Chapter 3

The main hall of the convention center was a sea of expensive suits and ambitious smiles. The air buzzed with the energy of a thousand deals being made, a thousand egos posturing for dominance. I moved through the crowd, a ghost in a simple, well-tailored dark suit. Five years in a secure facility had taught me how to be invisible in plain sight. No one gave me a second glance.

Then I saw them.

David stood on a raised platform, a microphone in his hand, exuding the effortless charisma that had always been his most dangerous weapon. He was older, with a few distinguished grey hairs at his temples, but he wore his power like a perfectly fitted coat. Beside him, clinging to his arm, was Bethany. She was dressed in a vibrant red dress, a stark contrast to my own muted attire. She looked up at him with an expression of pure adoration, a look she had perfected over two lifetimes.

They were the picture of a power couple, celebrated and admired. My disappearance five years ago had become a footnote in their grand narrative, a story they had spun to their advantage. I was the unstable, flighty fiancée who couldn't handle the pressure. He was the stoic victim who had found true love with his loyal, supportive friend. The world had bought it completely.

As David finished his opening remarks to a round of thunderous applause, his eyes swept the room. For a moment, they passed over me without recognition. Then, they snapped back. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, then a dawning, incredulous realization. He saw me.

The applause died down, and a networking session began. I didn't move. I simply stood my ground, waiting. I watched as Bethany whispered something in his ear, her eyes following his gaze to where I stood. Her perfect smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

They approached me, a calculated, deliberate path through the throng of people. It was a performance. David' s expression shifted to one of pleasant, mild surprise, while Bethany arranged her features into a mask of gentle, pitying concern.

"Amelia?" Bethany's voice was soft, dripping with false sympathy. "Is that really you? My goodness, I can't believe it."

She reached out as if to hug me, but I didn't move. Her hands fell awkwardly back to her sides.

"It's been so long," she continued, her voice loud enough for those nearby to hear. "We were so worried about you when you just... disappeared. We tried to find you, you know. We just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Her performance was flawless. She was the picture of a caring friend, deeply wounded by my erratic behavior but willing to forgive. Every word was a carefully placed stone, building a wall of public perception around me. She was reminding everyone of the official story: I was the crazy one.

I looked at her, my face impassive. I didn't offer a smile, a greeting, or an explanation. My silence was a void in her perfectly crafted scene, and it made her uncomfortable.

"You look... well," I said, my voice flat. It was not a compliment. It was a simple statement of fact, devoid of any warmth.

David stepped forward, placing a proprietary hand on Bethany's shoulder. He gave me the smile he reserved for difficult business rivals-charming on the surface, but with a cold, dismissive edge.

"Amelia. This is a surprise," he said. "What brings you back to the city? If you're looking for work, perhaps I could have my HR department..."

The insult was deliberate, a public assertion of his power and my supposed irrelevance. He was the magnanimous CEO, offering a handout to his pathetic ex-fiancée. He was reminding me, and everyone else within earshot, of the chasm that now existed between our worlds.

People were starting to stare, drawn in by the drama playing out. Bethany's eyes welled up with practiced tears.

"Oh, David, don't," she whispered, clinging to his arm. "She must have had such a hard time. Amelia, if you need anything, anything at all, you can come to us. We forgive you for what happened. For leaving David at the altar, for the pain you caused."

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and clear. In a few sentences, they had publicly branded me. Runaway. Unstable. Pitiful. They had cast themselves as the victims and me as the perpetrator who had returned to the scene of the crime. The humiliation was a palpable thing, a heavy cloak they were trying to force onto my shoulders.

I just stood there and let them. I let the whispers start. I let the pitying and judgmental glances wash over me. I needed them to believe they had won this first encounter. I needed them to be arrogant, overconfident, and blind. Because their public attack was just the opening I needed.