Chastity
I followed the tunnel toward where I'd last seen Wyatt disappear with a small girl who needed her skates tied. The noise of the charity event dulled behind me—laughter and scraping blades replaced by echoing concrete and fluorescent buzz.
Then I heard voices.
His first—low, sharp, vibrating with something I'd never heard from him before.
Not anger.
Worse.
Pain.
A woman's voice followed. Cold. Practiced. The kind of voice that knew exactly where to cut for maximum damage.
I slowed. Pressed against the wall just before the corner.
"This little… relationship is PR at best, blackmail at worst."
My stomach dropped. Plummeted straight through the floor.
I peered around the edge. She stood there—tall, elegant, wearing a cashmere coat that probably cost more than my tuition. Dark hair swept into a chignon. Makeup flawless. Everything about her screamed wealth, control, perfection.
Barbara Hale. My father's merger partner.
Wyatt's ex-wife.
The woman in all those photos online—the ones from before the divorce, before the scandal, before everything went to hell. She looked exactly like I'd imagined. Polished. Untouchable. Cruel in the way only beautiful, powerful women could be.
Wyatt stood rigid as stone, jaw locked, hands clenched at his sides. "It's not your business." His voice came out flat. Dead.
She stepped closer—into his space with the kind of familiarity that made my chest tighten with something hot and uncomfortable.
"You don't date fresh-faced college girls." Her tone dripped with condescension. "You ruin them. I'm not letting you use Thomas's daughter in your delusions."
Heat flooded my face. My chest. My entire body. Use me? Delusions?
Every protective instinct I'd been trying to suppress roared to life. I didn't think. Didn't plan. Didn't calculate the consequences.
I just moved. Stepped around the corner and walked straight up to Wyatt's side. Positioned myself there deliberately—claiming space, making a statement.
His head snapped toward me. Eyes wide. Surprised. Almost… panicked.
Barbara's expression shifted—cool assessment, faint irritation, something else I couldn't quite name.
"Actually," I said, voice steadier than I felt, "I prefer older men."
The words hung in the air between us.
Wyatt's entire body went still. Frozen. Like I'd just detonated something he hadn't seen coming.
Barbara's smile turned sharp. Predatory. "Chastity. How lovely." She extended a hand like we were meeting at a networking event. "Barbara Hale. I'm working with your father on the merger."
I stared at her hand. Didn't take it. "I know who you are."
Her smile flickered. Just a fraction.
Wyatt's hand found the small of my back—warm, grounding, possessive.
Warning me? Protecting me?
Both?
Barbara's eyes tracked the movement. Something dark flashed across her face.
"Wyatt has a… complicated history with younger women." Her tone stayed pleasant. Reasonable. "I'd hate to see you hurt."
"Funny." I tilted my head. "He's never hurt me."
Lie.
Sort of.
The hurt wasn't physical—wasn't even intentional.
But it was there.
Barbara's expression hardened. "Give it time."
I looked at Wyatt. His jaw was locked, his shoulders rigid, his entire body radiating tension I didn't understand.
"I don't have to," I said quietly.
Barbara folded her arms. The gesture somehow made her look even more untouchable. More perfect. "You're adorable. But you're not fooling me. I know this is fake. I know this is being done to protect the merger."
Something hot flared in my chest. Not anger exactly. Something fiercer. More primal.
I exhaled slowly and stepped slightly in front of Wyatt. Just an inch. Just enough to put myself between them. Protective without realizing.
"I'm not trying to fool you." My voice came out steadier than it had any right to be. "And maybe it started out that way. But I can't fake anything with Wyatt. Not after spending time with him."
Wyatt's entire body went still behind me.
I felt it—the way his breathing stopped, the way his presence shifted from guarded to… something else.
I pressed on, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Everything about him is real. Even the parts people don't like."
Barbara's eyes narrowed. Sharp. Calculating. Reading me like a contract she was about to tear apart. "You barely know him."
The accusation landed exactly where she'd aimed it. And she was right.
God, she was right.
I'd known Wyatt for days. Not weeks. Not months. Days. But my voice softened anyway—surprising both of us.
"Maybe." I swallowed. "But there's nothing I have to pretend with him."
The words hung there.
True.
Terrifyingly true.
I heard myself speaking and nearly fainted. WHY WAS I SAYING THIS? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME? This was supposed to be fake. Performance. Strategy. But standing here defending him to the woman who'd destroyed him, defending him like he mattered, like we mattered, felt dangerously, devastatingly real.
Barbara's face changed.
The hostility didn't vanish completely, but it… softened. Shifted. Less venom, more surprise. Almost… respect? She studied me for a long moment. Assessed me the way investors assessed risk.
Then her gaze flicked to Wyatt.
Something passed between them—silent, loaded, years of history compressed into a single look.
When she spoke again, her tone had lost its razor edge. "You're either the best actress I've ever met…" She paused. "Or you actually believe what you just said."
I lifted my chin. "I meant it."
Barbara's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. Not friendly. Not warm. But not cruel either.
"Then you're braver than I thought." She adjusted her coat. "Or more foolish."
My hands moved before my brain caught up with what I was doing. The words came out soft, almost affectionate. "The kids are waiting."
I reached for his tie—straightened it even though it didn't need straightening. My fingers smoothed his collar, brushed invisible lint from his shoulders. The gestures were intimate. Familiar. The kind of thing a girlfriend did without thinking.
What was I doing?
I didn't know. Didn't care. Something about seeing him cornered by her, seeing that look on his face—exposed, vulnerable, wounded—made me want to… claim him. Protect him. Show her she didn't get to do this anymore.
I rose on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His entire body locked. Froze like I'd electrocuted him. The kiss was soft. Brief. Nothing scandalous. But when I pulled back, lipstick marked his skin—a visible, unmistakable brand.
I wiped it away with my thumb. Slow. Deliberate. Let my fingers linger at his jaw.
Wyatt didn't breathe. Didn't move. Just stared at me with something dark and stunned and dangerous flickering behind his eyes.
Barbara blinked. Hard. Like she'd been slapped. Her perfect composure cracked just enough that I saw it—shock. Genuine, unfiltered shock.
Good.
I turned back to her, dropping my hand from Wyatt's face but keeping my body angled protectively between them. My voice came out calm. Crisp. Controlled in a way that surprised even me.
"You had no right to speak to him like that."
Barbara's eyebrows lifted. "Excuse me?"
"Wyatt's been nothing but kind to me." The words felt true even as I spoke them. Even knowing what this arrangement was. Even knowing he'd orchestrated everything. He had been kind. In his own complicated, damaged way.
Wyatt stiffened beside me. I felt it—the way my words hit him somewhere he hadn't expected.
Kind wasn't a word people used for him. But it was true. He'd protected me from cameras. From crowds. From inappropriate comments. He'd taught me how to survive this world without making me feel stupid. He'd never once made me feel small.
That was kindness.
Wasn't it?
I pressed on, my voice steady. "Whatever happened between you two? That's your past. It has nothing to do with us."
Us.
The word hung in the air like a challenge.
Barbara opened her mouth. Closed it. For the first time since I'd met her, she looked genuinely unsure of what to say.
I didn't give her the chance to recover.
I grabbed Wyatt's hand—large, warm, calloused—and laced my fingers through his. Held on tight. Possessive. Protective. "Excuse us."
I pulled him away from her. Down the corridor. Back toward the noise and light and laughter of the charity event.
Wyatt followed. Silent. Shaken. His hand gripped mine like he was drowning and I was the only thing keeping him afloat.
We walked in silence for several heartbeats. The sounds of the arena grew louder—children laughing, blades cutting ice, cameras clicking.
We reached the rink hallway before he stopped walking. Pulled his hand free. Turned to face me with an expression I couldn't read—somewhere between shock and something darker. More dangerous.
"What the hell was that?"
I crossed my arms, heat flooding my face. My whole body. "She was being rude."
His jaw worked. A muscle ticked near his temple. "That 'rude woman' is about to be your boss."
The words hit me like ice water.
Oh.
Oh God.
My stomach dropped straight through the floor. Barbara Hale. My father's merger partner. The woman I'd just—essentially told off. The woman whose company I was supposed to help lead next quarter. The woman who could tank my entire career before it even started.
What had I done?
"…Oh."
The single syllable came out small. Horrified. Everything I'd felt seconds ago—the fierce protective anger, the righteous indignation—evaporated into cold, creeping dread.
Wyatt watched my face shift from defiance to horror. Something flickered across his expression. Not quite amusement. Not quite approval. But close enough to both that it made my chest tight.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
"Still want older men?"
The question landed like a grenade. My entire body went nuclear. Face burning. Ears burning. Every inch of skin flushed with mortification at my own words echoing back at me.
I'd said that. Out loud. To his ex-wife. To my future boss.
I prefer older men.
"Shut up."