Chapter Five
Stell a
I breathe a sigh of relief as I escape into a dimly lit corner of the venue.
The sound of clinking glasses and donor chatter fades behind me. Maria’s got things under control — she’s been my assistant long enough to handle the wind-down.
I sink into a plush armchair, my legs finally giving out after hours of standing. The weight of maintaining appearances crashes over me like a wave. My phone sits heavy in my clutch — that awful conversation with Gianni’s ‘girlfriend’ playing on repeat in my mind.
“You held it together well tonight.” Boyana’s voice echoes in my head, familiar and soothing.
I press my fingers against my temples. “Did I? Because I feel like I’m falling apart.”
A waiter passes by with a tray of champagne. I snatch a glass, not caring how it looks. The bubbles burn my throat.
“Remember when Papa used to say, ‘Stand tall even when you’re breaking’?” My imaginary sister’s words make my eyes sting.
“Stop.” I gulp more champagne. “I don’t feel like standing tall anymore tonight.” The thought of escaping from this place is growing increasingly appealing.
The elegant wallpaper blurs as tears threaten again. I’ve spent the whole evening nodding, smiling, directing — being the perfect event organizer while my personal life crumbles. Nick’s worried glances from across the room only made it harder to maintain the facade.
I kick off my heels under the small side table, flexing my aching feet. The physical pain is almost welcome — it gives me something concrete to focus on besides the hollow ache in my chest.
My fingers trace the empty spot on my left hand where Gianni’s ring used to sit. I’d slipped it off in the bathroom earlier, unable to bear its weight anymore. It sits in my clutch now, heavy as betrayal.
The champagne glass trembles in my hand. I set it down before I drop it, watching condensation bead on the crystal surface. Like the tears I refuse to let fall.
A subtle whiff of cedarwood cuts through my champagne haze. My skin prickles with awareness before I even look up.
Dark eyes lock onto mine.
A stranger towers over my chair, his broad shoulders blocking out the chandeliers behind him. His presence fills the space, making my quiet corner feel suddenly intimate. Too intimate.
I straighten in my seat, painfully conscious of my bare feet tucked beneath the chair. Is my make-up smudged? His gaze is intense, almost searching, and I resist the urge to touch my face.
“You are the organizer?” His voice is deep, with a Russian accent that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. “I need to arrange the transfer for my donation.”
“Of course.” I scramble to appear professional, reaching for my clutch with trembling fingers. My hands brush against Gianni’s ring, and I flinch. “I have the banking details right here.”
The stranger’s eyes narrow slightly at my reaction. Heat creeps up my neck as I fumble with my phone, knowing I must look completely unprofessional. But there’s something in the way he’s watching me that makes it hard to focus.
That accent… Images flash through my mind — Papa’s stern face as he taught me Russian vocabulary, Mama humming folk songs in the kitchen. I push the memories away. Now isn’t the time.
“I apologize,” I say, finally pulling up the banking information. “It’s been a long evening.”
His cologne envelops me as he leans closer to see the screen.
The scent is subtle but masculine — cedarwood and something darker, more complex.
For a moment, I forget about Gianni’s betrayal, about maintaining appearances.
I’m just aware of this man’s overwhelming presence and the way my pulse quickens in response.
I force my fingers steady as I pull up the donation form on my phone. “We can process this right now if you’d prefer.” My voice comes out professional, detached — a stark contrast to the chaos in my head.
His hand brushes mine as he takes the phone, and I catch a glimpse of an expensive watch peeking from beneath his crisp shirt cuff. The sleeve pulls back just enough to reveal a tattoo — something dark and intricate disappearing under the fabric.
“The children’s ward needs new equipment.” The words tumble out as I try to distract myself from how his presence seems to fill my personal space. “Every donation helps us—”
“I’ll pledge a million.” His voice is quiet but firm. Long fingers tap the screen, entering numbers that make my eyes widen. The sharp line of his jaw flexes as he concentrates, and I notice a small scar near his temple, partially hidden by dark hair that looks impossibly soft.
“That’s… very generous.” I swallow hard, watching him work. There’s something methodical about his movements, precise and controlled. It draws me in, making me forget about that woman’s voice on the phone.
He hands the phone back, dark eyes meeting mine. “My…” He pauses, something vulnerable flickering across his face, but only for a fraction of a moment. “Children’s causes are important to me.”
The admission catches me off guard. My carefully maintained professional distance wavers. “Do you have experience with children’s hospitals?”
His gaze softens slightly, and I find myself leaning forward, drawn by the hint of personal story behind his businessman exterior. The movement brings his scent closer — I inhale deeply, and my head spins.
It’s the champagne.
That’s all it is.
“You’ve barely had a glass,” Boyana’s voice slips in.
“Are you unwell?” His blunt question jolts me from my muddled thoughts. The gentleness I’d imagined in his expression vanishes, replaced by something more clinical, assessing.
My chest tightens as reality crashes back. Gianni. The other woman. I shift in my seat, heat flooding my cheeks.
“No. I… I’m fine.” The words run into each other. “Just tired from organizing the event.”
His dark eyes narrow, unconvinced. “You’re shaking.”
I glance down at my hands. He’s right — they’re trembling against my lap. “It’s nothing.”
“Clearly.” His tone carries a hint of sarcasm that makes me look up. He tilts his head. “Bad day?”
A laugh escapes me, brittle and harsh. “You could say that.” I press my lips together, surprised by my candor. Something about his direct approach breaks through my carefully constructed walls. “Found out my fiancé has been…” The words stick in my throat.
He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, he pulls up a chair, his movements deliberate and contained. The action shouldn’t feel comforting — he’s a stranger, after all — but somehow it does.
“Been?” His accent wraps around the word, making it sound more like an invitation than a question.
“Living a double life.” The admission comes easier than expected. Maybe it’s because he’s a stranger. Maybe it’s the champagne. Or maybe it’s just the way he’s looking at me — like he sees past the professional mask to the mess underneath.
“Ah,” he says.
I don’t know why I’m telling him this. The words spill out before I can stop them. “He’s been seeing someone else. For months, apparently. I found out when I called him today — right before the event started.”
My fingers twist in my lap. “She knew everything about our relationship. Our engagement. Our plans to move in together.” I pause, swallowing hard. “Even the apartment we were looking at.”
The stranger’s expression shifts — not to pity like I expect, but to something harder. Dangerous. His jaw tightens, and those dark eyes flash with an intensity that makes me catch my breath.
“He discussed your private affairs with another woman?” His accent thickens, voice dropping lower.
“Yes.” The word comes out hoarse. “All of it.”
He leans forward slightly, and I catch another whiff of that intoxicating cologne. “This man — he sounds like a pizda .”
My eyes widen. “A- a pizda ?” I may have been just a teenager when our family left St. Petersburg, but I know enough to recognize that word.
“A cunt.” A dark brow lifts.
I choke a little, and my champagne flute slips between my fingers. I catch it before it falls.
“You’re fortunate to discover his true nature now, rather than after marriage,” he continues smoothly.
His reaction isn’t the sympathetic murmur or awkward platitude I’ve come to expect. Instead, there’s something almost… protective in his response. As if Gianni’s betrayal personally offends him.
“I suppose I am,” I say slowly, studying his face. The harsh lines of his features have softened slightly, but there’s still that dangerous undercurrent in his expression.
“Have dinner with me.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, direct and commanding.
My heart stutters. I grip the champagne flute tighter, the crystal cool against my suddenly warm skin. “I… what? When?”
“Now.”
“Right now?” Red flags wave in my mind. I’ve just told this stranger about Gianni’s betrayal, and now he’s asking me to dinner? It’s too fast, too soon. And yet…
His presence fills my senses — that heady cologne, the intensity of his dark eyes, the way his accent wraps around each word.
“I don’t even know your name,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds breathless even to my own ears.
“Does it matter?” His lips curve slightly, not quite a smile.
“Be careful,” Boyana whispers in my head. “Remember what just happened with Gianni.”
She’s right. I should say no. I should focus on picking up the pieces of my shattered engagement, not jumping into dinner with a mysterious Russian businessman who makes my skin tingle with awareness.
But there’s something about him that feels different. Gianni was all surface charm and practiced lines. This man… his directness should frighten me. Instead, it’s refreshingly honest.
“I don’t usually—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Neither do I.” His eyes lock onto mine, and I see something intriguing flash beneath that controlled exterior. “Say yes.”
My chest tightens. Part of me wants to run — it’s too soon, too intense. But another part, the part that’s tired of playing it safe, of being predictable Stella who always does the right thing, wants to take this risk.
I take a shaky breath, acutely aware of how his presence seems to fill this quiet corner. My fingers trace the rim of the champagne glass, buying time while my mind races.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Boyana’s voice echoes in my head. “You just found out about Gianni…”
But that’s exactly it, isn’t it? Gianni. The perfect fiancé who’d been living a double life, fucking another woman. Heat rises in my chest — not embarrassment this time, but anger.
“Yes.” The word slips out before I can second-guess myself. My heart pounds wildly, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through me.
His eyes darken with something that looks like satisfaction. “Good.”
“But I need to finish here first.” I gesture vaguely toward the main hall. “Give me twenty minutes?”
He nods once, the movement precise and controlled like everything else about him. “I’ll be by the entrance.”
I watch him walk away, my heart racing. What the hell am I doing? This isn’t like me — impulsive decisions, dinner with mysterious strangers.
But maybe that’s exactly what I need. Something completely different from Gianni’s calculated charm and hollow promises.
Maybe tonight I need to do something wild. Something reckless. Something dangerous .
As I watch him disappear into the crowd — this magnetic stranger with storm-dark eyes and an aura of barely contained power — I can’t help thinking that he’s exactly what I need to forget everything else.