~HUNTER’S POV-


    “Never knew he like them young,” he says. “He didn’t deny it either. He is a man after all.” <fnc096> Th? link to the orig?n of this information r?sts ?n find~novel</fnc096>


    The words settle into my ears like a slow, irritating drip. I didn’t deny it. Because I didn’t want to


    I swirl the remaining amber liquid in my ss, watching it catch the light. My grip is tight. Tighter than it needs to be. It’s not the whiskey’s fault.


    It’s her fault. Or maybe it’s mine.


    She was supposed to fade into the background tonight. That was the deal. Keep Caesar out of sight. Keep herself out of sight. And yet… She walked into the room wearing that dress like she belonged in it.


    Simple. Beige. Modest.


    It should’ve been nothing. But on her, it was… Something else entirely. And the second those menid their eyes on her, I wanted to break every single rule I’ve made for myself.


    I take another sip, ignoring how my jaw tightens when I remember the way they looked at her. Like they already had a im..


    Like they could have her if they asked nicely enough.


    I’ve seen that look before. I’ve worn it before. But tonight, it tasted bitter.


    The faint echo of her shoes against marble still lingers in the back of my mind. The way she rushed out of the room was like she was running from something.


    Maybe me.


    I don’t follow her.


    Not right away. Because that would be crossing a line I’ve spent years making sure never to cross. But I stand there, staring at the spot where she disappeared, and I wonder if I already have.


    The men keep talking. I keep nodding at the right moments. But I’m not listening. Not really. Because all I can hear is the sound of her voice from earlier.


    ‘Sir.’


    Quiet. Breathless. Controlled.


    I wonder if it’s still my name in her head when she says it. Or if I’ve already be something else to her. I wonder why I care.


    “Hunter.” I blink, turning slightly as one of the investors-Mason, I think-steps into my line of vision.


    He smiles like he knows something he shouldn’t. “You’ve been quiet,” he says.


    I shrug, taking another drink, and finishing the ss. “I don’t enjoy small talk.”


    He chuckles. “No. You never did.”


    He nces down the hall where Celine disappeared. “But it seems you’re learning.”


    I don’t answer. Because I don’t know how. Instead, I hand my empty ss to a passing waiter and straighten my jacket.


    I need air.


    I leave the noise behind. I leave the music, the murmuring, the subtle nces that follow me wherever I go, I step out into the garden, closing the door behind me with a soft click.


    The night is cooler now. The air smells like rain that hasn’te yet.


    I loosen my tie and exhale slowly. I tell myself I’m not looking for her. That if I find her, it’s only because she should be working, Not wandering.


    Not distracting me.


    But when I round the corner near the fountain and see her there, alone, with her arms crossed and her head bowed like she’s holding herself together. something shifts inside me.


    She doesn’t hear me approach. Or maybe she does, and she doesn’t care.


    I stop a few feet away. Close enough to study her face. Far enough not to scare her. Not that she scares easily. I’ve tested that more times than I should admit.


    She’s whispering to herself. Counting, maybe. I don’t ask what number she’s on.


    “Celine,” I say quietly.


    She jumps a little. Just enough. She turns, smoothing her hands down the sides of that damn dress like it’ll protect her from me.


    “Sir,” she says again.


    It’s almost a breath. Almost a plea. I shouldn’t like the way it sounds. But I do.


    “You ran,” I say simply.


    Her throat works as she swallows. “I was… busy.” Her lie is thin. We both know it. But I don’t call her out on it. Instead, I take a step closer. And she doesn’t move away.


    “You didn’t correct him,” I murmur.


    Her lips part, but no wordse out. I take another step. Close enough now to see the faint flush still painting her cheeks.


    “I was about to,” she whispers.


    “But you didn’t.” I can’t tell if I’m using her or myself.


    The silence stretches between us. Long. Heavy. Then I reach up and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. It’s damp. Not with sweat.


    With nerves.


    She leans into my hand for half a second before she stops herself. I let my hand fall, but slowly. “I should get back inside,” she says, her voice shaky again.


    I nod once. “You should.”


    But neither of us moves. Then she takes a step back. And another. And when she finally turns, I don’t stop her. But as she disappears around the corner again, I already know one thing.


    I won’t be able to stop myself next time.


    ~CELINE’S POV~


    I shouldn’t have let him touch me. I keep telling myself that as I walk back inside the house as if the words will somehow erase the feeling his fingers left behind on my skin.


    But they don’t. If anything, the memory burrows deeper.


    The garden air still clings to me. Cold. Heavy. And when I close my eyes, I swear I can still feel his hand tucked behind my ear, his hush grazing my chick like he was memorizing me.


    I bite my bottom lip, harder than I should. The sting reminds me that I’m still here. That I’m still me. Not whoever I turned into for those few made.


    Whoever he made me feel like.


    Safe.


    And that’s what scares me most. Because Hunter isn’t safe. He’s the exact opposite.


    I’m still lost in that thought when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. “Celine,” a sharp voice snaps. “Did you hear me?”


    I blink, turning toward Ana. She’s holding a tray, her mouth twisted in a way that makes her look like she’s constantly smelling something bad.


    “You need to take these out,” she says, shoving the tray toward me without waiting for me to respond.


    I nce down. Four champagne flutes and a half-full bottle.


    I swallow. “Can’t someone else-”


    “No,” Ana cuts me off, already annoyed. “I asked you.”


    There’s something in her tone that makes my stomach twist.


    I can feel the weight of the others watching.


    The ones who think I’m the reason Bianca was fired. The ones who whisper behind my back when they think I’m not listening.


    I don’t have room to argue. And even if I did, I’m too tired to use it.


    I nod and take the tray, adjusting my grip so the sses don’t rattle against each other, But my hands are already shaking.


    Ana notices.


    Her smirk deepens. “You’ll be fine,” she says, fake-sweet. “They’re just men.”


    I’m not sure if that’s supposed tofort me. I force my feet to moye, one after the other, until I’m walking toward them. Four men standing near the corner of the room, their suits too perfect, their eyes too sharp.


    I’ve served drinks before. I know how this works. But something about this feels different.


    The closer I get, the quieter they get. And when I stop in front of them, the silence stretches out thin and strange.


    One of them is the first to speak. “Well,” he says slowly, his gaze dragging over me like it’s something he has a right to do. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”


    The words make my skin crawl, but I keep my face still.


    I’ve had practice.


    I can do this.


    “Champagne?” I offer, my voice steady even though my fingers tighten around the tray.


    Another man chuckles. “Don’t be nervous,” he says, even though I haven’t said anything else. “We’re just teasing you.” His words are supposed to be light, but they feel heavy.


    Like stones in my pockets.


    11:02 Tue, 29 Jul


    GM


    I force a smile. It doesn’t reach my eyes. It never does. I pour the champagne, careful to keep my hands from shaking too much.


    But the man closest to me leans in, close enough that I can smell his cologne. It’s too sweet. It makes my stomach turn.


    “You’re doing a good job,” he murmurs.


    Inod, saying nothing.


    I finish pouring thest ss and straightened. But before I can step away, the first man lifts his drink, tilting it toward me. “To your boyfriend,” he says, his tone sharp with something I can’t name.


    “Hunter seems very… protective of you.”


    My heart stumbles in my chest. I keep my expression nk, but my mind is racing.


    ス


    I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not anything to him. But I don’t correct them. Because it would make it worse. Because it already is worse.


    I force another tight smile. “Enjoy your drinks,” I say quietly.


    I turn to leave, but one of them brushes his fingers against my wrist as I pass.


    It’s brief.


    But I feel it for a long after.


    By the time I make it back to the kitchen, I set the tray down on the counter too hard. One of the sses tips over. It doesn’t break. But I want it to.


    Ana nces at me but says nothing. She doesn’t have to. I already know what she’s thinking.


    I press my hands t against the counter and close my eyes. I can still feel Hunter’s hand on my face. I can still feel the heat of those men’s stares.


    And for the first time since I got here, I don’t know which one feels worse.


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