Her eyes snapped to mine. “Don’t say that like you know.”
Then her expression reset, mask snapping into place. She took a steadying breath, then smiled—a smooth, practiced upturn she used on headmasters and donors. “We’re fine,” she said lightly, louder this time. “You worked check-in, remember? Stick close to people you know from school. Smile, be polite, then eat something. Shoulders back. Chin up.”
I nodded as though I was listening, pulse already cataloguing exits.
The press line was gone. Twenty minutes since the last camera flash. The room had settled into low conversation, laughter and champagne flowing freely. A string quartet played in the corner, notes drifting through the air as if they belonged to someone else’s night.
Security was thicker now that the cameras were gone. Not bulky bodyguards but quiet suits, hired muscle, who didn’t blinkenough. One near the side hall. One by the double doors to the service corridor. One near the Dunns.
My name badge was off.Student liaisonwas over. I was just a girl in a silver dress who didn’t belong.
“Breathe,” Mom said softly.
“I am.”
“Breathe quieter.”
I almost smiled. Then Luke walked in. No announcement. No warning. The air just… shifted.
He moved through the doorway and into the space as if he owned it. Black custom suit that accented his broad, muscular shoulders, white shirt, no tie. Hair still damp at the ends, evidence of a quick shower. Every motion was deliberate, quiet. Controlled. He didn’t glance around, but his presence demanded attention.
And then he looked at me. Full focus. No hesitation. The noise behind me dulled to a hum. My chest loosened so suddenly I almost swayed.
He came straight to me. Not rushed—intentional. Each step closing the distance that never really existed. I felt it in my chest before I saw it in his eyes—the familiar pull that said neither of us had ever really let go.
His hand settled on my waist, sure and warm. “You look—” His voice hitched, then steadied. “Dangerous.”
“To you?” I asked.
“Every time.”
Mom murmured something polite and stepped aside—close enough to hear, far enough to look casual. Her way of keeping me safe without showing it.
Luke leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “You good?”
I nodded. “You?”
“About to be.”
And then we were moving—his hand still low, guiding, not pushing. Through the center of the ballroom as though the space had always been meant to clear for him. Heads turned. Polite greetings followed. He didn’t stop. A nod here. A handshake there. Controlled efficiency. He didn’t play the room—he ran it. A product of his heritage, the wealth attached to his last name, the power his family wielded and what he’d grown up in—rooms full of power players who smiled while they drew blood.
The Kings stood near the center table. Grant King’s stance was pure command—broad shoulders squared, a dangerous presence radiating from him as he spoke with another man. Beside him was his wife, Eleanor, in cream satin, beauty weaponized by poise. Her smile polished to perfection, but the cunning in her blue eyes impossible to miss.
Luke’s hand flexed against my waist, a silent warning—or reassurance. Then we were moving. Each step felt deliberate, threaded with all the history waiting in their eyes when they finally turned toward us.
“Dad. Mom.” Luke’s voice was polite, clipped. His grip on me tightened by a fraction. “This is my girlfriend, Mila Callahan.”
Grant’s eyes dragged over me once, cataloguing details. “Mila.” No warmth. Just an assessment.
Eleanor stepped forward when he didn’t. “Thank you for your help with the student coordination.” Her voice was smooth, practiced. “The turnout’s wonderful.”
“I—” My voice barely found shape. They’d completely skipped over Luke’s announcement, but maybe that was a good thing? “I’m glad.”
Grant extended his hand. I took it because not taking it would’ve made a scene. His palm was cool. His stare wasn’t. “A Callahan at my table.” His gaze cut to Luke. “Interesting.”
Luke went still beside me. His thumb moved lower on my waist—firm, possessive.
“Why wouldn’t she be?” His tone was even, controlled. “She’s with me.”
