When the applause comes, it’s polite, a little thin. People want cocoa and photos and proof their money bought virtue. They’ll get it. Because I’ll give it to them.
As Dad steps down from the stage, our eyes lock across the room. For a second, it’s just us again, father and daughter in a silent battle. His look saysthis isn’t over.Mine saysI know.But beneath that, deeper, is something unexpected: respect. Not approval, not permission — but acknowledgment. He sees I’ve chosen, and I’ll carry it.
Triston’s hand brushes mine as he passes me a glass of water. It’s nothing, everything. My fingers curl around it, and I let my thumb graze his in thanks. Small rebellion,quiet promise.
The night resumes. Cameras flash. Donors mingle. The storm shifts back to background noise. But I know — we all know — nothing is the same.
I breathe deep, the ribbon at my wrist warm against my pulse. I’ve been afraid of storms my whole life. Tonight, I walked into one, let it claim me, and realized something new.
I don’t just survive storms. I make them.
Chapter Ten
Sammie
The silence of the hotel room is loud.
It’s the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, the kind that makes you aware of your pulse, of your breath, of the way your dress clings too tightly because your chest won’t stop rising and falling. He shuts the door behind us, and the soft click is the loudest sound I’ve ever heard.
I set my clutch on the desk, too carefully, like if I place it just so, I won’t shake. My heels pinch; I kick them off. One topples onto its side, forgotten. I turn back toward him — and he’s watching me.
Not polite. Not restrained. Watching me like he’s starving.
My body warms under his gaze, even though the air-conditioning hums steady. I smooth my palms down the sides of my dress, needing to touch something, anything. “You’re staring.”
“Can’t help it.” His voice is low, rough, like gravel dragged under velvet.
“That’s not very subtle, Captain.”
“I told you,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m done with being subtle.”
My throat tightens. He’s only a foot away now, big body filling the space between me and the rest of the world. My hands tremble, but not from fear. From the ache of wanting. From the thrill of finally being here, without shadows, without whispers, without the need to pretend.
“Say it again,” I whisper, the words trembling out of me before I can stop them.
He tilts his head. “Say what?”
“That you love me.”
His hand lifts, fingertips brushing my jaw like a question. “I love you, Sammie. I love you in ways that scare me. I love you until it feels like breathing hurts.”
My breath shatters. Tears prick, hot and unwanted, because this is everything I’ve wanted and everything I was afraid of. I lean into his touch, closing my eyes. “Then show me.”
A growl catches in his chest — restrained, desperate — and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is not like the one at the gala. That one was fire, defiance, a public claim. This one is slower. Deeper. His lips move against mine like he’s memorizing me, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t, I’ll vanish.
My hands clutch at his jacket, fumbling with the lapels until he helps, shrugging it off his shoulders. It falls heavy onto the carpet. He presses me back, gently, until my spine touches the cool wall. His body hovers just shy of mine — close enough for heat, far enough for choice.
“You can stop me,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Any second. Just say it.”
My nails dig into his shirt. “Don’t you dare stop.”
His laugh is breathless, relieved. “Bossy.”
“Equal,” I shoot back, lips brushing his.
He kisses me harder for that.
