Twice Burned Twice Desired

There's a kind of pain that doesn't scar your skin, it buries itself in your bones and teaches you how to smile while you bleed.

That's the pain Cosmas Moretti gave me.

And tonight, I get to return the favor.

---

It's been five years since I last stood in a Moretti ballroom, wearing a gown he paid for, smiling like I wasn't dying inside.

Now, I wear a gown I designed, built from threads of revenge and stitched with power. It glitters gold beneath the chandelier light, like it knows I've come to claim what was taken.

My heels click against the marble floors like war drums as I enter the Grand Sapphire Hotel, the stage of tonight's charity gala hosted by Cosmas Moretti.

His name sours my tongue even when unspoken.

The entire space smells like old money and newer lies. Champagne flows, laughter echoes in curated elegance, and cameras flash against gowns worth more than some people's homes.

I know the press will be here tonight.

Good.

Let them see the woman who once walked away shattered, now returned sculpted, sharper, untouchable.

Let him see it, too.

"Ms. Hale," a man in a black suit approaches with a nervous smile. "Your table is ready. Mr. Moretti is expecting all VIPs shortly."

I nod once and follow him through the maze of elites. I pass faces I once served coffee to when I was just his assistant. Now they whisper, nudge, and look twice.

Good.

I want them to look.

Because the girl they remember as the quiet little nobody who dared to marry the billionaire prince is gone. She died the day he signed the divorce papers without looking back.

Tonight, Rita Hale is reborn.

And I didn't come to play nice.

The moment I'm seated, I feel a shift in the room, an invisible current sparking against my skin.

I look up.

And there he is.

Cosmas Moretti.

Still devastating. Still dangerous.

His black tux hugs his tall frame like sin tailored into silk. Jet-black hair, meticulously styled. Strong jaw, slightly more hardened now. And those gray eyes cut from the same ice he used to freeze me out five years ago.

But tonight, he's the one who freezes.

He stops mid-step when he sees me, as if I've punched the breath from his lungs.

Good.

I smile a slow, poised thing and raise my champagne glass to him.

His jaw clenches.

He looks exactly how I hoped he would.

Stunned. Curious. Slightly afraid.

He recovers quickly. Of course he does. Billionaires don't get rattled for long.

He strides over to me, his confidence is a performance I've seen too many times. But I don't rise. I stayed seated, letting him come to me this time.

"Rita," he says, his voice a velvet blade.

"Cosmas," I replied coolly, swirling the gold liquid in my glass. "Lovely venue. You've outdone yourself."

"I could say the same about your entrance," he replies, his eyes scanning me too long to be polite. "You're glowing."

"Success tends to do that." I set my glass down, my smile sharpening. "Though I wouldn't expect you to recognize it on me."

A flicker in his eyes of guilt or irritation, I can't tell.

"You've changed," he murmurs.

I lean forward, letting him catch the barest scent of my perfume. "No, Cosmas. I just stopped shrinking to fit into the space you left for me."

His breath catches. A small win.

One of many I plan to collect.

"You're here for the charity?" he asks, voice softer now.

"No," I say. "I'm here for the acquisition."

He blinks.

"Excuse me?"