Page 70 of Bid For Me

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Seb

The ballroom is alreadyalive with the soft hum of conversation and the gentle clinking of champagne flutes when I arrive. My father spares no expense for anything, least of all an event meant to solidify the Sterling-Knight image. The room is a masterpiece of elegance, with soaring ceilings adorned by glittering chandeliers and arrangements of white roses and orchids spilling from every available surface.

But none of it holds my attention. Not the endless stream of press milling about, nor the perfectly arranged canapés on silver trays. Because when Elle walks into the room, it’s like everything else falls away.

She’s radiant. A vision.

Her gown, custom-made by some designer whose name I don’t care to remember, clings to her body like it was poured onto her. The shimmering fabric – an iridescent white that makes her skin glow and her eyes look impossibly bright – flows around her as she moves, an ethereal mix of grace and power. Her hair is swept up into a cascade of curls, leaving her neck bare, save for a few stray wisps that tease her collarbone.

And then there’s her jewelry: the Harry Winston earrings. I gave them to her just an hour ago, unable to resist adding the finishing touch. They catch the light with every turn of her head, sparkling like they were made for her.

But she isn’t wearing a necklace. The delicate line of her throat is exposed, and I can’t stop staring at it. My fingers itch to touch, to trace the curve, to leave a mark that declares she’s mine.

I think of the collar I purchased on impulse and wonder if I’ll ever see the day I can place it around her neck.

I swallow hard and make my way to her, my heart thudding harder with every step. When she sees me, her lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, and the world tilts just slightly.

“Seb,” she says as I reach her, her voice soft and warm.

“You look…” I trail off, my throat suddenly dry. There aren’t words for this, for her.

She arches a brow, her smile turning teasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” I manage, my voice rough. I lean in close, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “You’re stunning, Elle. Absolutely breathtaking.”

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks, and I can’t help but smirk. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her gaze flicking away for just a moment before returning to mine.

I offer her my arm, and she takes it, her touch sending a spark through me. Together, we step into the crowd, and the evening begins in earnest.

We glide through the room with ease, falling into a rhythm I didn’t know we had. Elle is a natural, her laughter soft and genuine, as she accepts congratulations from every corner. I watch her light up the room, effortlessly charming even the most skeptical guests.

And for once, it doesn’t feel like a performance.

We laugh and tease each other between conversations, our whispered jokes feeling like stolen moments in the chaos. She tells an exaggerated story about a particularly difficult customer at her boutique, and I counter with a tale of an ill-fated family ski trip that ends with me face-planting into a snowbank.

She’s warm and brilliant, and I find myself unable to look away.

But then, as I lean in to murmur another comment that will make her laugh, I catch a familiar figure approaching out of the corner of my eye. Amber. My ex.

She’s wearing a tight black dress that clings in all the wrong ways, her lips painted a red that’s meant to be sultry, but only feels desperate. Her eyes are locked on me, and I feel a sharp stab of irritation.

“Sebastian,” she purrs as she reaches us, her voice dripping with forced sweetness. “It’s been too long.”

I stiffen, my smile slipping. “Amber,” I say coolly.

Her gaze flickers to Elle, sizing her up in an instant. “And you must be the fiancée,” she says, her tone deceptively polite. “Ellen, is it? I’ve heard...so much about you.”

Elle doesn’t miss a beat. She steps forward, her smile radiant but her eyes sharp. “Amber,” she says smoothly. “It’s always nice to meet someone from Seb’s past.”

The barb is subtle, but it’s there. Amber’s smile falters for a fraction of a second before she recovers.

“We go way back, don’t we, Sebby?” Amber says, her voice lilting with faux intimacy.

Elle doesn’t give her a chance to continue. “How lovely,” she says, her tone sweet as honey. “But you know, the past is exactly that – the past. And right now, Seb and I are building our future. I’m sure you understand.”

Amber’s eyes flash with irritation, but she quickly hides it. “Of course,” she says tightly.

---