~HUNTER’S POV-


    I shouldn’t be watching her. But I am. I shouldn’t be tracking her every move like it matters.


    But it does. And that bothers me more than I can admit-especially to myself.


    She’s standing near the floral arrangement by the east hallway, her hands busy adjusting a set of wine sses on a polished tray.


    Her hair is tied back in something loose and careless, wisps escaping to brush against her cheek.


    She’s wearing a in dress. One of the spares the staff keeps on hand. Beige, gray, or some color that has no business being worn at an event like this.


    It’s wrinkled. A little too big at the waist. But somehow, on her, it works. Maybe because she doesn’t seem to care about any of it.


    Or maybe because I care too much.


    I lift the whiskey ss to my mouth, but the burn of the alcohol barely registers. The only thing I can feel is the pulse in my jaw, ticking harder the longer watch her.


    I set the ss down a little too hard on the nearest table. Some of the bourbon sloshes over the rim. I don’t bother wiping it up.


    I’m already moving toward her.


    She doesn’t notice me right away. She’s busy, focused, tucking a cloth napkin into the space between a folded set of silver. Like it’s the most important thing she’ll do all night. Like it matters.


    I stop two feet from her. Close enough to feel the tension in her shoulders before she even turns.


    “What are you wearing?” I ask, my voice low. Too low.


    She startles slightly, her eyes flicking up to mine. Wide. Uncertain. And for some reason, that hesitation irritates me.


    She nces down at the dress. “It’s a spare,” she says quietly. “From theundry room.”


    I arch a brow. “And you thought it was appropriate for this event?”


    Her lips part. Then close. Her fingers twist around the hem of the apron she’s still wearing, stained faintly with dessert. “It’s clean,” she says finally.


    I want to push. I want to tell her it’s not about cleaning. It’s about the fact that she stands out. Not because of the dress. But because she’s wearing it like armor. And I can’t tell if she’s hiding from the room, or me.


    But before I can figure it out, I hear someone approach from the side.


    Augh. Light. Easy.


    “Hunter,” the man says. A handshake follows, firm and practiced. “I didn’t expect such good taste inpany tonight.”


    I don’t recognize him immediately. Not until he’s close enough that I can see the gold si ring on his right hand. Nathaniel Cross. A venture capitalist with deep pockets and deeper rumors.


    He nods toward Celine, his gaze sweeping over her with too much interest for my liking. “Your girlfriend is beautiful.”


    Celine stiffens beside me.


    I feel it. The way her body freezes for a half-second then shifts. She opens her mouth-probably to correct him.


    But I beat her to it.


    “She’s not “I stop.


    The word hovers there, half-spoken. Sharp and final. It would’ve been easy to finish it. To deny it. To say what needs to be tai,


    But instead, I look at her. At the way her breath hitches. The way hershes lower just enough to shadow her expression,


    She’s waiting. Expecting me to draw the line in the sand.


    I don’t.


    “She’s…” I murmur, but the sentence dies again.


    Nathaniel smiles, slow and amused. “Ah,” he says, sipping his scotch. “One of those situations.”


    I don’t answer. I’m still watching her.


    Her hands are shaking. Barely. But I see it. On the way, her fingers clench and unclench around the edge of the serving tray in the way her throat moves when she swallows.


    “Excuse me,” she says suddenly.


    Her voice is too soft. Too thin.


    She steps away before I can say anything, her back straight but her head down. And I watch her go, something sharp twisting in my gut. <fn6ad9> Read full story at Find_Novel(.</fn6ad9>


    Nathaniel chuckles under his breath like this is all some game. “Interesting,” he murmurs.


    I don’t respond. I pick up my ss again, though my hand is tighter around it now.


    Celine disappears down the corridor toward the service hallway.


    I keep my eyes on where she vanished. Like an idiot. Like someone who doesn’t know better. Nathaniel clinks his ss against mine in azy toast. “You didn’t deny it,” he says, his voice low but clear.


    And I feel the weight of it.


    I feel it in the silence that follows, in the eyes that linger a little too long, and in the whispers that ripple behind my back as I take another drink.


    But most of all, I feel it in the space where she stood. Where I should’ve let her correct him. Where I should’ve told them the truth.


    I didn’t. And I’m not sure why. As I stand there, I realize something. She’s no longer just the housemaid in a in dress.


    She’s the rumor I didn’t stop. And maybe… I don’t want to.


    ~CELINE’S POV~


    I don’t breathe again until I’m halfway down the hall


    The sound of polished shoes on marble follows me long after I’ve left the room. Except they aren’t footsteps. They’re the words.


    ‘He didn’t deny it.’


    I grip the edge of the nearest doorway to steady myself. My heart is thudding so fast I can feel it in my teeth. The murmur was faint, barely louder than the string quartet ying in the distance, but I heard it.


    ‘Interesting… he didn’t deny it.’


    I press my palm t against my chest, like maybe if I hold it there long enough, it’ll keep my ribs from splitting open.


    I need to breathe. I need to think. But all I can think about is how Hunter was looking at me just now. Like I was something he wasn’t sure he wanted.


    Or like he was sure and didn’t know what to do with that certainty.


    I hate the way it makes me feel. Like I’m waiting for him to decide. Like I’m something to be decided on.


    My fingers curl against the doorway tighter, the smooth wood digging into my skin. Maybe if I squeeze hard enough, the sting will distract me,


    But it doesn’t.


    I close my eyes for a second and pull in a breath that’s too shaky to be convincing. I’ve worked here for two months.


    I’ve cleaned vomit off imported rugs, listened to insults from friends of his, and bnced Caesar on one hip while negotiating with staff who only spoke in threats.


    I can handle this. Except, I can’t. Because this isn’t work. This is Hunter. And I don’t know what he’s doing. I don’t know what I’m doing,


    A maid brushes past me, her arms full of linens, and gives me a quick, curious nce. I push off the wall and keep moving. I have to


    I’ve got a job to do. Caesar is asleep upstairs after everything that happened earlier, and I need to make sure everything stays in ce so I don’t get that look from Hunter again.


    The cold, disappointed one.


    But when I step into the staff corridor, the mirror near the serving entrance catches me off guard.


    I look… I don’t know what I look like.


    The in beige dress one of the housekeepers loaned me clings in ces I’m not used to. It was the only thing that wasn’t stained after Caesar’s ident, but now, under the low lights, I can’t stop seeing what Hunter must have seen.


    Why did that man think I was here as his date? I smooth my hands down my sides, and my skin prickles under my touch.


    I’m still standing there, staring at a version of myself I don’t quite recognize when I hear footsteps behind me. Slow. Purposeful.


    I know who they belong to without turning around.


    “Celine.” His voice is low. Not sharp, not cold like before. Just… quiet. It almost makes me more nervous.


    I turn slowly, tucking my hands behind me because they won’t stop shaking. “Sir,” I say. My voice sounds thinner than I want it to.


    He’s standing too close. Not close enough to be inappropriate. Just close enough to make the space feel smaller than it should be.


    His blue eyes flicker over my face, then drop to the dress. His jaw tightens.


    “Why are you wearing that?” The words aren’t exactly fude, but they aren’t kind either. They sound like an usation.


    I swallow. “It’s Margaret’s,” I say quickly. “Mine was ruined after… after Caesar-“I don’t finish. I don’t need to.


    He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. I wonder if he’s regretting not denying


    ballroom.


    I hate that a part of me doesn’t want him to.


    gretting whatever that look was he gave me back in the


    Then I hear voices down the hall. A small group of men, expensive suits, and louderughter. One of them steps forward, his grin wide and easy.


    “Hunter,” he says, pping him on the back. “Didn’t know you hadpany tonight.” He nces at me, and his grin softens in that practiced, predatory


    way I’ve seen before.


    “She’s beautiful,” he says.


    He raises his ss. “Your girl is beautiful.”


    I open my mouth to correct him. But before I can, I hear the sharp clink of ice against ss. Hunter’s hand tightens around his whichuy. His eyes fo me-once, quickly.


    “For thest time She’s not-” He stops. His gaze settles back on me. And he doesn’t finish the sentence


    I wait. I wait because he always finishes his sentences.


    But he doesn’t.


    The investor ps him on the shoulder again. “Didn’t think you had the type,” he says with augh. “Good for you.”


    They walk off. The other men follow, their voices trailing behind them in waves ofughter and spection. I’m still standing there, my face burning when Hunter takes a slow sip of his drink like nothing just happened.


    Like he didn’t just leave me standing in a room full of unanswered questions.


    I can’t do this. Not tonight. “I should get back to work,” I say, my voice tight. He doesn’t stop me. He just watches.


    I turn the corner so fast I nearly trip over the edge of the rug.


    And that’s when I hear it.


    Low.


    A murmur from one of the guests as they pass by the hall.


    “Never knew he like them young,” he says. “He didn’t deny it either. He is a man after all.”


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