Pictures of the Big O with his blonde bombshell will be plastered all over that damn gossip website by morning.
My jaw flexes hard enough to ache.
Of course the one person I don’t want to see chooses this exact moment to show up.
Rina freezes in the doorway.
For just a split second, her expression is unguarded. A mix of hurt, disbelief, and something raw that cuts straight through me crosses her face before her mask snaps back into place. In a heartbeat, she’s the Railers’ untouchable, perfectly composed PR manager again.
“Congratulations,” she says coolly, as if she’s thanking someone for a corporate donation instead of watching another woman buy the man she’s been sleeping with. “Your bid was very generous. I hope you two have a wonderful time on your date.”
Rina swings away before I can wrap my tongue around a response. Her spine is straight as she walks away without looking back.
“Rina!” Her name tears out of me.
Half the room turns in our direction. Cameras swivel as flashbulbs go off. The sound of shutters fills the space as they catch Gabby’s hand on my arm. For just a second, the racket around me fades as the light burns white-hot. All I see is the woman I want walking away from me.
My throat tightens and my fists clench. I want to go after her, to shove through every person in this goddamn room until I reach her, but I don’t.
How can I do that when the press is everywhere?
One wrong move, and the story will write itself.
So I do the only thing I can, and stand there frozen while my name gets tossed around like a punchline.
A hollow ache settles deep beneath my sternum, followed by something that burns hotter.
Anger.
Frustration.
And there’s no outlet for either.
I’m pissed at Gabby for acting like she owns me.
At the auction for turning people into prizes.
And at Rina for pretending I mean nothing to her, when we both know she feels this just as much as I do.
13
Rina
Even after Oliver calls my name, I don’t slow down. My heels strike the ballroom floor, each step a deliberate cut meant to sever the invisible tether that keeps pulling me back to him. I move faster, as if speed alone can outrun the emotions clawing at me.
The room is enough to give me sensory overload. There are sequins, laughter, and the metallic snap of shutters. Crystal chandeliers scatter light across glossy marble, but all that shimmer feels more like a spotlight I’m trying to escape from. The scent of champagne and perfume hangs heavy, sweet enough to turn cloying.
What I should be doing is networking and checking on donors. In other words, my job. Instead, I’m dodging questions and trying not to fall apart in the middle of a crowd that thrives on spectacle and gossip.
I weave between tables, the fabric of my dress whispering against the linen as I slip through clusters of conversation. Relief loosens the tightness inside me when I spot Lilah, Callie, and Sloane huddled near the dessert station. If anyone can help me pull it together and get through the rest of this night, it’s them.
I paste on a smile that feels more like armor.
Sloane is the first to spot me. “Who’s the blonde who just dropped a small fortune on Oliver?”
The question slams into me, and I force a shrug. “Just some wealthy socialite who has a thing for the Big O.” The nickname tastes bitter in my mouth. I hate that two syllables can twist me up so much.
Lilah reaches out, fingertips grazing my arm. It’s barely a touch, but it somehow manages to do the impossible and steady me.
