Chapter 1
GABRIEL
Gabriel Sterling had givenhundreds of toasts in his career, from board meetings to client dinners to product launches. He knew how to work a room, time a pause, and make people believe every word, even when half of it was performance. This one was different.
“To Ronan,” he said, raising his glass. The guests gathered on the Beauchamp estate lawn fell quiet, champagne flutes suspended mid-air, conversations cutting off mid-sentence the way they did in boardrooms when the person with actual power started talking. “Who proved that even the most disciplined among us can be undone by the right person.”
The crowd erupted in laughter. Ronan Wilder stood at the head table with his bride, looking more relaxed than Gabriel had seen him in fifteen years. A notorious control freak, the man who scheduled bathroom breaks during board meetings, now gazed at his wife as if she’d invented sunshine. Devney beamed beside him, radiant in white lace, her hand locked in his as if she’d anchored him to the earth.
“When we met at Harvard,” Gabriel continued, “Ronan made a pledge. No distractions. No complications. Nothing that’dinterfere with building an empire.” He paused, thumb rubbing the stem of his glass, letting the silence do the work. “And then he met his assistant, who turned his entire world sideways.”
The crowd reacted again. Devney’s cheeks flushed pink, and Ronan pressed a kiss to her temple with a tenderness that twisted behind Gabriel’s ribs.
“So here’s to breaking the rules when the right person makes them obsolete. To Ronan and Devney.”
Crystal chimed as glasses met. Gabriel drained his champagne and set the empty flute on the table, the hollow ache behind his heart settling into its familiar place. He’d learned to bury it under quarterly reports and market projections.
Ronan had broken The Oath. Gabriel was happy for him, really. Watching his closest friend grin like an idiot while his new wife fed him cake sent a hot spike of envy through Gabriel. He washed it down with champagne lifted from a passing tray.
He scanned the terrace. Couples were everywhere, orbiting each other like planets around the sun. Ronan and Devney sat at the head table, fingers intertwined even now. The bridesmaid to Gabriel’s left kept glancing at her fiancé across the room with a knowing smile that suggested secrets between them. The groomsman on Knox’s right had his wife’s lipstick on his collar, and neither of them seemed to care who noticed.
Knox caught his eye from down the table and raised his glass in mock salute, that familiar smirk in place. They were the last two standing, both of them seated at the head table like prized exhibits in a museum of endangered bachelors. The Bachelor Best Men. At least Knox found it amusing, but then again, the man found everything amusing.
Four years remained on The Oath. Gabriel could survive that long. He’d survived worse, like markets crashing, deals falling through, and the occasional hostile takeover attempt. Surely, he could manage four more years of strategic solitude.
The reception rolled into evening with more toasts, laughter, and music blurring into the background hum of celebration. Gabriel circulated through the crowd, expression pleasant, charm deployed—a weapon he’d honed over decades. He’d perfected the art of looking engaged while remaining detached, a skill his mother would’ve considered excellent breeding.
Eleanor Beauchamp caught him between the cake table and the terrace. Her silver hair gleamed under the string of lights. Her smile was that brand of gracious that old money cultivated like rare orchids. “Mr. Sterling, the wedding was spectacular, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” he agreed. “You and Andrew have a beautiful home.”
They exchanged pleasantries. Business talk disguised as small talk. The weather as a metaphor for market conditions. The bride’s dress as a segue into textile investments. Gabriel could do this in his sleep, and he had done it in his sleep more than once, his brain running on social autopilot while the rest of him drifted elsewhere.
He excused himself and headed toward the bar. Knox was already there, holding court with some hedge fund manager Gabriel vaguely recognized, telling a story that had the man choking on his whiskey.
“And then Ronan actually said, ‘I appreciate your input,’ which is corporate speak for ‘I’m not interested in a single word coming out of your mouth.’”
Knox spotted Gabriel and grinned, wearing a shark-like expression that meant he was enjoying himself far too much. “Sterling! Tell this guy about the time Ronan tried to schedule a meeting to discuss why we shouldn’t schedule so many meetings.”
The man laughed again, dabbing his lips with a napkin. Gabriel accepted a whiskey from the bartender, took a drink,and let the burn ground him. Across the terrace, Ronan and Devney moved through the crowd together, their hands linked, still adjusting to one another, close with an instinctive ease rather than learned.
The hedge fund manager excused himself, mumbling something about finding his wife, and left them alone. Knox leaned against the bar, studying Gabriel with the look he got when he was about to say something ridiculous. The man had a gift for knowing exactly when to deploy absurdity as a conversational weapon.
“So. Carpools.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Do you think Ronan’s going to drive carpools? Get one of those SUVs with the golden retriever in the back? Coach peewee soccer?” Knox gestured with his glass, the ice clinking. “I’m trying to picture it. Ronan Wilder in a minivan with snack duty.”
Despite himself, Gabriel huffed. “No.”
“Exactly. He’ll hire someone for that part.”
“Well, you can hire a full-time nanny whose entire job is diaper duty.”
“That’s exactly what he’ll do.” Knox took a sip, his expression thoughtful, as if contemplating the logistics of outsourced parenthood. “Five bucks says he has an au pair named Gretchen within six months of their first child being born.”
“You’re an ass.”
