Chapter 88 - 0088: Looking For Me, Bambina?

Chapter 88: Chapter 0088: Looking For Me, Bambina?

Elena’s Point Of View

It had been two long, agonizing weeks since I had seen Jaxx.

Two long, blessed, terrifying weeks.

Not after what he had done in my office, right in front of my employees, almost humiliating me, cornering me, making me feel dangerous, forbidden things I swore I would never allow myself to feel around him ever again.

Who does that? Who has the absolute, unhinged audacity to hide under a desk like some wicked, hungry predator, wait until the perfect moment, and then... I stopped cold. Hot, prickling heat flared up my neck, scorching my chest.

No. I couldn’t allow myself to think about that moment. The sheer memory alone was enough to make my skin burn from the inside out.

My face flushed so hard I had to lift my crystal champagne flute to my lips just to mask it, letting the icy, bubbling liquid kiss away the feverish heat rising in my cheeks.

"Get a grip on yourself, Elena," I whispered under my breath, my voice shaking.

Jaxx was a nightmare. A brutal, arrogant, unrepentant, intoxicating nightmare. A sinfully attractive nightmare, sure, but still a complete bastard who enjoyed turning my carefully controlled world into absolute chaos.

Tonight was about celebration, not him. Tonight, my company was celebrating me. We had just secured a multi-billion-dollar government logistics contract that every major competitor in Texas had clawed at and failed to touch... a deal that didn’t just secure our corporate future, but permanently cemented my reputation as a force to be reckoned with.

And then, as if that weren’t enough, we had successfully launched our massive new regional hub in the East. Everyone in executive boardrooms had said it couldn’t be done... too risky, too expensive, too politically unstable. But I had made it happen. I had bled for it.

So yes, tonight was my night.

The grand ballroom of the St. Regis glittered under soft, cascading golden lights, every towering chandelier dripping crystal like frozen rain. Classical strings floated through the air, elegant, seamless, and understated, creating the perfect illusion of high-society ease.

The soft pop of champagne corks, refined laughter echoing from every corner, the polite, rhythmic clink of crystal glasses... my executives, my senior managers, my board members, they all looked their absolute best, mingling like one big, polished, wildly successful family.

I exhaled slowly, letting the crisp air fill my lungs, trying desperately to let the pride sink into my chest where the anxiety usually lived.

"Elena, you look absolute stunning tonight," one of my senior board directors said as he brushed past, raising his glass to me.

I smiled graciously, thanking him with a smooth nod, and turned toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. My custom satin gown shimmered faintly under the golden light... a deep, rich emerald green that hugged every curve of my waist, trailing down to the floor while baring my collarbones and shoulders with the exact kind of fierce, regal confidence I wanted everyone in this city to see.

The formal program had barely begun, the smooth-voiced announcer just stepping up to the microphone to warm up the crowd, when an odd, heavy hush suddenly settled over the vast hall.

It wasn’t the kind of respectful, polite silence that came from anticipation or an upcoming toast. It was sharp, cutting, sudden, and alive with immediate, cruel speculation. A rapid ripple of hushed whispers crackled through the grand room, bouncing off the glass windows and crystal chandeliers, growing louder by the second, prickling like ice against my bare skin.

My eyes snapped upward, following the invisible thread of collective attention, and the air completely stilled in my throat.

Graham.

No... no, this couldn’t be real.

I blinked rapidly, once, twice, praying it was some twisted illusion conjured by sheer exhaustion and frayed nerves. But it wasn’t. It was really him.

He was walking right into my event, into my triumph, with that maddening, infuriating brand of unearned confidence plastered across his face. His gait was slow, deliberate, strutting through the crowd as though the news cameras should be trailing his every move, as though this entire celebration existed solely for his grand arrival.

That practiced, arrogant smirk... half proud, half cruel, was curled lazily on his lips, and it made cold bile rise straight into my throat.

A junior staff member at my side leaned close, his voice trembling nervously. "Madam Elena... it’s... it’s Mr. Graham..."

"Come again, please?" I cut him off, my voice sharp, brittle, and freezing. My eyes never left Graham’s tall figure cutting effortlessly through the round VIP tables, soaking in the shock of the room like he was an adored celebrity making a surprise red-carpet appearance. It couldn’t be. He shouldn’t be here. And yet, there he was.

The hushed whispers turned into an overwhelming, buzzing chorus that spread like poison across the entire ball:

"Isn’t that her husband?"

"The one with the... pregnant mistress?"

"God, the absolute audacity of that man..."

"To show up at her victory gala, of all places? Is he insane?"

Each whispered word was a razor blade carving across my pride, stripping away the impenetrable armor I had spent weeks building for tonight. My jaw clenched so tight I felt the muscles strain in my face.

Beneath the linen tablecloth, my hands curled into tight fists, my manicured nails digging sharp crescents into my palms until it hurt.

Not tonight. Dear God, not here.

Still, I sat up straighter, taller, my shoulders squared like a queen refusing to bow before an invading force. I would not give the vultures in this room the satisfaction of watching me crumble.

And then, finally, Graham reached my table.

Up close, Graham was still the man I had once loved—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a tailored charcoal tuxedo that fit him impeccably, carrying that signature expensive cologne I used to know far too well. But to me now, every single detail only burned like pure acid against my skin.

His smirk deepened as he leaned down over my chair, bringing his lips dangerously close to my ear, his breath warm, his presence suffocatingly familiar.

"What the hell are you doing here, Graham?" I hissed, my voice low, sharp as broken glass, raw venom laced into every single syllable.

"I’m here to congratulate my beautiful wife," he said smoothly, easily, as if nothing between us was fractured beyond repair, as if his belongings weren’t currently packed in storage. His tone was all silk and honeyed charm, but I caught the sharp, calculated glint in his eyes. He was testing me. He was performing for the room.

I let out a short, humorless laugh, a sound meant to slice him wide open. "Congratulate me? Is this your idea of showing up, Graham? Or did your pregnant handbag finally grant you day-use permission off your leash?"

The strike landed. I saw the visible crack in his composure immediately. His jaw tightened violently, his back teeth grinding together with an audible click, the arrogant smirk faltering for a split second.

A flash of pure anger simmered in his dark eyes, barely contained, but still, he forced himself to cloak it beneath his practiced mask of aristocratic charm.

"Lilian is at home," he spat quietly, his voice vibrating with restrained fury.

I arched a single, dark eyebrow, smiling with terrifying sweetness while poison dripped from my tongue. "Good. Keep her there. In the dark, where you both belong."

Graham inhaled sharply through his nose, his nostrils flaring. But instead of turning around and leaving... which I prayed to God he would do, he pulled out the heavy velvet chair directly across from me and sat down, sliding into the seat with slow, deliberate arrogance.

The CEO’s table. My table.

I went entirely stiff, rage and utter disbelief colliding violently in my chest. The gall. The absolute, sociopathic audacity. I could feel the lenses of press cameras trained on us from the perimeter, the curious, hungry eyes of my board members, my clients, my major investors. Watching us. Whispering. Judging my every reaction.

Graham leaned forward over the table, lowering his voice so only I could hear, but there was a crack of sheer desperation threaded into his tone now—an urgency hidden beneath the layers of pride.

"Elena... please," he began, his fingers twitching against the crisp white tablecloth. "I know you didn’t want to see my face tonight. I know how much anger you’re holding onto..."

"Anger?" I cut him off in a razor-sharp, incredulous whisper, my eyes blazing with pure fire. "You think this is just anger, Graham?"

"I know I messed up!" he admitted quickly, his voice dropping into a harsh, strained murmur, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain control. "I know I ruined things between us. But I am sitting here right now because... because I still love you, Elena. I love you, and I can’t let you throw our life away."

My breath hitched in my chest, and then I let out a bitter, cruel laugh... low, scornful, and entirely void of warmth.

"You love me?" I repeated, leaning in just enough so my eyes could bore into his. "Love? Is that what you call it, Graham? You declared our marriage open when you got bored! You flaunted your little mistress all over Dallas, left her with a swelling stomach, and carried your pride around like a trophy! And now you have the nerve to sit at my victory table, looking me in the eye, and telling me you love me? Good luck making amends for that in this lifetime."

Graham flinched as if I had slapped him across the face, but he didn’t back down. His eyes softened, a desperate, frantic edge creeping into his expression as he reached across the table, his hand hovering inches from mine.

"Graham, stop this charade and sign the papers," I demanded, my voice dropping into a cold, lethal whisper that cut straight through his pleading face. "I am done playing these pathetic, public games with you. You have done more than enough damage to my life, my name, and my sanity. Sign the divorce papers and let me go!"

Graham’s face went rigid. His eyes darkened instantly, his hands pulling back as he slammed his palm flat against the wood.

"I will never sign those papers, Elena!" he hissed, his voice trembling with possessive, angry conviction. "Do you hear me?! Never! I am not giving you up! I am not letting some temporary mistake destroy five years of marriage! You are my wife, and I am not letting you walk away!"

"You gave me up the moment you touched her!" I snapped back, steel lacing every syllable. "I will not make a public scene tonight, Graham. I will not let your pathetic mid-life crisis drag down the single greatest achievement of my career. This night belongs to me! Not you. Not her. Mine. Now get up and get out!"

"I am not leaving this table!" Graham insisted, his voice rising just enough to draw sharper looks from the neighboring executives. "I am staying right here until you look at me like I’m your husband again!"

For a horrifying, suffocating moment, silence stretched taut between us like a cable about to snap under pressure. He stared at me, his chest heaving under his tuxedo, his jaw set in stubborn, arrogant refusal, his eyes burning with a desperate attempt to reclaim control over me.

And right then, in the middle of that suffocating standoff, my phone buzzed.

The sharp vibration cut through the thick tension like a gunshot. My phone was already paired to the tiny, hidden earbud tucked beneath my hair, and without thinking, purely on instinct to break the suffocating eye contact with Graham, I tapped the side of my ear.

"Hey, Bambina."

That voice.

My entire world tilted violently on its axis. My breath locked instantly in my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it would crack them wide open. That deep, dark, dangerously lazy drawl... smooth, mocking, and utterly unforgettable.

Jaxx.

I froze completely, my eyes widening in pure horror. No. No, no, no. Dear God, please no. Not now. Not tonight of all nights.

Graham’s sharp eyes narrowed immediately, his gaze locking onto my frozen expression, his brows pulling together in dark suspicion. I forced myself to turn my head slightly away from him, my spine going rigid as an iron rod, my voice dropping into a furious, barely audible whisper.

"Jaxx... what the hell are you doing calling me right now?"

A low, dark chuckle rumbled over the line, rich, velvety, and dripping with pure, unadulterated amusement. "What do you mean, sweetheart? I’m just checking in on my Bambina. You sound awfully tense. Something wrong over there?"

Is something wrong? Everything was wrong! Graham was sitting directly across from me like some possessive, delusional monarch refusing to sign our divorce papers. The entire ballroom was whispering, cameras were flashing, my board members were watching.

And now Jaxx... the most dangerous, unhinged man I had ever met, was slithering his dark voice straight into my ear like a velvet curse.

"What do you want, Jaxx?" I hissed through my teeth, pure panic threading through every single word. "Haven’t you ruined my life enough for one month?"

"Relax, Elena," he drawled lazily, his tone far too amused, treating my panic like a sweet, funny little game. "Just answer the question... where exactly are you sitting right now?"

My brows furrowed in complete confusion, a cold knot forming in the pit of my stomach. Why was he asking me that? He knew I was at the St. Regis gala. He knew everything.

And then, through the speaker of the earbud, I heard it.

A faint, unmistakable background noise came through his end of the call. The soft, swelling strings of a live orchestra. Polite applause. The unmistakable, distinct acoustics of a massive, high-ceilinged ballroom.

The exact same orchestra echoing through the air around me right now.

My heart lurched violently into my throat, cold terror clawing its way up my spine. No. He couldn’t be. There is no way in hell...

"Jaxx..." I whispered, my voice breaking, trembling so violently I could barely hold the tone steady. "Where... where the hell are you?"

A agonizing beat of silence stretched over the line, heavy, dark, and unbearable.

And then his voice came through... low, smooth, and wrapping around my spine like a striking serpent.

"Looking for me, Bambina?"

My stomach dropped straight to the floor. My eyes darted wildly across the glittering crowd, scanning the tuxedos, the gowns, the security guards, desperately trying to disprove the terrifying reality sinking into my bones. My breaths came shallow, fast, and frantic, my pulse pounding like a war drum in my ears.

"Look straight ahead," Jaxx commanded softly over the line, his tone dropping into a dark, unyielding order. "Beside the main stage. The shadowed partition near the VIP lounge."

I forced myself to move. Slowly, agonizingly, my head turned toward the left side of the grand stage.

And there he was.

Standing half-hidden in the deep shadows of the heavy velvet drapery, leaning casually against the dark wooden pillar, dressed in a tailored, jet-black suit that made him look broader, darker, and infinitely more dangerous than any man in that room had the right to be.

His dark, hooded eyes were locked directly onto mine... predatory, wicked, and completely possessive. A slow, terrifying devil’s smirk carved across his handsome face.

And then, right as Graham raised his voice across the table to demand who I was whispering to, Jaxx held my gaze from across the crowded ballroom... and slowly, arrogantly, winked at me.

A wild wave of heat surged straight through my bloodstream... an explosive, terrifying cocktail of pure fury, staggering shock, and that dark, dangerous pull I hated myself for feeling, but could never, ever shake.

My lips parted, my lungs completely collapsing, and the only sound that managed to escape my chest was a breathless, horrified whisper:

"This... this can’t be happening."