“Exactly my thoughts.”

The guests continued showering Ethan with compliments.

He offered a polite but distant smile, his entire presence cool and detached.

Suddenly, a familiar silhouette moved through the crowd toward him.

Zoe, in a breathtaking crimson gown that accentuated her graceful figure. Her makeup was flawless, amplifying her striking features.

“Mr. Blackwood, what a pleasant surprise to find you here,” she murmured, her voice laced with a soft, flirtatious tone.

A nearby business associate, misreading the situation, inquired, “Mr. Blackwood, is this your wife?” Frowning slightly, Ethan cast a brief glance at Zoe and stated flatly, “No, she is not.” His words instantly doused the room’s lively atmosphere.

The associate’s smile vanished, replaced by a flush of embarrassment. “My apologies, Mr. Blackwood. That was an incorrect assumption.” He quickly excused himself and retreated.

Zoe’s confident composure faltered for a split second, but she recovered swiftly. “Mr. Blackwood, your romantic charm remains… underwhelming,” she teased lightly.

Ethan said nothing, his gaze fixed intently on her.

Under his silent scrutiny, Zoe shifted slightly, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face. She changed the subject. “Did you know Isabella and I worked together at Apex Design Collective for three years while she was abroad?”

Ethan’s expression tightened imperceptibly.

“Why that look? Has your interest been piqued?” Zoe laughed, a playful note in her voice as she observed his reaction.

“It’s rather loud down here. Perhaps we should continue this conversation upstairs?” she suggested, noticing the subtle shift in his eyes.

Ethan’s frown deepened. He disliked being so easily read. Yet, after a brief pause, he gave a slight nod of agreement.

They ascended the staircase, numerous eyes following their movement, curiosity evident. In the secluded VIP lounge above, Zoe poured a glass of wine for Ethan.

“Mr. Blackwood, try this. It was selected specifically with you in mind,” she said, offering him the glass with a practiced smile.

Ethan took a small sip. The wine was bold, spicy, with a complex, lingering finish.

“At Apex, Isabella and I were practically inseparable,” Zoe reminisced, her tone dripping with nostalgia. “We worked together, shopped together, dined together… almost like sisters.”

Ethan listened silently, not interrupting.

“Isabella is exceptionally talented. And so dedicated,” Zoe continued, a thread of envy weaving through her words. “Her designs were always celebrated. She had this magnetic quality that just drew people in…” She let the sentence hang, allowing time to stretch.

“No rush, Mr. Blackwood,” Zoe whispered later, her voice a low, intimate sound in the quiet room, edged with suggestion.

Ethan seemed increasingly affected by the alcohol, his brow furrowed as if trying to concentrate through a haze.

The strong drink clouded his senses, scattering his thoughts. The only clear fragments were Zoe’s endless stories about Isabella and their time at Apex. Yet, deep within the fog, only one name truly occupied his mind—Isabella.

“Mr. Blackwood, are you alright?” Zoe noticed his intense, silent stare, his eyes locked on her with an unsettling intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. Hesitantly, she reached out and placed a cautious hand on his arm, testing his reaction. “Did you… perhaps overindulge?”

Ethan remained unresponsive. His body felt increasingly heavy, his eyelids struggling to stay open. A distant instinct urged him to pull away, but his limbs refused to cooperate.

“Mr. Blackwood, you…” Zoe’s hand drifted upward to his chest, her fingers lightly toying with the buttons of his shirt. She felt a faint tremor run through him. A thrill of triumph sparked within her—this was her moment.

She leaned in closer, her lips slightly parted, her warm breath ghosting over his skin as she whispered, “Mr. Blackwood…”