131
The sun blazed brightly over Monte Carlo, casting golden reflections across the sapphire waters of the outdoor pool. It was a different kind of event today; no glittering chandeliers or clinking champagne flutes. No swirling gowns or sharp tuxedos. Today was all sunshine, soft jazz in the background, sparkling beverages, and tanned skin stretched out across white lounge chairs.
But even the open air and fresh scent of citrus and sea could do nothing to cool the storm inside Yalda.
She stood at the suite’s open balcony that morning, arms folded tightly across her chest as Ioannis gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You don't have to go again," he said softly, voice colored with concern. "This is eating you alive, Yalda. Last night... I know it affected you more than you would like to admit."
She closed her eyes. Her head was aching from crying so much the night before, and her stomach still churned uneasily.
"I'm fine," she lied, knowing he wouldn't believe it.
"You're not," he said simply. "And that’s okay. But maybe it’s time we left. This isn't healthy. You don’t need to torture yourself like this."
She turned to face him, eyes fierce beneath the fatigue. "I can't leave."
His brows furrowed. "Why not?"
"Because he acts like I don’t exist," she said, her voice brittle. "I want him to see me. To look at me just once."
"Yalda—"
"I’m not asking for anything more," she whispered. "I just... I need to know I mattered. That he didn’t just erase me."
Ioannis exhaled slowly, torn between understanding and helplessness. He knew that look on her face. That stubborn, fractured hope. That bone-deep need for closure disguised as dignity.
He wanted to pull her away, shield her from the ache, but she was already too deep in it.
They dressed in silence. The tone of the day’s event required nothing formal. Yalda slipped into a soft green swimsuit under a sheer mesh cover-up that clung to her like second skin. Her hair cascaded down her back in soft, brushed waves, and she wore a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses that hid the red around her eyes. She looked stunning, sun-kissed, confident.
But only on the surface.
They arrived at the venue soon enough—a vast pool area, draped white canopies, shaded seating nooks, crystal-clear water flickering beneath the sun. Elegant guests mingled with cocktails in hand, dipping toes in the pool or laughing in small groups. A live saxophonist played near the water’s edge, his music weaving through the laughter like silk.
Yalda scanned the crowd, her heart thrumming faster with each passing second. As if her eyes could summon him. And then, there he was.
Alexander.
Dressed in black swimming trunks and a half-buttoned linen shirt, he stood near a shaded table with a drink in hand, surrounded by men she vaguely recognized as CEOs and heirs. On his arm, as usual, was another beautiful woman, tall, blonde, with a body like a swimsuit model and a laugh that sounded rehearsed. She leaned into him like they shared something sacred, like they belonged.
Yalda’s throat tightened. Her stomach turned.
He hadn’t seen her. Or he had. And chosen not to look.
She took a seat beside Ioannis on a lounge chair, her posture perfect, her chin lifted, pretending to enjoy the sunshine. She laughed when someone passed by and waved. She sipped from her cocktail without tasting it. She crossed her legs, adjusted her sunglasses, played the part.
But her eyes kept sliding back to him. Watching. Always watching.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. And Alexander’s gaze never once drifted to her.
Not once.
He laughed. He drank. He played oblivious, slipping between conversations with a calm, polished grace that made her insides burn.
Did he feel nothing?
She was here, in front of him. Alive. Changed. Real. And he acted as if she were a stranger.
Her obsession, the ache she’d tried so hard to suppress, clawed to the surface with a vicious strength. She wanted to scream. To throw something. To grab his face and force him to look at her and see what he had done.
But instead, she sat.
The cocktail in her hand remained untouched.
Then he got up. He excused himself from the group with a polite nod and began walking back toward the suites, his strides easy and unhurried, as if he hadn’t just carved open an old wound with his silence.
Yalda stood, abruptly.
Ioannis looked up at her, concern tightening the line of his mouth. "Yalda?"
"I need to use the restroom," she said flatly, not meeting his gaze.
He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. He watched her retreating back, the set of her shoulders, the storm in her walk. He knew she wasn’t going to the restroom.
She followed Alexander through the arched stone path back inside, her breath sharp and fast in her throat. The laughter and chatter of the party faded behind her, swallowed by the quiet shade of the hallway.
Her pulse thudded like a drum in her ears. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached up to push her sunglasses atop her head.
The hallway was long and cool, framed with glass and cream-colored stone, the sound of her sandals faint but quick. She turned a corner and saw him. Just ahead. Heading toward the private suites.
For a moment, her feet stopped moving.
The ache in her chest was unbearable. Not just because she still loved him. Not just because he had abandoned her. But because she could see, now, the finality in his posture. In his indifference. She wasn’t a ghost to him. She was nothing.
But still, she took a step. And then another. Her pulse thudded like a drum in her ears.
Every step brought her closer to him. He didn’t know she was there. But he would.
She was done being invisible.
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