Page 51 of Vance

Sophia stares at me, her expression unreadable. “Why?”

“Because my wife doesn’t like a woman I used to fuck working with me.” The words feel clumsy and insufficient.

Her eyes remain fixed on mine. “You’re really going to move her?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never changed anything for me before.”

She’s right. I’ve never had a reason to.

My thumb brushes along her jaw, and an uncomfortable truth settles in my chest. For the first time since this marriage began, I’m no longer making choices because my father’s will demands them. I’m making them because I don’t want her wondering where she stands with me or doubting that she’s the only woman I see.

And that may be the most unsettling part of all… I don’t just want her to belong to me. I need her to know she’s the only one who ever will.

The crystal chandeliers of the Chicago Museum of Art’s ballroom cast prismatic rainbows across the polished floors, each facet catching the light and scattering it like diamonds across the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns. I stand at Vance’s side with perfect posture and a well-rehearsed smile, my arm resting in the crook of his elbow. The black silk gown he selected for me drapes elegantly from a halter neckline, the back plunging low enough to be daring while still remaining sophisticated, the short train skimming the floor behind me with every step.

I am the perfect accessory, the type of partner his clients and investors want to see on his arm. As much as I have tried to fight it these past couple of months, I am becoming the wife he needs—and wants—me to be.

“Vance, excellent to see you.” A silver-haired man approaches, extending his hand. “And this must be the new Mrs. Ashford I’ve been hearing about.”

“Only good things, I hope.” My answer is warm and melodic, carefully measured to sound gentle and inviting. I extend my hand, my grip firm but feminine, with a smile that reaches my eyes even if it doesn’t quite reach my soul.

“Charming,” the man observes, his eyes lingering on my face before slowly rolling down the length of my body. “Though I’ve heard the rumors, I must say, they don’t do you justice.” His gaze returns to mine. “Beautiful seems almost inadequate.”

“I have to agree,” Vance adds as his hand settles at the small of my back, his thumb tracing the bare skin there, a silent reminder of the connection growing between us. “Richard, Sophia has been reviewing the proposal for the new wing. I value her opinion on the funding structure.”

I launch into the talking points Vance and I discussed over breakfast this morning, watching Richard’s eyes light up with interest as I navigate the conversation with ease. I’ve always been good at this: reading people, finding the right words, making connections. But Vance has made me better, more calculated. He challenges me, corrects me, and pushes me to think three steps ahead.

Not long after we finish speaking with Richard, a tall, dark-haired man steps beside Vance, whispering something that makes him glance across the room.

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” Vance apologizes. “I need to take care of something.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my cheek before stepping away, disappearing into the crowd with the man by his side.

I turn toward the room, accepting another glass of champagne from a passing server with a nod. Sipping the golden bubbles while maintaining my smile, I make my rounds, mingling with people who are faking their interest in me as much as I am them.

Feeling Vance’s heated gaze, my skin prickles with the familiar awareness of his attention as I glance across the ballroom. I find him mid-conversation with the governor, a man already positioning himself for a Senate run. Though Vance appears completely engaged in whatever they’re discussing, his eyes, dark and possessive, remain fixed on me. Thirty feet away, surrounded by Chicago’s most powerful people, he remains attuned to me, as though there were an invisible thread connecting us.

“Sophia?” The voice behind me is deep, familiar, and from a previous lifetime. I turn, and my breath catches in my throat.

Conor Reid stands before me, more handsome than I remember, his dark hair slightly longer and jaw dusted with stubble. He’s wearing a charcoal suit that fits him perfectly. Having forgone a tie, his top button is undone in that effortlessly disheveled way that made me fall for him in the first place.

He was my college boyfriend; my first real love. The man I thought I’d build a life with before graduation pulled us in opposite directions. Somewhere between his career taking him west and mine putting me in New York, our calls became less frequent, visits became harder, and eventually, we stopped trying. We never had a dramatic ending. We just simply became two people living separate lives.

“Sophia Bennett?”

“Connor.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

His eyes move over me slowly, openly appreciative. It’s been nearly a decade since he last saw me. Whatever he remembers, I’m not the girl he left behind. His gaze lingers with unmistakable hunger as he takes in the dress and the curves it accentuates. “That dress, Soph… Damn. You look incredible.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and I force myself to maintain my composure. “Thank you. You look well.”

“I look like I just got punched in the gut, seeing you like this.” He grins, that same charming, self-deprecating smile that used to make me melt as he steps closer. “Catch up with me? For old times’ sake? One dance?”

I scan the room, searching for Vance, but I don’t see him. The governor must have pulled him into a private discussion, away from the main floor.

It’s just one dance with an old friend.

“One dance,” I agree, placing my hand in his.