My Husband Insisted I Come To The Gala To Impress The New Owner. “Stay In The Back, Your Dress Is Too Casual,” He Muttered. When The Billionaire Arrived, He Barely Acknowledged My Husband’s Handshake. He Walked Straight To Me, Took My Hands, And Whispered, Eyes Shining: “I’ve Been Looking For You For 30 Years… I Never Forgot You.” My Husband Let His Glass Slip.

She’s my wife. Anything you have to say to her, you can say in front of me.”

“No,” Julian said simply. “I can’t.”

The weight of his gaze was almost unbearable.

I could see the questions there. The hurt that time hadn’t healed. The love that had somehow survived three decades of separation.

But I could also see Fletcher’s panic. The way his hands shook as he realized his carefully planned evening was crumbling around him. “Julian,” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t. Not here. Not like this.”

He nodded slowly, understanding in a way Fletcher never had.

“Of course. But Moren…”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, white with silver embossing. “Please call me.

We need to talk.”

I took the card with trembling fingers, our hands brushing for just a moment. The contact sent electricity through my entire body. A reminder of what it felt like to be touched with love instead of possession.

“We’re leaving,” Fletcher announced loudly, grabbing my arm with enough force to bruise. Julian’s expression darkened as he saw Fletcher’s grip on me. For a moment, I thought he might intervene.

But I shook my head slightly. And he stepped back. Jaw clenched with obvious effort.

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he said quietly. Fletcher dragged me through the ballroom, past the staring faces and whispered speculations. I clutched Julian’s business card in my free hand, the sharp edges pressing into my palm like a lifeline.

The ride home was a nightmare of Fletcher’s rage and accusations, but I barely heard him. My mind was spinning backward through time to a small college town where I had been young and fearless and desperately in love. Julian and I met in our junior year at Colorado State.

I was studying literature on a partial scholarship, working three jobs to pay for everything my financial aid didn’t cover. He was in business school—brilliant and ambitious—but also kind in a way that surprised me. Rich boys weren’t supposed to notice scholarship girls like me.

But Julian did. Our first conversation happened in the library during finals week. I was stretched across three chairs surrounded by textbooks and empty coffee cups when he approached with that slightly tilted head that meant he was thinking hard about something.

“You look like you could use some real food,” he said, and his voice was warm with amusement. “The cafeteria closes in 20 minutes, but I know a place that stays open late. Twenty-four-hour diner with the best pie in town.”

I looked up from my Victorian literature textbook, ready to politely decline.

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