The dance had been smooth, even serene—until Elijah's eyes shifted.
His smile faltered just slightly, and his brows drew together in a way that told Sara something had changed. He looked distracted. Distant.
"I know this is going to seem improper," he said suddenly, dipping his head closer so only she could hear. "But I need to step away. Just for a moment."
Sara instinctively glanced up at him. "That's totally fine. Is something wrong?"
But instead of letting go, Elijah's grip on her hand tightened.
He didn't move. He didn't leave.
He just kept dancing.
"Elijah?" she asked, confused by the contradiction. "What's going on?"
"No need to worry," he murmured, his tone calm—but his eyes had already drifted toward the new couple that had joined the floor.
Augustine and Sofia.
Sara's gaze followed his, her own steps slowing involuntarily. Augustine held Sofia's hand like it was made of delicate porcelain. There was no affection in it—only obligation. He didn't smile. Sofia, however, wore the kind of expression that looked designed for public view: pretty, polite, and hollow. A business deal dressed in couture.
Whispers flickered among the other guests. Heads tilted, glances passed like currency. It was a scene curated for attention.
Sara felt her heel stutter mid-step, and Elijah barely dodged the misstep.
"Everything okay?" he asked, eyes still half on her, half on the floor.
She nodded quickly, even as her throat tightened. "Yeah. Yeah, it's fine."
The music shifted, a subtle but sharp transition from elegance to excitement. The tempo quickened, and with it, so did the rhythm of the dancers.
"We have to pick up the pace," Elijah said, his voice more focused now, and Sara nodded, falling back into step.
The dance floor transformed. Lights flickered warmer. More couples joined, synchronized in movement, laughter echoing across the marble room as energy swept over the gathering like a wave. Sara couldn't help herself—she laughed. Her smile, bright and unguarded, lit up her face. She leaned into the rhythm, the joy of it momentarily washing away the heaviness.
"You look beautiful when you smile," Elijah said, his voice low and genuine.
She turned toward him, surprised—and flattered—but just as she opened her mouth to respond, the dance suddenly changed again. A partner switch.
Her hand was released, and before she could fully process it, another hand caught hers—firm and smooth.
"Welcome," said a stranger, tall, striking, his suit sharp as a blade.
Sara gave a polite smile, a brief nod, but her eyes were already searching past him.
Elijah caught her gaze from across the floor, giving her a small reassuring nod. She relaxed slightly. The rhythm kept her moving, guided by her new partner until the pattern switched again.
The man let go.
She spun—expecting Elijah again.
But the hand she grabbed was not his.
Another hand met her waist—cool, steady, and entirely unwelcome.
Sara looked up, and her entire body stiffened.
Augustine.
He didn't say a word. His expression unreadable. The dance called for a lift and he executed it effortlessly, one hand beneath her back, the other guiding her with a precision that was almost too perfect.
Their movements were smooth, too smooth, like two dancers on autopilot, forced into rhythm by expectation.
The music slowed once more, and they didn't switch partners this time. They stayed together.
Sara's hand hovered just above his shoulder, her fingers careful not to touch more than they needed to. Augustine's hands, too, rested on her waist like they wanted to be anywhere else. It was like watching two magnets forced to face the wrong poles—close but never truly connecting.
"When are we going to switch again?" she muttered under her breath, almost to herself, her eyes scanning the crowd.
But Elijah was nowhere to be seen.
Neither was Sofia.
Sara's brows furrowed. Something didn't sit right.
She was stuck in a dance she didn't want—with the one person she absolutely couldn't read. Augustine didn't speak. He didn't look at her. His jaw was tight.
"I think we should stop," Sara said firmly, the finality in her tone making it clear she wanted to be away from him as quickly as possible.
Without a single word, Augustine stepped back, as if he'd been waiting—no, hoping—for her to say it. He turned sharply and walked off the floor without looking back, not sparing her a glance, not offering even the courtesy of a goodbye.
Sara watched him disappear through the crowd, her brows lifting. "Rude," she muttered under her breath, brushing her hand down the front of her dress.
There was no point in staying on the floor now—Elijah had likely found a new partner by this point, and she didn't want to disrupt anything. She took a step back, ready to slip away unnoticed when a voice cut through the music.
"There's still music playing. Want to end the dance with me?"
She blinked, startled. Before her stood a familiar figure, hand extended, dressed unusually sharp in a tailored dark suit.
"Mark?" she said, confused. Her stiff posture relaxed instantly. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't smile, just tilted his head. "Do you want to stand here blocking traffic, or should I explain while we dance?"
Sara glanced around—and realized she was, in fact, in the way of several waltzing couples. With a sheepish shrug, she took his hand. "Fine. But you better talk."
Mark matched her rhythm quickly, his movements clean, assured.
"Like I said—I have a job. And tonight, my job happens to be here."
"Oh, so you work in this party now?" she said, arching a brow.
His lips pressed together before he responded, careful with his words. "Yeah. Sort of."
Sara eyed him skeptically. "What kind of sort of job is this?"
Before he could answer, he smoothly changed the subject. "What about you? Why are you here?"
"I came with a friend," she replied vaguely, her eyes scanning the crowd instinctively. Her gaze flicked in the direction Augustine had disappeared to, still unsettled by his sudden mood shift.
"Your friend being Augustine?" Mark asked dryly.
"What—? No!" she snapped a little too quickly. "Why would I ever come here with him? We were accidentally paired up for the dance. That's all. And I'm very glad he's gone."
Mark let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, but a small smile tugged at his lips. His hand, still holding hers, curled just slightly tighter.
Across the ballroom, Augustine pushed through the crowd, finally pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket. He answered with a clipped, "What is it?"
"We found the SD Construction heir," came the voice on the other end. "He's supposed to oversee the deal between the companies. He's here. Olive suit. Blond hair."
Augustine's gaze sharpened immediately. SD Construction. The same deal Elijah had snatched away from him—worth millions. He hadn't forgotten. And he wasn't letting it go.
His eyes scanned the ballroom with laser focus.
And then they stopped.
Sara.
Laughing.
Her face tilted slightly up, eyes glowing as she danced with a man in an olive-toned suit and tousled blond hair. The man she was with matched the exact description he'd just received.
"Send me a picture of him," Augustine ordered, voice low, cold.
"Yes, sir. Right away."
But Augustine didn't need it anymore. His eyes stayed locked on Sara and the man she danced with. His jaw tightened.
Of course, he thought. Of all the people she could charm…
His fingers curled around his phone.
And he didn't blink.