She swallowed. The music swelled. Bodies moved around them in lazy circles. She felt wrapped in a bubble—soft lighting, Marshall’s shoulder solid under her hand, the low rasp of his breathing.
“Do you still think I’m overreacting?” she asked quietly. “About NorthBridge. About Morris? About ...all of this?”
He didn’t answer right away.
She watched his face, desperately searching for something—respect, validation, the kind of belief he used to offer without thinking.
“I think,” he said finally, “that your instincts are rarely wrong.”
It wasn’t enough, but it was something.
“But you’re still here,” she pushed. “You’re still working this. You’re still—”Using me, she didn’t say. “And you won’t tell me what you really want out of Hale.”
His eyes met hers then. Really met them. For a second, the room dropped away. No chandeliers. No donors. No Senator. Just the two of them and fifteen years of unsaid things.
“I don’t want you anywhere near these people,” he said. “Not Morris. Not Derulo. Not whoever’s pulling strings behind them. I want you out of their orbit. I want you safe and annoying accountants over misfiled expense reports somewhere far away from all this.”
Her throat went tight. That was closer. Closer to the man who’d once planned a whole messy, beautiful future with her.
“And?” she whispered.
His hand tightened reflexively at her waist.
The silence stretched—one beat, two, three. She saw the war in his face. Saw the words he almost said. The ones that would crack this whole careful shell he’d built around himself.
I still love you.
Come with me.
We could try again.
He swallowed.
“And I want,” he said slowly, “to know that if anything happens tonight, I did everything I could to keep you out of the blast radius.”
The words landed dull and heavy where she’d braced for something sharp and bright.
Of course. Mission. Risk mitigation. Not her. Not really.
She swallowed the hurt his words caused and blinked back the sting of tears that threatened. It wasn’t his fault she had let herself go so far down this fairytale fantasy. It had been fifteen years. Of course Marshall wasn’t suddenly in love with her. He’dwalked away all those years ago. Duty first. Love wasn’t even on the list.
“Right,” she said, forcing a small smile. “Asset protection.”
Something flickered in his eyes—regret, maybe. Or perhaps awareness that he’d just handed her the most clinical version of the truth.
“Norah—”
Before he could finish, the music cut. Lights shifted toward the stage. The host’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“Please welcome the woman we’re all here to support tonight—Senator Katrina Morris.”
CHAPTER 20
NORAH
Applause rolled through the room.Norah and Marshall eased apart automatically, turning with everyone else. Morris took the stage in a cream suit that managed to look both soft and commanding, her hair swept into a smooth twist. Cameras flashed. The crowd surged closer.
“Good evening,” Senator Morris said, her voice warm and textured, the kind that made a ballroom of wealthy donors feel intimate. “Thank you for being here—not for me, but for the future we’re building together.”
