They continued to move across the floor, the music carrying them in a slow rhythm that no longer felt as stiff as it had at the start.
Martin's gaze rested on her quietly, taking in the small changes; her shoulders had eased, no longer held so tightly as if she expected judgment at every breath. Her steps, though still careful, followed his lead with less hesitation. Even the way her fingers rested against his shoulder had softened, no longer rigid with uncertainty.
She was adjusting.
Not perfectly, but enough to be noticeable.
At least tonight proved she had an ounce of backbone.
That much was clear.
Which made him wonder why she had tolerated the behavior of the lowly maids earlier. It did not align with what he had just witnessed.
Perhaps that sharper side of her only surfaced when it involved something personal. Her mother, perhaps. Her sister.
His eyes lowered slightly as he watched her attention drift yet again to their feet. She seemed determined not to make a single mistake, placing each step with careful precision, as though one misstep would undo everything she had managed so far.
It looked exhausting.
He exhaled quietly.
How sad. And he made sure not to make her feel measured—right?
His gaze lifted briefly across the room, landing for a moment on his stepmother, who had already moved on to other conversations as though nothing had happened. That was expected. She had made her point already.
A pity.
He would have preferred a longer exchange. It might have taught his stepmother to keep her opinion where it belonged—in her first husband's casket.
He rolled his eyes.
But then again, his family rarely confronted him directly. They preferred subtler methods. And now, his wife had simply become the most convenient way to reach him.
Which meant she would need to learn quickly.
He had no intention of repeatedly intervening for matters she could handle herself.
Besides, he wouldn't want to get his hands too dirty just yet…
They continued moving, their steps now more aligned, the rhythm settling between them.
The evening, however, had begun to lose its appeal. Predictable conversations. Repetitive courtesies. Slow, boring music. Nothing of interest was left.
Then he decided it was enough.
Without warning, Martin came to a stop mid-step.
Victoria faltered slightly before stopping with him, her head lifting in confusion.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice careful.
He did not answer.
Instead, he studied her for a moment longer, noting the way confusion softened her expression, the slight uncertainty in her eyes.
It was alluring to behold…
Then he lifted a hand, signaling a passing servant. The man approached immediately with a tray, and Martin picked up a glass of wine without breaking his composure.
Without explanation, he guided Victoria away from the dance floor.
The shift drew attention almost instantly. Conversations quieted, and heads turned as they moved toward the front of the room. By the time they reached the foot of the stage, the crowd had already begun to settle in anticipation.
Martin turned to face them, one hand still holding Victoria's.
"Good evening!… Thank you all for attending this event," he began, his voice calm but carrying easily across the room.
"I do not often host gatherings of this nature, but tonight marks a change worth acknowledging."
A brief pause followed, just enough to hold attention.
"I have recently taken a wife."
A quiet murmur passed through the guests, though their focus remained fixed.
"And while the circumstances of our union may not have been conventional, I find that irrelevant."
His gaze lowered slightly toward Victoria before returning to the room.
"She is a woman who does not seek attention, yet somehow draws it regardless. There is a certain… steadiness in that. Something I find worth keeping for the rest of my life."
Victoria stood beside him, still, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.
"I value what is mine," he continued, his tone confident. "And I intend to ensure it is treated accordingly."
That was the closest he would come to sentiment.
"To my wife," he concluded, lifting his glass slightly, "may this be the beginning of something worth my whole life to come."
Applause followed immediately, filling the room.
All eyes turned to Victoria.
Martin allowed himself the faintest trace of amusement as he glanced at her. She looked completely unprepared for the attention, her expression far too honest for someone meant to be convincing an audience.
If anything, it made the entire display more believable.
He lowered his glass as the applause faded.
"I also have a gift for her this evening," he added.
The room quieted again.
"I've arranged for a special performance. Dedicated to my wife."
He gestured lightly toward the band.
The lighting shifted subtly, and a soft instrumental began to play, smooth and refined.
Martin's attention returned to Victoria briefly, observing her as she tried to regain composure.
Then the vocals began.
The reaction was immediate.
Her posture stilled. Her fingers tightened slightly. Her eyes peeled wide.
Martin's gaze shifted toward the stage as the band stood.
Although the band played on smooth jazz as the singer's angelic voice filled the room, only one member of the band had his eyes fixed on a particular person in the crowd—his wife.
The guitarist.
Recognition passed between them without a word.
Martin did not interrupt.
He simply watched Victoria as her composure slipped, piece by piece, in a way no one else in the room seemed to notice.
And in that moment, one conclusion settled in his mind.
…The evening had just become interesting.
• • •
Victoria stilled.
At first, it was just the sound.
The change in the music. The change in rhythm. The subtle difference in presence that made her attention lift toward the stage without thinking too much of it.
Then she saw him.
And everything in her body went cold.
Her breath caught somewhere in her chest, refusing to move as her eyes locked onto the figure stepping forward with a guitar in hand.
No.
It couldn't be—it shouldn't be…
Elon.
He stood beneath the soft lights, tall and lean, his frame relaxed in a way that made the space feel smaller around him. His dreadlocks were pulled back loosely, a few strands falling along the sides of his face, and the faint glint of piercings caught the light every time he moved. There was something familiar in the way he adjusted the guitar strap over his shoulder, something that hit too close, too quickly.
Oh no…
Victoria felt a cold chill slide down her spine.
For a moment, she convinced herself he hadn't seen her.
Until his brown eyes locked on hers.
There were too many people, too much distance, too many reasons for him to focus anywhere else but here—but he didn't.
The melody already filled the air around them, each note pulling at something deep in her chest.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass in her hand.
She should look away.
She knew she should.
But her eyes refused to move.
The music played on smoothly, despite the tightening tension locked between their gazes.
It took a moment of repeated blinking for his eyes to look away from her briefly, his fingers gliding over the strings like instinct despite the distraction between them.
Victoria's fingers shook.
The rhythm of his guitar notes was familiar in a way that made her chest tighten painfully.
It felt wrong.
Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong life.
Her heartbeat picked up, loud in her ears, drowning out everything else as the realization settled deeper than she was ready for.
Why is he here?
Her grip on the glass loosened without her noticing.
On stage, Elon adjusted slightly, his focus now on the performance, his expression somewhat calm.
Victoria swallowed hard, her throat dry as her thoughts began to scatter. She needed to move. She needed to—
The glass slipped from her grasp.
It was too loud.
Crystal shattered against the polished floor, the break cutting clean through the music and conversation alike.
Everything stopped—heads turned.
The room fell silent, attention snapping toward her in an instant.
Victoria froze where she stood, her breath caught again, her chest rising unevenly as the weight of a hundred eyes settled on her all at once.
But then, Elon's head lifted.
His gaze found her again. Time seemed to still between them.
Victoria's stomach dropped.
No…
Of all the places.
Of all the moments.
Here.
Now.
And suddenly, the room felt too small and suffocating to remain in—she darted out with long strides.