Page 13 of Reckless Temptation
I stop, glancing back at the entrance. Remembering those genuine moments, the shared vulnerabilities—especially when Lina's tale of betrayal hit a little too close to home. I've felt that knife in the back, that sting of treachery. It’s what's been driving me all these years. But seeing its impact in that room and the raw emotion it dredged up wasn't part of the plan.
I've been in control, steering my life with precision, especially when it came to settling scores with Martin. But this? Feelings of respect, of admiration for his daughter? It's messing with the blueprint.
I sink into the driver’s seat of my car, lost in thought. The revenge, the games—they seemed clear-cut. Now? The lines are blurred.
Isabelle Laurent isn't just a pawn or a strategic ally.
She's a formidable player in her own right, and I'm starting to think she might just be the one to checkmate me.
Chapter 6
Isabelle
Theannouncer'svoiceringsout, "Mr. and Mrs. Martin Laurent and Miss Isabelle Laurent."
Stepping into the ballroom, I'm struck by the grandeur. Massive chandeliers hang above, and the walls are lined with deep crimson drapes. The music—a blend of classic and contemporary—plays in the background, setting the tone for the evening.
Michael Crane is a big deal in the business world, but his wife, Eleanor, is who truly fascinates me. In the tech industry, where women are often in the minority, Eleanor stands out. She's climbed the ranks from a young coder to a top executive, breaking barriers along the way. I've always admired her tenacity and intelligence. I'd been eager to attend this ball, not just for the networking, but to possibly get some face-time with her.
But as I scan the crowd, my thoughts shift to Xavier. Our past encounters were intense, to say the least, and the idea of bumping into him tonight, especially with my father around, makes my stomach churn.
"Lost in thought?" My mother's voice breaks my chain of thoughts. She's watching me, always quick to pick up on my moods. "You okay?"
"Just taking it all in," I reply, trying to sound casual.
She smiles, linking her arm in mine, and we move further into the ballroom. A waiter approaches us, presenting a tray of sparkling champagne flutes. As we each take a drink, my mother's gaze drifts toward a towering cake on display. It's an exquisite creation, multi-layered and adorned with intricate edible gold leaf designs.
"Michael certainly knows how to celebrate in style," she comments, taking a small sip of her champagne.
I nod, equally impressed. "It's incredible. Almost too beautiful to eat."
"We might have to snag a piece before it disappears," my mother jokes, her eyes twinkling with mischief. As I chuckle, someone calls out my father's name.
"Martin!" It's Geoffrey Palmer, a longstanding business associate of my father's. With a broad grin, he strides toward us, his hand extended. "It's been too long."
My father greets him warmly. "Indeed, Geoffrey. Busy times."
Their conversation quickly delves into business, and I can tell they're engrossed, leaving my mother and me to our own devices.
As we continue to stroll through the ballroom, I overhear snippets of conversations about mergers, recent vacations, and art acquisitions. It's the typical chatter one expects at these high-society gatherings, but I find myself only half-listening.
It's then, as we're navigating between clusters of chatting guests, that the crowd subtly shifts. My heart skips a beat as my eyes lock onto a familiar figure. Xavier.
He stands across the room, surrounded by a small group of people. Even from this distance, the sharp cut of his suit and the confident posture are unmistakable. The room's ambient noise fades, replaced by the throbbing of my own heartbeat in my ears. It's as if, for a split second, the entire ballroom ceases to exist.
Our eyes lock. That brief connection carries a rush of memories, emotions, and unsaid words. The intensity of the moment is almost tangible. Warmth spreads across my cheeks, and I quickly look away, trying to focus on anything else—the intricate patterns of the ballroom floor, the shimmering dresses of the guests, the lavish decor.
I hear my mother's soft voice beside me. "That was quite a moment. Is there something you're not telling me?"
"I—I've been collaborating with him on a benefit for EmpowerHer," I manage to say, my voice catching slightly.
My mother's eyebrows lift in surprise. "With Xavier Sterling? Since when?"
"Well," I stammer, feeling trapped, "It's a recent development. He proposed a charity event and, given the cause, I thought..."
"Working with Sterling?" My father's sharp voice cuts in, having overheard our conversation. His gaze narrows at the sight of Xavier, his disdain evident. "Despite his new-found success, he hasn't changed. Always trying to cut corners and make rash decisions."
My mother nods slightly, her eyes still fixed on me, "I remember that messy business deal. It took months for your father to clean up that situation."