Chapter 50
Making my way down the staircase, I paused on the second-to-last step when I saw Aurora talking to a woman. My brow arched as recognition hit me. Selene Vasquez. The Selene Vasquez—the wealthiest woman in Monaco, heiress to the Vasquez empire.
My eyes narrowed when I noticed Aurora's hand in hers.
"Ro," I called out, my voice cutting through the soft hum of conversation.
Both women turned toward me. Aurora must've realized where my gaze had fallen, because she quickly withdrew her hand from Selene's as I descended the last step and came to stand beside her.
Selene laughed lightly, her gaze flicking to me.
"Sloane Duvall," she said with a subtle nod.
"Welcome back to Monaco—though I suppose my welcome is a few years overdue, isn't it?
" She raised her wine glass in a mock toast, that smug, knowing smirk curling her lips as she took a sip.
"Selene Vasquez," I chuckled, matching her tone with practiced ease. "Fancy seeing you here." My gaze swept the room, curious. "Still alone?"
She straightened, that same smirk deepening. "Hardly." She gestured toward the grand hall where the gala was unfolding in full glamour. "See that chef you hired for tonight's event? She's mine."
My brow lifted, heat flashing in my chest, but before I could reply, she excused herself and disappeared into the crowd—leaving her words hanging between us like a spark ready to ignite.
Crossing my arms, I turned to Aurora with a sharp glare. "I step away for five minutes, and you're already entertaining orders?" My tone came out lower, sharper than I intended—too close to jealousy for my liking.
Aurora blinked, visibly thrown. "What...?" she mumbled, her face flushing. "No! I wasn't even—"
"Should I remind you," I cut in, "that I can pull my investments at any time?" The threat rolled off my tongue before I could stop it.
She stared at me, disbelief flickering across her features before a laugh escaped her lips—soft, disarming, and maddening. "Wait," she said, raising her hand as if to calm me. "Are you jealous, Sol?"
Her words hit harder than I expected. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Then I scoffed, forcing a smirk to hide the knot in my chest. "Hah! You wish, Aurora." I turned on my heel before she could see through me.
She called my name once, but I didn't look back—and she didn't follow. Clicking my tongue in annoyance, I strode back into the gala, letting the hum of applause and chatter drown the irritation burning in my veins.
Guests approached, congratulating me on the partnership and the upcoming wedding. I smiled where I needed to, shaking hands, offering polite nods. But my eyes betrayed me, searching the crowd for her despite myself.
When I glanced back toward where I'd left her, she was gone. My chest tightened. I blinked, scanning the glittering room again, pretending not to care; pretending not to notice the ache that settled quietly beneath the surface.
As time passed, I excused myself from the crowd, wandering aimlessly through the corridors, searching for my great ex, soon to be my wife.
I was about to head toward the staircase when a faint movement caught my eye on one of the private terraces.
My heart gave a small tug as I moved closer.
There she was, Aurora, standing with her back to me.
She clutched her blazer in one hand while the other rested lightly on the railing, her posture heavy with something unspoken.
I swallowed hard and approached her, stopping at her side as I looked out at the horizon.
"I've been looking for you," I said quietly.
She startled, quickly turning to me and wiping at her nose. My brow furrowed when I realized she was trying to hide the napkin in her hand.
"Sol," she croaked, clearing her throat and giving a shaky laugh. "Didn't notice you came." She avoided my gaze, sniffled softly, and rubbed the tip of her nose with her knuckles.
"Why are you out here?" I asked, tilting my head, my eyes tracing her face.
She gave a faint smile and shrugged. "Just wanted to be alone, I guess. I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone." Her voice was light, but the sadness lingered underneath.
I nodded, humming softly as the night breeze brushed past us. A chill ran down my arms, and before I could hide it, she noticed. Without a word, she draped her blazer over my shoulders, adjusting it gently until I was covered.
Our eyes met for a brief, electric moment before she turned back toward the glittering horizon. Her tie hung slightly loose, the picture of composed exhaustion. "I still can't believe I'm getting married," she murmured with a quiet laugh.
I looked at her, my fingers curling around the lapel of her blazer. Her scent clung to the fabric—warm, familiar, painfully nostalgic. "You told me once you'd marry me," I said, laughing softly, though it came out bitter.
She hummed, eyes still on the sea. "And yet... I'm the one who forgot. The one who never did."
I wanted to press her, to ask if I had been nothing more than a distraction—a fleeting indulgence.
But something inside me clenched. I wasn't ready for the answer.
So instead, I stayed silent, letting the distant laughter and music from the gala fill the space between us.
We stood side by side, but I could feel how far apart we'd become. We were no longer the same people who once couldn't spend a day without finding our way into each other's arms.
"Why didn't you ever marry, Sol?" Aurora asked suddenly. She turned to face me, leaning back against the railing with her hands tucked into her pockets. Her gaze held a softness that made it hard to breathe.
I smiled faintly and shrugged. "I'm a busy woman," I said with a quiet laugh, then frowned as I noticed her pallor. "Are you alright?"
She exhaled deeply, lowering her gaze. "I feel a bit dizzy, actually." She gave a weak laugh and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
I stepped closer, instinct taking over. My hands came up to cup her cheeks, the heat of her skin startling against my palms. "Ro," I murmured, searching her face, "you're burning up."
Her hands came up to hold mine, still resting against her cheeks. She shook her head softly. "I'm fine. I can finish the event. Can't let you entertain everyone alone," she said with a faint laugh.
I exhaled, gently pulling my hands away before reaching for hers. "Come on. Let's go inside and sit down," I said, tugging her hand.
She didn't resist—just followed where I led her. I found us a table tucked away from the crowd and pulled out a chair for her before taking the seat beside her.
My body went rigid when she leaned her head against my shoulder. I could hear the steady thrum of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. Clearing my throat, I stayed still. "Ro," I whispered, brushing my fingers along her cheek.
She hummed faintly but didn't reply.
I sighed, letting her rest there. "Remember to block your calendar for the prenuptial discussion, okay? Clear your afternoon. I already sent you the email with the schedule."
"Yeah, I have it handled already," she murmured, snuggling closer to me.
I swallowed hard, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair. "Ro, what are you doing?" I muttered under my breath, trying to shift my shoulder slightly, but she didn't move.
"Sol... I love you," she mumbled. The words were soft, almost lost between us, but I heard them clearly.
"Ro—" I began, but before I could finish, her head grew heavy against my shoulder.
Her body slackened, and I instinctively wrapped an arm around her to steady her.
"Did you just fall asleep on me?" I scoffed softly, looking down at her.
Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and even.
I tilted her head gently, studying her face. A faint smile tugged at my lips, but I forced it away. Why does she keep saying she loves me when she's the one who left? It doesn't make sense.
It only makes me feel used, like I'm nothing more than her lifeline, the one person who can save her company from collapsing. And it hurts, knowing that might be the only reason our lives are tangled up again.
?·???°???°???·?
I was flabbergasted at what I saw on my screen. Blinking, I rubbed my eyes before looking again, tilting my head as a frown creased my brow. Aurora had sent out a meeting yesterday, scheduled for today.
"Didn't I tell her to block her calendar for the prenup?" I hissed under my breath, fumbling through my contacts and dialing her number.
Leaning back against the leather seat, I let my driver focus on the road. The phone barely rang before someone on the other line answered.
"Hel—"
"Don't you dare tell me you forgot our prenup meeting, Ro." I cut her off, straight to the point. She'd told me she had it handled—yet there was a board meeting on her schedule. Rolling my eyes, I clicked my tongue in annoyance.
"What? No, of course not," she protested.
I scoffed, lips twitching. "Oh, really? Then why the hell did you schedule a board meeting? Didn't I tell you to clear your afternoon?" My fingers pressed against my temple, trying to hold back my irritation.
"I'm sorry, okay?" she sighed on the other line. "It must've slipped my mind. I've already canceled everything else. Don't get so grumpy." She tried to lighten the mood, but I wasn't buying it.
"You'd better, Aurora," I warned, ending the call just as my driver pulled up in front of the DeLacroix building. Sighing, I locked my phone and grabbed my handbag, telling him to wait before heading into the lobby.
My heels clicked across the marble as I made my way to the lounge area. I sat down, crossing one leg over the other, and pulled a magazine from the nearby shelf. Flipping through the glossy pages, my eyes landed on a photo of Aurora.
I was still flipping pages when movement caught my attention. Glancing up, I saw Aurora walking toward me. Snapping the magazine shut, I slid it back onto the shelf.
"Sol?" she asked, pointing at me. "Why are you here?"
I stood, clutching my handbag, and walked toward her.
"Just making sure I can drag you to the yacht on time," I said with a shrug, narrowing my eyes at her.
"Seriously, Ro? Are you so stressed you keep messing up your own schedule?
" The click of my tongue was sharp, full of disapproval.
Her face flushed as she looked away. "I already apologized, didn't I?" she muttered.
"Yeah, you did," I said, nodding—then shaking my head a moment later. "Doesn't change a damn thing, though."
She gave a low, humorless laugh. "Just like I can't change the past, right?"
I stared at her. Was she really going to bring that up now? "Are you serious?" My voice hardened. "Let's be real, Aurora—you used me back then. And now here I am, letting myself be used again."
Her brow furrowed; she flinched at my words. But when I looked at her eyes, I saw it—hurt, raw, and unhidden. Her throat bobbed as she looked straight at me.
"You're the one who offered help," she said quietly, stepping closer and taking my hand. "Why make it sound like it's all on me? Yes, I made mistakes. But if I had a choice, I'd never have hurt you."
I didn't know how to respond. Silence wrapped itself around us like a shroud. What did she mean by that? I swallowed hard, studying her face, searching for more—but she gave me nothing.
A humorless laugh slipped from me, my shoulders shaking with it as I pulled my hand from her grip. "But you did hurt me, Ro. That's not something regret can undo." Turning away, I started for the doors. "Anyway, let's just get this over with."
If we kept dredging up the past, I might have opted out of everything. And I didn't want that—not the idea of running, not this time.
Aurora followed closely behind. "I'll get my car and meet you there," she said, already turning toward the parking area.
I reached out and caught her wrist. She froze, looking back at me.
"Who said anything about a convoy?" I arched a brow and tugged her toward my car. My driver, already reading the tension, opened the back door without a word. "Get in."
"But—"
Before she could protest, I jabbed a finger lightly at her throat. "One more word and I'll pull out of the deal entirely."
She swallowed, hands rising in mock surrender. I nodded for her to get inside. She obeyed without another sound. With a sigh, I followed, sliding into the seat beside her, my arm brushing against hers as I adjusted my position.
The door shut. The air felt too close.
"Did you call your lawyer?" I asked, aiming for a teasing tone to break the silence, "or did you forget that too?"
"No. I intended to come alone." Her gaze stayed fixed on the window. "It's better that way."
I hummed, nodding more to myself than to her, leaning back and resting my head against the cool glass. Just as my eyes drifted shut, I heard her voice.
"Sol."
"Hmm?"
"How have you been... these past twelve years?"
Her question made me pause. My eyes stayed on the blur of the city outside. How I'd been?
I scoffed softly and sat up straighter, crossing one leg over the other before turning to meet her gaze. She was already looking at me.
A faint smile curved my lips. "Thanks to you, I've had a terrible life. But also thanks to you, I built an empire. If you hadn't broken me, I wouldn't be who I am now."
The truth I didn't say was heavier: back then, she'd left me alone—pregnant, exhausted, juggling work, study, and survival. When Dione was born, the hardship doubled: a single parent fighting for two. But it had paid off. Eventually.
I saw her eyes widen as if she wanted to say something—maybe apologize again. But I didn't want to hear it anymore. I wasn't expecting an apology.
Shaking my head, I gave her a small, warning smile. "Stop apologizing, Aurora. You're not sorry for what you did. You're sorry because this marriage is business. Publicity. A contract. But regret?" My eyes narrowed. "That's not what you're carrying."
If she'd regretted it, she would have come after me, fought to win me back. But where had she been all those years? Nowhere. She'd thrown me out of her life without ever knowing the woman she loved was pregnant with her heir.
The car fell into silence as we neared Port Hercules.
When we finally arrived at the yacht, Aurora offered her hand as we boarded. We held each other's hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. To the public eye, we were a couple madly in love.
A receptionist bowed and guided us to the reserved suite. My lawyer was already waiting. I sat beside him; Aurora took the seat across. The silence between us stretched tight.
My lawyer glanced between us before laying the portfolios out on the table. Leaning back in my chair, I listened as he walked through each clause of the prenup agreement.
I caught Aurora trying to compose herself, but her reaction was priceless—the way her jaw clenched, her face darkened even as she held her expression neutral. She reached for the portfolio, scanning the text on her own.
When my lawyer finished, I leaned forward, smiling at her across the table.
"Do you understand now, Ro?" My voice was soft but steel-edged. "There's no leaving me. Not this time. Not ever."
I had intended the no-divorce clause to be iron-clad: our marriage irrevocable. But if she demanded a divorce, I'd make sure I walked away with everything. Then she would crawl back. She would beg. She would realize she had always needed me.
Aurora's attention snapped back to me.
Her throat bobbed; she inhaled and reached for the pen.
I watched every small movement. She wouldn't protest?
I'd expected fireworks—a dramatic objection, a flurry of denials.
Instead, she hovered the pen over the paper like she was the calm eye of a storm.
I watched her write. My chest tightened. What the hell was she doing?
She closed the pen, slid it back into the portfolio, and met my gaze. For a beat, everything narrowed to the point of her eyes and the small, steady signature on the page.
"Clause Six—Succession Custody," she read aloud, voice steady.
"In the event of my death or incapacitation, full custody, guardianship, and inheritance rights of any conceived child, biological or adopted, shall pass exclusively to Sloane Duvall. Signed, Aurora DeLacroix."
I snatched the portfolio and flipped it open. My scalp prickled when I saw her handwriting and the signature. "Are you insane?" I hissed. The words came out sharper than I'd meant. What the hell is this?
She shrugged, an almost playful smile ghosting her lips. "You made your conditions clear. Why can't I?"
This was different. I wanted to smash something. "And you really think I'll give you an heir?" My voice rose in spite of myself.
She didn't blink. "I wrote 'biological or adopted.' Don't get so worked up."
I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. When I opened them again, I looked at her, hard. "Fine. But remember—you added this. Don't regret it when you lose everything your legacy was built on."
Her reply came low and raw. "Haven't I already lost what mattered most?" She looked at me like someone offering the last piece of herself. For a second, I almost saw the woman she'd been when we were young: not the heiress, not the CEO, but someone who had lost me.
I clenched my jaw and shoved the portfolio toward my lawyer. He rose, we shook hands, and he excused himself. Left alone together in the afterglow of signatures and legal jargon, the air felt thin.
"Since we're done here, I'll be leaving," Aurora said.
"I didn't say you could leave." I stood. She had no ride arranged—not that I cared; I wanted an answer.
She cocked a brow. "Are we discussing something else?"
I moved closer until I could smell the faint perfume at the hollow of her neck. My fingers closed on her lapel; I pulled until our faces were level. "Why did you do it?" I demanded. "Why write that clause?"
She tilted her head and smiled with a patience that made my teeth hurt. "Because if I'm chained to you for life, Sol, then you're obligated to give me an heir. Besides, don't you need one too? Win-win, isn't it?"
I felt the impulse to tell her everything—about the daughter I'd kept hidden, about the years of hunger and the nights I'd spent alone in cheap flats with a newborn on my chest. I didn't. I let the silence do its work.
I watched her, trying to read the tremor behind her calm.
What game was she playing now?
I opened my mouth and choked on my breath; my face flushed. "How am I supposed to give you an heir? We don't even know if we can!" I hissed. "What if your sperm count—"
I stopped myself, blinking at myself as I spat nonsense in front of her.
Aurora's lips curved into a smirk as she leaned closer. "Damn, Sol," she said, voice low. "I didn't know you were already thinking about how we'd conceive before the wedding. Want a trial run?"
Heat crawled up my neck. I shoved her away. "Shut up!" I snapped, grabbed my handbag, and stormed out of the yacht.
"Hey, wait up!" Aurora called, hurrying after me. "Come on, I was kidding. But maybe you're onto something—maybe we should try, right?"
I sharply turned to face her, raising my fist in front of her. "Aurora DeLacroix, if you don't shut that fucking mouth, I swear I'll smash your brain out of your skull."
She raised her hands, laughing despite herself. "Wow. That's harsh."
"Then shut your mouth!" I hissed and started to walk again.
She fell into step beside me. "How many kids do you want?" she asked, voice low, as if planning a future. "Should I start getting myself checked? I mean, it's been so long."
By the time we reached the car, I faced her again and she straightened, suddenly silent. "Ro," I said, feeling my face burn from her words. "Can you please stop?"
The idea of going back to that intimacy—after twelve years—made something inside me clench.
"What? I was just asking how many kids you want. I'm not asking you to make them with me right this instant," she shrugged as if we were discussing the weather.
"Oh my God!" I groaned and smacked her arm. "Stop!" I warned, widening my eyes.
She grinned and leaned in. "You keep telling me to stop, but your face is redder than red," she teased, pointing.
My heart pounded. That familiar smile, that brightness in her eyes—everything tugged at me. I swallowed hard and remembered how happy we had once been. But that was the past.