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Nate with his hand at my back as we leave.

Jace and me on the dance floor.

Elias and me in the hallway.

That one hurts, because I had no idea anyone had been watching.

Elias's face is half-hidden in shadow, his forehead rests against mine, and my hand pressed to his chest. Even in the photograph, I can see the vulnerability in his expression, a side of Elias he rarely lets anyone witness. And now strangers are looking at something that was only meant for me.

"Sloane?" Trey's voice cuts through my spiral. "You okay?"

I can't speak. My mouth goes dry as I stare at the photo. That moment was ours, sacred. And now it's been stolen.

"Hey."

I don't look up.

"I didn't even know anyone was there." My voice comes out barely above a whisper.

“And then they took the worst possible version of what happened on that stage and decided I’m some slut getting passed around between billionaires for sport. Completely ignoring how terrified I was. Nate wasn’t making some public bullshit claim. He was trying to get me out of there.”

Trey takes the phone from my hand before pulling me into a hug. “Sloane, you know what I see? Three men who forgot there were cameras.” He strokes my hair, trying to soothe me. “Rich people spend their whole lives performing; they know where every lens is. But in these pictures? They weren’t performing. They were looking at you like no one else existed, and that’s what people can’t stop talking about.”

He steps back, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“So fuck them. They have no clue what safety looks like.” Trey gives me another minute before steering me toward the shoe displays. “Come on. We're not letting strangers on the internet ruin a perfectly good shopping spree.”

Twenty minutes later, I've settled on five pairs: nude Jimmy Choo pumps, black Louboutins with their signature red soles, a pair of gold strappy Aquazzura sandals, burgundy Manolo Blahnik slingbacks, and crystal-embellished Jimmy Choos that I have absolutely nowhere to wear.

Trey surveys the boxes stacked beside me. “You do realize you only have two feet, right?”

“And now they have options.”

“Lord, give me the confidence of a woman with a billionaire's credit card.”

“Amen.”

The sales associate gathers my selections and brings them to the register, but when I offer Nate's card, she smiles. “You're all set, Ms. Harper.”

I blink. “I haven’t paid.”

“The gentleman already took care of it.”

Trey looks at me. “Which gentleman?”

My first thought is Jace. This has Jace written all over it. Then the associate gestures toward the other end of the showroom, and Adrian Cross waves at me like we're old friends.

Every bit of warmth leaves my body.

“Absolutely not.” I push the boxes back across the counter. “Refund it.”

The associate falters. “Ma’am?”

“Whatever card he used. Put it back.”

“Sloane,” Adrian approaches with that effortless smile already in place. “It was a gift.”

“Then you can wear them.”