How pathetic.
How stupid.
The memory makes me furious, and I shove his hand off me. It throws him off just enough to make his hand swing out awkwardly.
He turns toward me, and I feel his eyes burning into my skin, but I refuse to meet his gaze.
“Everything okay?” Abigail asks.
“Yeah. I think I overdid it at the gym today,” he lies smoothly.
“Aww, my poor hubby. Let me see,” she coos.
I roll my eyes. And then I want to scream, because she starts kissing his knuckles, giggling softly as if they’re the only two people in the world.
I clench my jaw and turn my face to the window, letting the city blur past.
I won’t cry. I can’t.
Because what right do I have?
He’s hers.
And I’m… the villain in someone else’s love story.
The gala is held in a grand old estate nestled deep in the hills, one of those places that feels more myth than real. The mansion glows with golden light, its towering windows spilling glitter into the night. Ivy coils around the stone columns out front, and masked figures drift in and out like ghosts of some beautiful, forbidden past.
Inside, it’s opulence incarnate. Vaulted ceilings painted with fading Renaissance scenes, gilded chandeliers dripping with crystals, live classical music playing from a stringquartet tucked into a corner. The scent of champagne, roses, and expensive cologne hangs thick in the air.
Women are draped in diamonds and silk. Men are in sharp tuxedos and silk masks, all secrets and polished charm. I have never been in a room so full of power. It’s intoxicating.
As soon as a server glides by with a tray of drinks balanced effortlessly on one hand, Calvin reaches out and snatches a glass filled with amber liquid. He downs it in one long swallow, his throat bobbing with the motion.
Surprised, I glance at my sister, who leans in closer, her green mask glittering under the golden light.
“He’s meeting with a very important businessman tonight,” she whispers. “Someone who could take his career to the next phase. So… he’s a little stressed.”
I frown, and for the first time tonight, I really look at Calvin. He looks tired.
His usually sharp expression is dulled by a tightness around his eyes. His mouth is set in a firm line that says he’s deep in thought and trying not to show it. Even the way he holds his shoulders feels rigid, like he’s bracing for something. Like he’s carrying too much weight in a room that demands he pretend he isn’t.
Suddenly I feel that uncomfortable tug of empathy.
I glance around, making sure no one’s watching, then quietly slide my hand into his. Calvin stiffens, but then, slowly, he exhales. I feel it in the way his grip softens, the way his body sinks just slightly beside me. Like the weight he’s carrying lifts, if only a little.
He looks down at our hands, then lifts his gaze to meet mine. There’s too much emotion flashing in his eyes for me to catch. He opens his mouth, about to say something?—
“Calvin Stirling. And his beautiful bride-to-be.”
Calvin freezes, his hand dropping mine like I’ve burnedhim. He gives me a brief, almost pleading look before turning, the mask of a charming, composed man slipping into place as he wraps his arm around Abigail.
“Jameson, it’s good to see you,” Calvin says smoothly. “And Vivian, you look radiant.”
I step back, watching from behind as I’m pushed out of the frame like I was never part of it. With just one arm around her waist, he puts on the perfect act.
Jameson isn’t wearing his mask, just holding it casually in one hand. He must’ve recognized Calvin from his build. Hard to miss in any crowd.
Vivian says something I can’t hear. Her voice is drowned out by the roar of my own self-hatred and embarrassment. I’m still spiraling when Abigail suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me forward, beaming.
