I wasn't supposed to be there.
That gala — Wallace Walker's annual fundraiser for tech innovation — was the last place a woman like me should have been seen.
I wasn't the star anymore. I was the scandal. The fall from grace.
But something inside me whispered, Show up anyway.
So, I did.
My dress wasn't designer this time — a sleek black number I'd picked from a quiet Lagos boutique. My hair, shorter now, framed my face like rebellion. No entourage, no photographers, no script. Just Diana Hattaway — unfiltered, uninvited, and unbothered.
The ballroom glittered with power. Billionaires, investors, socialites — the same breed of people who once adored me, now pretending not to stare. I could feel their whispers crawling across my skin like ghosts.
> "That's her."
"She looks thinner."
"I heard she's broke."
Let them talk.
Their noise was fuel now.
Then I saw him.
Wallace Walker.
The man whose name was practically currency in every business circle. Billionaire tech mogul. Relentless strategist. The kind of man who built empires before breakfast and destroyed competitors before dinner.
And yet — he didn't look like the ruthless tycoon the magazines described.
There was something quieter about him. Calculated calm. Confidence that didn't need to shout.
Our eyes met across the room.
And the air shifted.
He didn't look away.
Neither did I.
Something flickered — curiosity, maybe. Or recognition. The kind of recognition that says, I see the storm in you, because I've lived it too.
Moments later, a voice interrupted my thoughts.
> "Miss Hattaway, Mr. Walker would like a word."
Of course he would.
---
He waited for me near the balcony — the same place, oddly enough, where my last illusion of love had once shattered. I hesitated, then walked over, heels echoing like a countdown.
"Miss Hattaway," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "I didn't think you'd come."
"I wasn't invited," I replied, lifting a glass of champagne. "That makes me unpredictable."
He smiled — not mockingly, but like he appreciated the honesty. "Unpredictable is underrated."
"Is that your line for all your guests?"
"No," he said. "Just the ones who've been through fire and still walk in like they own the room."
I blinked.
That one landed.
"How poetic," I said softly. "What do you want from me, Mr. Walker?"
He didn't answer immediately. He studied me — not my body, but my composure. The way I hid pain behind elegance. The way my chin stayed high even when my name was dirt in half the world's mouth.
"I want to make you an offer," he said finally. "A real one."
I laughed. "You sound like every other man who thinks he can buy my dignity."
"If I wanted to buy you, Diana, we wouldn't be talking here," he replied smoothly. "I want to partner with you. I read your work — the old designs, the tech models you created before the Hudson scandal. I know who really built that company."
My heart stuttered.
He knew.
He knew.
I steadied my breath. "You're mistaken. I was just a face—"
"No," he cut in, voice sharp but not unkind. "You were the mind. The foundation. James Hudson may have stolen your empire, but he didn't steal your genius."
The words hit like fire and balm all at once.
"What's your proposal?" I asked, wary.
He stepped closer — not invading, but commanding attention effortlessly. "Join my innovation division. Lead a new branch. Your name, your vision, your control. You'll get your revenge not with scandal — but with success."
"And what do you get out of it?"
He smiled faintly. "A partner who's not afraid to rebuild from ashes."
For the first time in months, my chest didn't ache. It burned — in the best way.
Maybe it was ambition. Maybe attraction. Maybe both.
I didn't trust him. Not yet. But I couldn't deny the pull.
There was something magnetic, dangerous, almost intoxicating about Wallace Walker.
He extended his hand. "What do you say, Miss Hattaway?"
I looked at his palm, then at the city lights behind him.
In those lights, I saw the reflection of who I could become again — powerful, unbreakable, reborn.
So I took his hand.
And in that simple gesture, my comeback began.
> "Let's rise," I whispered.
