The ballroom glowed with golden light as music played softly in the background. Alaric stood near the bar, dressed in a sharp black suit, his expression unreadable as he watched Sabrina from afar. She laughed—soft, carefree, radiant—and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.
She looked happy. Free.
But Alaric's heart wasn't ready to let go.
Meanwhile, Sabrina's smile was a delicate mask hiding the storm inside. Her heart still remembered every whispered promise, every stolen kiss with Alaric. But too much had happened. Too many secrets. Too much pain.
Suddenly, the music stopped.
A cold breeze slipped into the room like a warning. The double doors at the far end creaked open, and murmurs spread through the crowd. Heads turned. Sabrina's glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the marble floor.
There—standing in the doorway—was Ayla.
Alive.
Breathtaking.
And utterly, terrifyingly real.
She wore a scarlet gown, her long raven hair cascading over one shoulder, eyes dark with mystery. Her presence sucked the air out of the room. The same Ayla everyone thought had vanished. Dead. Forgotten.
Alaric's jaw clenched, his body frozen.
Sabrina took a trembling step back.
No… this can't be real.
But it was.
Ayla walked in slowly, her heels echoing like a drumbeat of vengeance. Her gaze locked onto Alaric, then Sabrina, and something unreadable passed over her face. Cold. Calculated. Daring.
"Miss me?" she said with a sly smile.
Gasps rippled through the guests. The billionaire's hidden wife had returned.
The storm that followed was more emotional than anyone was ready for. Sabrina rushed from the ballroom, her heart pounding. Her hands trembled as she slammed the dressing room door behind her. Tears welled up. She felt… betrayed. Replaced. Small.
How could he not tell her Ayla was alive?
But had he even known?
Moments later, Alaric burst in, his breath shallow. "Sabrina, wait—"
"Don't!" she shouted. "You knew! You knew she was alive and you still—still let me—"
"I didn't know," he said, voice rough with anguish. "I swear to God, Sabrina, I thought she died. She was presumed dead. There was a body… DNA…"
"Then how is she here?" Sabrina snapped, voice cracking.
"I don't know," he whispered, stepping closer. "But I know one thing—what I felt for you, what I still feel… it's real."
Tears escaped down Sabrina's cheek. "You married her. You made vows."
"I made vows I didn't understand back then. You were the one who woke me up, Sabrina. You showed me what love is."
She turned away, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart.
Alaric's arms circled around her from behind. Warm. Strong. Steady.
"Sabrina, please don't shut me out. Not now."
She leaned into him despite herself, his touch unraveling her resistance. But the pain lingered.
"I need time," she whispered.
"I'll give you all the time you need. Just… don't walk away."
Later that night, Ayla waited in the penthouse—alone, sipping wine, the city lights flickering below like stars. Alaric finally entered, tense, expression carved in stone.
"Start talking," he said.
Ayla smiled darkly. "You don't sound happy to see your wife."
"You faked your death," he growled. "You let the world believe you were gone. Why?"
She leaned back on the velvet couch, voice cool. "Because I had to disappear. They were going to kill me, Alaric. I had no choice."
"Who?"
She raised a brow. "Your father's enemies. The ones who wanted me gone because I knew too much. You think your world is built on clean money? You think your empire is pure?"
Alaric's jaw clenched.
Ayla rose and walked over to him, lifting a finger to trace his collar. "I kept your secrets. And I stayed alive. Now I want what's mine."
"I owe you nothing," he said coldly.
Her expression hardened. "We'll see. You were mine before she showed up."
Sabrina spent the night sleepless, staring out the window, her heart a battlefield. She still loved Alaric. Deeply. But Ayla's return shattered every certainty she had.
She didn't blame Ayla—not entirely. But the fear of being second choice, of being the consolation prize… it haunted her.
The next morning, she packed her things.
Before she could leave, Alaric appeared in the doorway, breathless, eyes wild.
"You're not leaving," he said firmly.
"I have to," she whispered. "For me. For my sanity."
He crossed the room in two strides, grabbing her hands. "Then take me with you."
"What?"
"I don't care about the company, the city, the world. I care about you. If you're walking away, I want to walk with you. I can't lose you, Sabrina. Not now. Not after everything."
She searched his eyes and saw no hesitation.
Tears burned in her eyes.
"Do you mean it?" she asked, voice breaking.
He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. "I love you. You are not second. You're my beginning and my end."
And then he kissed her—desperate, raw, aching.
Their mouths met like they'd been starved for centuries. His hands tangled in her hair, hers curled around his shirt. The kiss deepened, his lips brushing against the pulse at her neck, leaving fire in their wake.
Sabrina gasped softly as his hands caressed her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.
"Make me forget everything but you," she whispered.
He lifted her into his arms, walking toward the bed.
Clothes fell like whispers. Skin met skin. There was nothing rushed, nothing forced—just two souls colliding, finding refuge in each other. His lips found every inch of her, worshiping her like a man lost at sea finding shore.
He whispered her name like a prayer.
And in that moment, there was no Ayla.
No past.
Just them.
The next morning brought no peace.
The media had caught wind of Ayla's return. Headlines screamed: The Billionaire's Dead Wife Returns!
Paparazzi camped outside.
Threats arrived.
And then… a note slipped under Sabrina's door.
> "You stole what was mine. Let's see how long you can hold onto him."
— Ayla