Notmy son’s ex-girlfriend.Nota guest.
Under Hale protection.
The phrase carries weight I don’t fully understand, but I see the effect it has on people. They smile, straighten, and treat me with immediate respect.
One woman in diamonds actually looks impressed. “How lovely. Grant doesn’t extend protection often.”
“Samantha is special,” Grant says simply, and his hand finds the small of my back.
We move through the party like that. His hand never leaves me as he introduces me to business associates, rival families, and people whose names I recognize from Forbes lists.
Donovan appears at some point, looking sharp in a charcoal suit. He joins our conversation circle seamlessly, and when Grantsteps away to speak with someone else, Donovan slides into his place.
“Having fun?” he asks, voice low.
“I’m surviving.”
“You’re doing better than surviving. Half the room can’t stop staring at you.”
“That’s the dress.”
“No. No.” His hand brushes mine, quick and deliberate. “It’s all you, Samantha.”
Before I can respond, Kai materializes with two champagne flutes. “Thought you might need this.” He hands me one, grinning. “You look like you’re at a funeral instead of a party.”
“I’m just not used to this.” I gesture vaguely at the opulence.
“Stick with me. I’ll make it interesting.” He winks, and I catch Donovan rolling his eyes.
The three of them rotate around me throughout the evening. Never all at once, but there’s always one of them nearby. Touching my arm. Refilling my champagne. Making sure I’m never alone in the crowd.
Around ten, the party is in full swing. A live band plays jazz standards. People are dancing. The champagne is flowing freely.
Kai appears at my elbow. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t really?—”
“It wasn’t a question.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor.
We sway to the music, his hand on my waist, mine on his shoulder. He’s a better dancer than I expected. Smooth. Confident.
“You’ve been avoiding us,” he says.
“I’ve been giving you space.”
“We don’t want space.” His hand slides lower on my back. “We want you.”
My breath catches. “Kai?—”
“Come with me.” He’s moving, pulling me off the dance floor, through the crowd, down a hallway I didn’t know existed.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.”
He stops at a door marked with a discreet placard that just says “Crimson.” He pushes it open and pulls me inside.
The room is intimate with deep red walls. Velvet furniture. Mood lighting that makes everything feel like a dream.
