Three Years Later
New York City – The Kingsley Gala
The chandeliers sparkled like stars suspended in a sea of gold. The Kingsley Gala where the rich gathered to toast their egos and the powerful danced in silk and secrets.
But tonight, something shifted.
It started as a hush.
A subtle lull in laughter, then the sound of glasses pausing mid-air. Heads turned. Whispers trailed like smoke.
She had arrived.
The woman in black.
Every eye followed her as she descended the grand staircase with the poise of royalty and the chill of death. She moved like shadow—liquid elegance in a dress that fit her like it had been stitched by sin itself. A black satin number that revealed just enough skin to haunt imaginations, paired with a diamond choker that sparkled like a threat.
Her hair was pinned back in a sleek twist, revealing high cheekbones and lips the color of vengeance. But it was her eyes that held them captive icy, unreadable, and far too knowing.
No one recognized her.
Not the society women who had once gossiped in her mother's garden.
Not the businessmen who once tried to charm her father.
Not even the man who had driven the blade of betrayal straight through her heart.
Because Serena Vaughn was dead.
And Alessia Grey had risen in her place.
She walked into the room like she owned it. And in a way… she did. As the new silent partner of Gravemont Holdings, the corporation now circling Vaughn Corp like a shark, Alessia had returned with power stitched into her bones.
She didn't come to make peace.
She came to make war.
And the battlefield was dripping in champagne.
Her gaze swept across the room until it landed on him.
Ethan Hart.
The man who once kissed her scars and promised forever.
Now laughing beside his newest conquest like her blood wasn't on his hands.
He hadn't changed much—still tall, still arrogant, still every bit the devil in a designer suit. He raised his glass, making eye contact across the room.
He didn't know her.
Didn't see the ghost in her gaze.
Didn't smell the gasoline laced into her return.
Good. Let him stay blind. For now.
"Miss Grey," a voice drawled beside her, smooth as aged whiskey and just as dangerous.
She turned, meeting the obsidian gaze of Lucian Drake—a man with a reputation written in ruin. CEO of Drake Enterprises. Power incarnate. The kind of man who could kill you with charm and claim innocence with a smile.
"You've made quite the entrance," he said, eyes lingering on her with interest that was far from innocent.
Alessia smiled faintly, tilting her head like a cat sizing up prey.
"And you are?"
"Lucian Drake. The one who usually steals the spotlight."
He extended a hand. She didn't take it.
Instead, she turned her eyes back to Ethan… then Camille, standing too close to him in a dress she would've borrowed from Serena's old closet.
Camille.
Her former best friend.
Now the vulture feeding off her corpse.
Alessia's grip tightened around the stem of her glass. "You must be used to attention, Mr. Drake. But tonight, the ghosts are dancing."
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Are you one of them?"
She smiled again, colder this time.
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm the storm that follows."
The music rose again, but the spell hadn't broken. Not really.
Somewhere across the ballroom, Ethan frowned. His gaze lingered on her like déjà vu whispering warnings he couldn't place.
But it was too late.
The doors were closed.
The curtain had lifted.
And the woman he buried was walking among them.
Only this time, she didn't want their love.
She wanted their destruction.
🔥End Line:
And when the truth rose from the ashes… it wouldn't knock.
It would burn.