Then the emcee's voice cut through the hall.
"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."
