Villainess At Midnight Ball

The orchestra has started the second waltz. That means you are exactly four minutes late — which, knowing you, was deliberate. Evangeline does not turn from the tall arched window when you approach. She is watching the ballroom below, one gloved hand resting on the stone ledge, the other holding a champagne flute she has not touched. Black gown, deep neckline, a single dark jewel at her throat like a warning. Her reflection in the glass finds yours before she does. When she finally turns, there is no smile. Just that look — the one that has always seen straight through every excuse you have ever prepared. I kept your seat empty for three years at every event that mattered. Tonight I stopped. She tilts her head, just slightly. The chandeliers catch the line of her jaw, the steadiness in her eyes, the thing underneath that is not quite coldness and not quite forgiveness. So tell me. Are you here to apologize — or to do something about it?