Chapter 7
The interior of the Aston Martin was wrapped in hand-stitched leather and silence. Alexander drove with a heavy foot, the engine growling as he weaved through the Manhattan traffic.
Scarlett sat in the passenger seat. She was dressed for the charity gala in a shimmering silver gown, diamonds dripping from her ears. She looked perfect.
She reached over and placed her hand on Alexander's thigh. Her fingers curled slightly, digging into the fabric of his trousers.
Alex, she purred. Now that she's asking for a divorce... we can finally be public.
Alexander stared at the road. The red taillights of the car in front of him blurred slightly.
He felt... crowded.
Usually, he craved Scarlett's touch. He had spent three years pining for it, respecting the boundaries of his marriage to Evelyn. Now, the boundary was gone. He should be happy.
Instead, he felt an urge to brush her hand away.
Not yet, Scarlett, he said. His voice was distant. The press is watching. The divorce isn't finalized. She's still living in the penthouse, technically. It looks messy.
Scarlett pouted. She withdrew her hand slowly, dragging her nails lightly against his leg. You used to risk everything for me. You used to say you'd burn the world down to be with me.
Alexander tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The leather creaked.
He thought of Evelyn at the club. The green dress. The cold eyes. The way she had looked at him-not with love, not with hate, but with indifference.
Things are complicated, he muttered.
Scarlett's eyes darkened. She sensed the shift. She was a master of reading him.
You're not thinking about her, are you? she asked, her voice sharpening. That nobody? That placeholder?
Alexander slammed on the brakes as the light turned red. The car jerked to a halt.
She's not a nobody, he snapped. The defense came out automatically, surprising him. She was my wife for three years.
Scarlett recoiled, pressing herself against the door. She played the victim instantly. I'm sorry. I just... I just want you to be happy. I'm so afraid of losing you.
Alexander sighed. I know. I'm sorry.
Meanwhile, Evelyn was sitting in a quiet café near the hospital, her laptop open.
Her phone pinged. A notification from "Connect"-the messaging app everyone used.
Friend Request: A_Vance.
Evelyn stared at the screen. The profile picture was a generic landscape, but she knew the handle.
A message was attached: We need to talk about the settlement. Unblock my number.
Evelyn looked at the words.
She remembered the nights she had waited for a text from him. Just a "Coming home late" or "Goodnight." She had stared at her phone until her eyes burned.
She felt a flicker of satisfaction. The tables had turned.
She pressed Ignore.
Then, she went to his profile settings.
Block User.
Confirm Block?
Yes.
Back in the car, Alexander's phone was mounted on the dashboard. He saw the notification flash.
Message Failed. User not found.
He frowned. He tapped the screen. Message Failed.
He refreshed the page. Evelyn's profile picture disappeared. Replaced by a generic grey avatar. The status line read: Unable to connect.
She blocked me?
He said it out loud. The disbelief was palpable.
She blocked me?
His ego took a massive hit. No one blocked Alexander Vance. People begged for his attention.
Who blocked you? Scarlett asked sweetly, leaning over.
No one, Alexander lied quickly. He turned the screen off. Just spam.
He pulled up to the entrance of the Met Gala. The red carpet was swarming with photographers.
I'm not coming in, Alexander said.
Scarlett froze, her hand on the door handle. What? But... this is our debut.
I have work, Alexander said, his voice hard. I have to find this 'Oracle' researcher. It's for your health, Scarlett.
He didn't wait for her to argue.
Go. You look beautiful. Have fun.
Scarlett got out, her face a mask of fury that she quickly hid behind a smile for the cameras.
Alexander watched her walk away. He didn't feel a pull to follow her.
He put the car in gear and drove off. He wasn't going to the office.
He was going to find a way to make Evelyn talk to him.
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