Luna’s POV

I was already on the stage, but even through the glare of the chandeliers, I could see their faces in the crowd. Their expressions caught between disbelief and barely concealed gossip. They didn’t believe what was happening. They hadn’t expected me.

My father handed me the microphone, his smile steady, eyes brimming with quiet pride. He gave me the smallest nod, the kind only a father gives when words aren’t enough.

Before I spoke, I hugged him.

“I love you, Dad.” I whispered into the fabric of his tuxedo.

“I love you too, honey.” he murmured back.

He patted my back, and I pulled away, turning to face the sea of people. My fingers tightened around the mic. I could still feel the phantom weight of the last two years pressing on my chest. Two years of being treated like a ghost in my own life, of smiling when all I wanted to do was disappear.

I cleared my throat.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming tonight. Not just to welcome me back, but also to witness this moment on how I became the new CEO of Parker Crown Holdings.” My voice didn’t shake, but my heart felt like it might pound straight through my ribs.

“I know I was gone for two years, but now that I’m back… I promise I won’t leave again.”

Something hot and stinging slid down my cheek. It wasn't grief or regret. Those tears had been wrung out of me in Vincent’s house, drip by drip, until there was nothing left. But this one was different, it felt like reclaiming something I thought I’d lost forever.

Then came the question I knew was inevitable.

“Miss Parker.” a reporter’s voice rang out.

“Where have you been these past two years? And… is it true you were married to Vincent Lee?”

The air in the room shifted tighter and heavier. The sound of crystal glasses settling on tables, and the faint murmur of whispers.

A businessman in the crowd squinted at me. “Yeah, that’s why you look familiar. I’ve seen you at their house before.”

My father’s gaze found mine. He exhaled slowly, as though letting go of something he’d been holding for a long time.

“Go on. Tell them the truth.” he said.

I didn’t need to look for Vincent to know exactly where he was. But when my eyes finally found his, the room seemed to blur.

“Yes.” I said clearly, my voice cutting through the hush. “I was his wife.”

Gasps rippled through the hall. Some were shocked, and some were hungry for more information.

“Was?” the reporter pressed. “What do you mean?”

I gave a short, humorless laugh. “We’re divorced.”

All eyes flicked between me and Vincent. But he stood perfectly still, the picture of calm, but I knew him well enough to see the cracks. He didn't like it.

Another voice cut in. “Why?”

I tilted my head just enough to let him see the glint in my eyes. He was clenching his fists now.

“That’s between us,” I said. “As long as we’re both happy, we’re good.”

They kept asking questions, but I kept my answers neat, polite, and stripped of anything that could ruin the night. This was my party, my stage, and I wouldn’t let him taint it.

After the Q&A, my father and I worked the room, smiling and shaking hands, introducing me to every major player. But eventually, I excused myself, making my way toward Lucas and Damien. We danced, but I could feel something, a stare so sharp it could cut glass. I turned my head and found him. Vincent is standing in the shadows with his eyes burning holes into me.

I left the dance floor, not out of fear, but because the weight of his gaze felt like a chain I refused to carry any longer. I just needed air.

But the moment I stepped into the bathroom, a hand shot out, yanking me into the corner.

My pulse spiked. “Vincent?! What the hell is your problem?!” My voice bounced off the tiled walls.

His eyes were cold.

“You didn’t have to say that.” he said.

I scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to lie? I just told the truth. We’re over, Vincent. You never wanted me, remember?”

For the first time tonight, something cracked in his expression. Sadness or maybe even regret.

“I’m sorry.” he said suddenly.

I froze. Two years of silence, of cruelty, and now he was sorry?

“You’re just sorry because you found out who am I.” I said, each word a nail in the coffin.

He shook his head. “No. If I had—please, give me another chance.” he said.

My lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“I'm sorry.” And I turned to leave.

But his hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me back into him. His mouth came at me, the taste of control and desperation on his breath. I pushed, but he was solid and immovable. My call for help was swallowed by the muffled music outside. Then his hand was sliding toward my thigh, and my body froze. My eyes burned, my strength draining, the familiar helplessness wrapping around me like chains.

And the moment I lose strength and hope, I heard a familiar voice.

“You asshole!” The sound of knuckles cracking against flesh rang louder than the music outside.

Vincent staggered back, clutching his jaw.

I was disoriented until a figure stepped into the dim light. A tall guy who has broad shoulders, and his presence filled every inch of the space. My heart stuttered when my mind caught up.

Adrian Cole. NFL superstar. Star quarterback of the New York Titans. The boy who used to live three houses down from me before fame carried him away.

He grabbed Vincent by the collar, his voice low and lethal. “She said no.”

Vincent shoved against him, but Adrian didn’t so much as sway.

“Touch her again,” Adrian’s grip tightened, “and you won’t be able to hold a glass again.”

“Adriane?” My voice trembled.

His eyes found mine. “Luna? Jesus… are you okay?”

Then it hit him. He looked at Vincent again and realized it was actually him, which made him angrier.

I nodded.

He stepped forward, placing himself between us like a wall of steel.

“Go back to the party. I'll handle him.” he murmured.

Vincent sneered. “What, you think just because you’re some big shot—” but before he finishes his words...

Adrian’s fist slammed into the wall beside Vincent’s head, the sound sharp enough to make my pulse jump. "What? I'm going to kill you." he groaned.

I touched his arm to stop him. “It’s okay. He’s not worth it.”

Adrian looked at me for a long beat, then released Vincent.

“Pray we don’t meet again.” he said, each word was icy.

Without another glance at Vincent, he guided me out into the golden light of the ballroom. His hand was steady and warm against my back. And for the first time in years…

I felt safe.