The ballroom glittered with the kind of wealth that thinks it's untouchable. Crystal chandeliers cast prisms across marble floors as you moved through the crowd, your billion-dollar net worth disguised by simple elegance. A year of pretending to mourn had been the perfect cover for your true identity - one Zhan Xuan never cared enough to discover before he faked his death.

And then there he was.

Zhan Xuan stood beneath the central chandelier, one arm possessively wrapped around his heiress girlfriend's waist. The camera flashbulbs exploded around them, capturing the 'golden couple' in an intimate pose. His jawline was sharper than you remembered, his shoulders broader, as if he'd been working out obsessively. When he smiled for the cameras, it was a practiced, dangerous curve of his lips that made something primal stir inside you.

You didn't react outwardly. You simply continued sipping your champagne, watching him through the crowd. The Instagram likes from private accounts made sense now - he'd been watching you all along.

His eyes suddenly met yours across the room. The transformation was instant and violent. The smile vanished. The color drained from his face. For a heartbeat, he looked like a man who'd seen a ghost - then something darker, more dangerous, flickered in his gaze.

He muttered something to his girlfriend that made her frown, then began cutting through the crowd toward you with single-minded purpose. His movements were tight with barely contained aggression.

Before you could react, he'd backed you against a column, one hand slamming into the marble beside your head as he crowded your space, his expensive cologne mixing with the faint scent of whiskey on his breath. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "You shouldn't be here. You should be at home... grieving."