look back. I can't. Instead, I grip the glass in my hand a little tighter, keeping my focus on Bella and Mia, grounding myself in their presence.

Bella's attention shifts, her gaze softening slightly as she reaches for my arm. "Hey, you okay? You seem a little... off."

Shit.

I force a smirk, shrugging a little too casually. "Just a lot of rich assholes in one room. It's suffocating."

Mia lets out a quiet laugh, but I can tell she doesn't fully buy it. Bella, though, seems satisfied enough with the answer, nodding in agreement.

"You want to get out of here?" she asks, her fingers brushing against mine. "We don't have to stay if you're not feeling it."

I hesitate.

Part of me wants to take her up on it, to leave and breathe and pretend I didn't just come face to face with my past in the most unexpected way possible. But the other part of me, the part still tangled up in confusion, still caught in the remnants of that unspoken moment, can't move. Not yet.

"I'm fine," I say, taking a slow sip of my scotch. "We just got here. No point in leaving now."

Bella studies me for a second longer before nodding. "Alright. But if you change your mind..."

"I know," I say, offering her a small smile. "I'll let you know."

She squeezes my hand briefly before turning back to Mia. "So, how's life treating you?"

Mia smirks, sipping her drink. "Oh, you know. Same old. Thriving. Aiden is here somewhere. We left the kids at home with the babysitter."

They fall into easy conversation, and I let them, staying quiet as I nurse my drink. I should be listening. I should be engaging. But my mind is still stuck in the past. Still stuck on her.

And no matter how much I try to push it down, I can't shake the feeling that tonight is far from over.

The moment Bella and Mia finish their conversation, I don't waste a second. I set my glass down, straightening as I turn on my heel, heading straight for the one person who owes me some damn answers.

Anthony Vasquez.

I spot him near the center. A marble column, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his usual effortless charm on display as he exchanges words with some investor I don't recognize. I don't care who he's talking to.

My footsteps are sharp, purposeful, cutting through the space between us. Anthony notices me before I even reach him, his gaze flicking to mine, his smirk lazy but amused.

"Ellie," he greets smoothly, raising his glass. "Enjoying the ball?" I stop in front of him, ignoring the man beside him entirely. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Anthony's smirk barely falters, but I see the flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Tell you what?"

I exhale sharply, my patience hanging by a thread. "That this—" I gesture vaguely to the grand ballroom, the glittering chandeliers, the wealth and power dripping from every inch of this place. "—was Juliet Baldwin's ball."

Anthony hums, swirling his whiskey like this conversation isn't currently setting my entire nervous system on fire. "Didn't realize it mattered."

I stare at him. "Didn't realize it mattered?"

He shrugs. "You never asked."

My fingers curl into fists at my sides, tension coiling in my chest. He's not wrong. I didn't ask. I didn't think to ask. But how the hell was I supposed to know? How was I supposed to expect this?

I inhale sharply through my nose, forcing myself to take a step back. Anthony studies me carefully, something like intrigue sparking behind his sharp gaze.

"You good, Crawford?" he asks, voice smoother than it has any right to be.

I don't answer.

I linger for a second too long, my body taut, my mind scrambling for something, anything, that makes this moment less suffocating. But there's nothing.

I need to get out of here.

Without another word, I turn on my heel, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I make my way through the ballroom. I don't care who I pass, don't care who watches. My chest is too tight, my head too loud.

I need air.

The moment I step outside onto the balcony, the cool night breeze rushes against my skin, sharp and biting, but grounding. I exhale, finally letting out the breath I feel like I've been holding since the moment I saw her.

Juliet.

I press my hands against the railing, gripping the smooth metal as I stare out at the city skyline. The lights of Manhattan stretch endlessly before me, shimmering reflections against the Hudson, alive and relentless. I focus on them, on the view, on anything but the way my stomach still feels like it's twisted in knots.

You have a girlfriend, I remind myself, the words firm in my head. Bella is here. Bella is real. Bella is yours.

My body still feels like it's burning, like something just beneath my ribs is trying to claw its way out.

I clench my jaw, inhaling deeply, forcing the thoughts down. It's fine. It's just a coincidence. Just one night. It doesn't mean anything.

I close my eyes for half a second, trying to center myself.

Then, the balcony door opens behind me.