Bought By My Obsessive Billionaire Ex

Aubrey pressed her spine against the freezing surface of the swan ice sculpture, desperate to shrink into the shadows of the Vance estate ballroom.

The cold seeped through the thin silk of her dark red dress, but it did nothing to slow her racing heart.

She lifted a crystal flute to her lips, taking a slow sip of champagne. The bubbles burned the back of her throat, a harsh distraction from the suffocating anxiety twisting in her stomach.

"Hiding already?"

Aubrey flinched. Beatrice Vance appeared beside her, wearing a custom haute couture gown and a teasing smirk.

"I'm not hiding," Aubrey lied, her fingers tightening around the fragile stem of her glass. "Just avoiding the cameras."

Beatrice leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to stay out here. Word is the heir to the Wyatt empire is arriving tonight. My dad's face went completely pale just talking about it, and the air pressure in the ballroom has already dropped ten degrees."

Before Aubrey could ask who, the heavy oak double doors at the entrance of the ballroom were violently pulled open by two waiters.

The deafening symphony orchestra continued to play, but the loud chatter of hundreds of guests instantly dropped to a hushed murmur. People unconsciously lowered their voices, their heads turning toward the doors as a heavy, suffocating mix of awe and tension flooded the room.

Aubrey's head snapped toward the entrance, driven by the same magnetic pull that silenced the crowd.

Callum Wyatt stepped into the halo of the massive crystal chandelier.

He wore a tailored black Tom Ford suit that clung to his broad shoulders.

Aubrey's lungs seized. The air was physically punched out of her chest.

She immediately took a half-step backward, letting the thick shadow of a Roman pillar swallow her completely. Her hand shook so violently that the champagne threatened to spill over the rim of her glass.

Callum stood at the entrance, his face an unreadable mask of cold stone. He unbuttoned his expensive cashmere overcoat and shoved it into the waiting hands of Reginald, the head butler, without a single glance.

Then, he looked up.

His dark, predatory eyes swept across the ballroom. It wasn't a casual look. It was a hunt.

Even hidden behind the pillar, the hairs on the back of Aubrey's neck stood up. A violent chill shot down her spine. She felt like a rabbit caught in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle.

Beatrice, entirely oblivious to Aubrey's internal collapse, nudged her arm.

"Come on," Beatrice whispered. "Let's go say hi before the vultures swarm him."

Aubrey immediately reached up, pressing two fingers hard against her temple.

"I can't," Aubrey said, forcing her voice to stay steady. "A migraine just hit me. It's blinding."

Beatrice's smile fell, replaced by genuine concern. "Oh, no. Do you need to go up to a guest room?"

"I just need some quiet," Aubrey murmured, already stepping further back. "I'll go rest."

Beatrice nodded sympathetically.

Aubrey didn't