The Palm Reader's Warning

Elena stood at the edge of the charity gala, clutching her champagne glass like a lifeline. Across the room, Marcus was laughing at something his assistant said—the same way he'd laughed when she told him she was leaving him three months ago. The bastard actually wore the baseball cap she'd given him on their first date, now perched precariously on his gelled hair like some absurd crown.

"You look like you're plotting murder," a voice whispered beside her.

Elena turned to find David, Marcus's business partner, offering her a fresh drink. His palm brushed hers as she took it—warm, deliberate, lingering a fraction too long.

"Just contemplating the irony," she said, forcing a smile. "How did I end up here again?"

"Marcus begged," David said, his dark eyes holding hers. "Said something about proving he's changed. But I think he just wanted to show you he won."

The music shifted to something slower. David's hand settled on her lower back, possessive but not pushy. She should step away. She should leave. Instead, she leaned into his touch, remembering how he'd called her the night she walked out, just to make sure she was safe. How he'd never once made a pass, though she'd caught him watching her with hunger in his eyes.

"Take off your hat," she said suddenly.

David raised an eyebrow, but tugged off his baseball cap. His hair was mussed, vulnerable without the covering. Something about the gesture cracked her open.

"What are we doing, David?" she whispered.

"Whatever you want," he said, his palm cradling her jaw. "But I've been waiting three months for you to be ready."

She scanned the room—Marcus holding court, everyone hanging on his words, the perfect golden boy who'd broken her heart. Then she looked at David, who'd quietly loved her through all of it.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

David's answering grin was all the answer she needed.