"And now, please welcome our special guest photographer—the mysterious artist who just won the International Golden Image Award—Ms. Z!"
The spotlight swung to the main entrance.
The doors swept open.
I strode in.
Black jumpsuit, sharp and tailored. Camera in hand. Four-inch heels clicking against marble.
My hair was pulled back high, exposing the clean lines of my face.
Red lips. Blazing.
I owned every inch of that room.
Aiden's smile froze mid-curve.
He stared at me like he was seeing a stranger—like he'd never known me at all.
I walked past him without so much as a sideways glance. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
Straight to the stage. Took the microphone from the emcee's hand.
"Good evening, everyone. I'm Miranda Baxter."
A pause. Then:
"Also known as Mr. Stephens' ex-wife."
The room erupted.
Aiden's face turned to stone. Then darker—thundercloud black.
I met his gaze and let my lips curl. Just slightly. Eyes glinting with challenge.
"Mr. Stephens, you told me last night I had no sense of grace."
"Tonight, I'll show you what it really means to be blind."
