"Miles," Beth said calmly, her voice carrying just enough to reach every curious ear around them. "Your tie is crooked." The words and motion were so natural—so intimate—that they seemed to pull the entire ballroom backward in time. Beth lifted her hand to straighten his tie, her fingers brushing lightly across his jaw. It was the same small, unconscious gesture she used to make every morning for twenty years. Tony froze. His entire body stiffened, his eyes flickering with something raw and unguarded. Dania noticed immediately. She took a step forward to pull him away, but before she could act, Tony’s expression hardened back into its cold, practiced mask. "Thanks for the reminder," he said flatly. Beth withdrew her hand, her smile faint and steady. "Mr. Tony, would you care to dance?" Then, turning to Dania, she added smoothly, "You don’t mind, do you? After all, we’re not officially divorced yet. Asking my husband for a dance isn’t too much to ask, is it?" Her tone was mild, but every syllable carried clearly through the crowd. A wave of whispers rippled across the room. Dania’s face darkened, her nails digging into Tony’s arm hard enough to leave marks. "Mr. Tony," she said through gritted teeth, "what do you think?" Before he could answer, the band struck up a tune—a slow waltz with haunting familiarity. It was the same song that had played at their wedding twenty years ago. "Well," Beth said softly, her eyes glinting, "seems like fate made the choice for us." She didn’t wait for permission. Her hand slipped into his with quiet authority, guiding him gracefully into the center of the floor. Tony’s muscles locked in resistance, but under the scrutiny of a hundred watching eyes, he couldn’t pull away. When his palm came to rest at her waist, a faint warmth spread beneath his fingers—an echo of something long forgotten. "Do you remember this dance?" Beth murmured, her tone gentle, her steps sure and confident. "You were so nervous you stepped on my foot three times." Tony’s brow furrowed. Images flickered across his mind—white silk, laughter, the awkward stumble of a young groom trying to keep rhythm. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened. Then it vanished. "So what if I do?" His face turned to stone. "That was a long time ago." Beth’s chest tightened. She stared up at him, at the man she once knew, and every word he spoke cut like glass. "I love Dania now," Tony said coldly. "You should stop clinging to the past." The words hit her like a physical blow. They were the same words he’d once said decades ago—to another woman who had refused to let go. "Miles…" she whispered, one last attempt, one last reach for the man she knew was still buried inside. But the music stopped. Tony stepped back abruptly, releasing her hand as though her touch burned him. "Enough," he said sharply. "Let’s end this." The crowd held its breath. Beth staggered back two steps, her composure cracking for only a second before she straightened again. Dania hurried to Tony’s side, looping her arm through his. Seeing his cold expression return, she exhaled in relief. Then she turned to Beth, her lips curving into a triumphant smile. "You should stop embarrassing yourself, Beth. Miles loves me now. You’re just making things harder for everyone." Beth didn’t answer. She looked at Tony one last time, her eyes calm but unbearably sad, then turned and walked out of the ballroom without a word. The room fell silent, only to erupt seconds later in a storm of whispers and speculation. No one noticed Tony standing frozen in place—his eyes still fixed on the doorway where Beth had disappeared. "Miles," Dania hissed, jealousy tightening her voice, "what are you looking at?" Tony’s expression didn’t change. He turned away, his face cold and impassive—but his fingers, hanging by his side, were trembling ever so slightly. "Nothing," he said quietly.