She reached up, rubbing at the back of her neck, then bent to pick up a stray cue card from the floor. It was such a small, human thing, and something in my chest twisted. This woman had spent weeks breaking herself in half to pull this night off, and she was still the one cleaning up after everyone else.
I wanted to go to her. Say something. Anything. But what did you say to someone who already did everything right? Congratulations? She’d heard it all night. You’re incredible? She’d brush it off. You deserve better? That would give away too much.
The curtain rustled slightly, and she turned her head just enough that I caught a glimpse of her face in the dim light. There was no performance left in it. No mask. Just Ellery—exhausted, proud, a little broken, and somehow still standing taller than anyone else in the room.
I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe, feeling that strange pull again. The one that made me want to step forward even when I knew I shouldn’t.
You’re supposed to keep your distance, Mason. Remember?
Except distance didn’t feel like protection anymore. It felt like cowardice.
She started gathering her things—a clipboard, a purse, that stubborn professionalism she wore like armor. When she glanced my way through the curtain, our eyes caught for a second before she looked down again.
That tiny flicker of recognition was enough to undo me.
I stepped closer before I could talk myself out of it, the curtain brushing against my shoulder. She didn’t notice me right away—she was still standing there, eyes distant, fingers fidgeting with the stem of an empty champagne glass. When she finally turned, the surprise in her face softened into something small, tired, but still beautiful.
“You did it,” I said quietly. "I know I said it before but… you're incredible."
She blinked, then smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks. I’m just trying to remember how to breathe again.”
I held out the bottle of water I’d been carrying around like an idiot. “Here. Hydration. Very glamorous.”
She laughed, weakly at first, then more genuine as she twisted off the cap. “Always prepared,” she said.
I shrugged. “Occupational hazard of babysitting drunk girls.”
That earned me a real laugh—soft and low, the kind that hit somewhere deep. The kind that undid me every damn time.
For a second, the world seemed to shrink around us. The chatter from the ballroom faded to a dull hum. The air smelled faintly of champagne and roses, her perfume cutting through it like something warmer, familiar. Her makeup was starting to smudge at the corners, the gloss gone from her lips, and somehow that made her even harder to look at.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked finally, breaking the silence.
I smirked. “I didn’t spill anything or start a fight. That’s progress.”
Her smile grew a little steadier. “You clean up well, Mason.”
I wanted to tell her she was the one who looked unreal, standing there barefoot in a dress meant for people who never worked a day in their lives. I wanted to tell her how proud she should be. But I didn’t trust myself to keep it casual, so I just said, “You make running an empire look easy.”
She rolled her eyes. “You mean controlled chaos?”
“That’s still more control than most people manage.”
The humor faded from her face, replaced by something quieter. She looked down at the floor, then back at me. “Thanks. Really.”
The word was small, but it carried everything—gratitude, exhaustion, maybe even relief. And I knew right then I’d walk through fire if it meant I could keep hearing her say it like that.
Her shoulders relaxed. She took another sip of water and glanced toward the curtain where the music from the ballroom spilled through. “I should go back out there before Naomi sends a search party.”
“Yeah,” I said, though I didn’t move.
She hesitated, meeting my eyes for just a moment longer than she should have. “Thanks for the water. And for… being here.”
I nodded, because if I opened my mouth, I’d say something stupid. Something true.
I opened my mouth to say something—something that might’ve been you did it or I’m proud of you—but the words stalled when she reached for me instead.
“You can’t show up this handsome and ruin it with a lazy knot,” she murmured, fingers brushing the edge of my tie.
