The low hum of instruntal jazz floated through the ballroom like a silk thread, weaving through the sea of elegantly dressed guests. Katherine stood among a small cluster of acquaintances, offering smiles and nods, her fingers tightly wrapped around the hem of her dress.
The golden sparkle of the chandelier above shimred across her dress, adding an ethereal glow to her figure. She looked stunning, poised, even while inwardly her thoughts spun.
Felix had drifted from her side earlier, likely to grab drinks like he said. Katherine’s mind kept returning to the odd tension that blood after his quiet question—Is it that bad if people think we’re dating?
She hadn’t ant to hurt him, not with her laugh, not with the casual dismissal. But she hadn’t known how to respond, either.
A mont later, Felix returned with two glasses in hand. He offered her one, his fingers brushing against hers with a warmth that made her heart flutter.
"Thanks," she murmured, lifting the glass and finishing it in one gulp. The bubbly sting went straight to her throat and then her stomach. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the sudden warmth.
Felix chuckled beside her, watching. "Wow, easy there, thirsty."
Katherine let out a soft sigh. "Sorry. I just needed sothing to loosen the knot in my chest." She gave him a wry smile. "It’s been a while since I’ve had a drink. And tomorrow’s Sunday. The kids are with Irene, so... might as well."
Nights like this didn’t co often. This was a chance. She knew that much.
He smiled back, that warm, patient expression of his that never pressured. "Still, maybe pace yourself just a little. I’d hate to carry you out like a bridal rescue."
Katherine laughed, low and easy. "That’d be quite the sight." Then, her expression softened. She tilted her head to look at him. "Hey, about earlier... I didn’t an to joke like that. If it hurt you, I’m sorry."
Felix paused. For a second, it seed like he wanted to say sothing. Instead, he turned toward a man near the bar and nodded toward him. "That’s Kingswell Holdings’ chairman. We should greet the host."
"Ah—of course," Katherine said, watching him stride ahead. She dropped her empty glass onto a passing tray with practiced ease and followed.
The host, a tall man with graying temples and a warm, authoritative presence, greeted them with a hearty laugh. "Felix Crawford, in the flesh! I thought you were just a myth at these things."
Felix offered a polite handshake. "Well, I figured tonight was worth coming out for. Happy anniversary."
Katherine smiled politely as the n exchanged pleasantries, but her mind drifted to the man now standing before her—Lawrence Addington, Chairman of Kingswell Holdings.
Of course she knew who he was. Everyone in their world did. Lawrence Addington had been a looming fixture in London’s financial elite for over two decades. His empire stretched across real estate, energy, biotech—anything that promised long-term control and higher returns.
Katherine rembered reading about him years ago, long before she started moving in these rooms, when his na was just a footnote at the end of a Business Tis article about the acquisition of an aging pharmaceutical company.
And unlike many n of his stature, Addington hadn’t faded into a ceremonial role. He was still active, sharp, involved.
Katherine wasn’t sure if he rembered her, though. They had only officially t once, two years ago, at a private dinner hosted by the Astons. He’d been gracious then too, engaging her on renewable infrastructure in erging markets. He’d even complinted her "ability to speak like a strategist, not a salesperson"—a comnt she still wasn’t sure how to interpret.
Katherine joined the conversation, offering her own congratulations and charming small talk. They chatted about new developnt projects, the current shifts in the market, and Kingswell’s ambitious plans for the next quarter.
After a few minutes, they excused themselves. Felix touched the small of her back as they walked away. The warmth of his palm lingered, but Katherine distracted herself by the sight of the buffet.
They grabbed small plates of elegantly arranged hors d’oeuvres before stepping through a glass-paned door that led to the spacious balcony. The crisp night air wrapped around them like a whisper. A few other guests were mingling near the edge, but Katherine and Felix chose a quieter corner by the railing.
The moon hung low and full in the sky, casting silver light over the city skyline. Katherine leaned on the rail, lifting another flute of champagne to her lips. This was probably her fourth glass, but the alcohol simply wrapped around her limbs like a gentle haze rather than impairing her completely. Her tolerance was high—an ironic leftover from the days when she and Irene would drink away heartbreak in a shared one-bedroom flat.
"This view is nice," she said softly.
Felix nodded. "Almost as nice as yours."
She rolled her eyes and tried not to smile. "Still going with the complints, huh?"
He gave a small grin. "Only because they’re true."
She glanced at him, heart skipping, but before she could say anything else, he excused himself. "Restroom. Don’t fall off the balcony while I’m gone."
She smirked. "No promises."
He disappeared inside, leaving her with the cool breeze and the soft hum of conversation behind the glass. She leaned further into the railing, her gaze fixed on the moon. For a mont, she let herself breathe deeply.
Then she shifted her foot and felt the floor slip slightly beneath her heel. The world tilted.
"Oh—"
She swayed, her hand fumbling for the railing.
An arm caught her firmly around the waist.
"Careful."
She let out a breath, steadying herself against the strong grip. "Thank you, Fe—"
But as she turned, the word died in her throat.
It wasn’t Felix.
The man who held her steady wasn’t him at all.
It was Leonard.
Her eyes widened, breath hitching. Her fingers instinctively gripped the railing, as if to hold herself up more than the world.
Leonard.
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