Chapter Thirty-Five
MILA
The days blurred after Luke and I had spent the night together. We didn’t talk about what would come next at the event. We just kept moving—practice, classes, meetings. The world kept spinning as though nothing had changed, but everything had.
By Friday, the Blackwood Foundation Gala had dominated the calendar.
Every message thread, every hallway conversation, every see you this weekend carried the same undertone—money, image, control.
King Enterprises and Dunn Industries were jointly hosting the event.
It would be interesting, or terrifying, to see which way the balance tilted.
Luke texted once that afternoon: I’ll be late to the fundraiser. Don’t let Charles Dunn near you before I get there.
I didn’t answer. There wasn’t much I could say. Why would Mr. Dunn come near me? That was more my mom’s nightmare than mine. But Luke would arrive later, as he didn’t have to be there as early as Mom and me.
By Saturday night, the event already felt close—its presence threaded through the air as if charged with static.
Mom moved through our rental with quiet purpose—hair pinned, perfume lightly misted, expression steady.
She wasn’t going with Principal Miller as her date and said it was better to keep things simple.
I knew what she meant—no attachments, no witnesses, no one else to pull into whatever this night might turn into.
When she turned to zip my dress, she paused for a second, then met my eyes in the mirror.
“You don’t have to go,” she said quietly. “You’ve done your part.”
“I know. But I’m going.”
Her reflection softened. “Okay. Just…be careful.”
The car ride was mostly silent except for the radio droning as background noise. The town slipped by in streaks of light until the building came into view—marble, glass, and enough security to pretend this was about charity instead of two companies trying to rule.
The driver—courtesy of Dunn Industries—eased the vehicle to the curb. Flashbulbs popped near the entrance, cameras pivoting toward names that mattered. Mom and I got out of the vehicle and moved forward together, through the glass doors and into the wide, gleaming space.
Inside, crystal caught the glow and fractured it, refracting across glass and gold.
Chandeliers dripped as though made of diamonds over marble floors.
Waiters in black moved as though choreography through clusters of silk and tailored suits, champagne flutes flashing in their wake.
The air smelled of perfume and polished wood—money dressed up as elegance.
My dress wasn’t made for this room. Silver, low-backed, catching the light in places I didn’t want noticed. Mom said that was the point.
When she gave it to me, I couldn’t stop staring.
The fabric moved like mercury—fluid, alive.
I’d loved how it skimmed my skin, caught the light, and made me feel as though maybe I could belong among the wealthy at the event.
But here, under chandeliers and cameras, it felt like standing in a spotlight I hadn’t asked for.
Mom’s emerald dress was sleek, high-slit, designed to turn heads. Every line of it deliberate. The kind of beauty that didn’t ask for attention—it took it.
Her hand brushed mine as we stepped through the archway and into the room’s pulse. I felt the tremor in her fingers, which surprised me.
“Stay close,” she murmured without moving her lips. “Don’t stare. Don’t react. If Dunn comes near you—”
“He won’t.” The words tumbled from my mouth without invitation.
She’d been a wreck while we’d gotten ready, convinced something would go down at the event and we’d be caught in the crosshairs.
Dunn, King, Lorne… they were all here tonight.
Predators in tailored suits, lying in wait, and neither Mom nor I wanted to be caught in their sights.
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Don’t say that like you know.”
Then her expression reset, mask snapping into place.
She took a steadying breath, then smiled—a smooth, practiced upturn she used on headmasters and donors.
“We’re fine,” she said lightly, louder this time.
“You worked check-in, remember? Stick close to people you know from school. Smile, be polite, then eat something. Shoulders back. Chin up.”
I nodded as though I was listening, pulse already cataloguing exits.
The press line was gone. Twenty minutes since the last camera flash. The room had settled into low conversation, laughter and champagne flowing freely. A string quartet played in the corner, notes drifting through the air as if they belonged to someone else’s night.
Security was thicker now that the cameras were gone. Not bulky bodyguards but quiet suits, hired muscle, who didn’t blink enough. One near the side hall. One by the double doors to the service corridor. One near the Dunns.
My name badge was off. Student liaison was over. I was just a girl in a silver dress who didn’t belong.
“Breathe,” Mom said softly.
“I am.”
“Breathe quieter.”
I almost smiled. Then Luke walked in. No announcement. No warning. The air just… shifted.
He moved through the doorway and into the space as if he owned it.
Black custom suit that accented his broad, muscular shoulders, white shirt, no tie.
Hair still damp at the ends, evidence of a quick shower.
Every motion was deliberate, quiet. Controlled.
He didn’t glance around, but his presence demanded attention.
And then he looked at me. Full focus. No hesitation. The noise behind me dulled to a hum. My chest loosened so suddenly I almost swayed.
He came straight to me. Not rushed—intentional. Each step closing the distance that never really existed. I felt it in my chest before I saw it in his eyes—the familiar pull that said neither of us had ever really let go.
His hand settled on my waist, sure and warm. “You look—” His voice hitched, then steadied. “Dangerous.”
“To you?” I asked.
“Every time.”
Mom murmured something polite and stepped aside—close enough to hear, far enough to look casual. Her way of keeping me safe without showing it.
Luke leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “You good?”
I nodded. “You?”
“About to be.”
And then we were moving—his hand still low, guiding, not pushing.
Through the center of the ballroom as though the space had always been meant to clear for him.
Heads turned. Polite greetings followed.
He didn’t stop. A nod here. A handshake there.
Controlled efficiency. He didn’t play the room—he ran it.
A product of his heritage, the wealth attached to his last name, the power his family wielded and what he’d grown up in—rooms full of power players who smiled while they drew blood.
The Kings stood near the center table. Grant King’s stance was pure command—broad shoulders squared, a dangerous presence radiating from him as he spoke with another man.
Beside him was his wife, Eleanor, in cream satin, beauty weaponized by poise.
Her smile polished to perfection, but the cunning in her blue eyes impossible to miss.
Luke’s hand flexed against my waist, a silent warning—or reassurance. Then we were moving. Each step felt deliberate, threaded with all the history waiting in their eyes when they finally turned toward us.
“Dad. Mom.” Luke’s voice was polite, clipped. His grip on me tightened by a fraction. “This is my girlfriend, Mila Callahan.”
Grant’s eyes dragged over me once, cataloguing details. “Mila.” No warmth. Just an assessment.
Eleanor stepped forward when he didn’t. “Thank you for your help with the student coordination.” Her voice was smooth, practiced. “The turnout’s wonderful.”
“I—” My voice barely found shape. They’d completely skipped over Luke’s announcement, but maybe that was a good thing? “I’m glad.”
Grant extended his hand. I took it because not taking it would’ve made a scene. His palm was cool. His stare wasn’t. “A Callahan at my table.” His gaze cut to Luke. “Interesting.”
Luke went still beside me. His thumb moved lower on my waist—firm, possessive.
“Why wouldn’t she be?” His tone was even, controlled. “She’s with me.”
Eleanor’s smile tightened. For a second, the conversation paused.
Then his brother, Drew, slid in, smooth as ever. “Wow, territorial pissing already?” he said, half-laughing, kissing Eleanor’s cheek. “That’s faster than usual. Mila, you look stunning. Claire, come here. You remember Mila, right?”
Claire moved beside him, pale and tense in light-pink silk, clutching her purse like armor. Her gaze met mine—steady, kind, seeing too much.
“Good to see you again.” Her voice was low, careful. Her fingers wrapped around mine—quick, warm. A warning wrapped in grace. Something in her eyes said she understood exactly what it cost to stand here with Luke against his parents.
Grant exhaled through his nose, jaw flexing. “We’ll talk later,” he said to Luke.
“Yeah.” Luke’s tone was calm. Dangerous. “We will.”
A man called Grant’s name from across the room. He turned toward it, the conversation already dismissed. The spotlight shifted with him, and the air between Luke and me finally eased.
Luke’s hand squeezed my waist. “Come on,” he murmured. “We’re not done.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Lorne stood near the entrance, tie black, grin sharper than the edge of his cufflinks. The woman on his arm looked ornamental, her expression bored.
“Lorne,” Luke said.
Lorne’s eyes cut to me. “And this must be Mila Callahan.” He smiled, lazy. “You have your mother’s eyes. I hope they’re finally seeing clearly.”
Cold slid down my spine.
Luke shifted, subtle—his stance angling, hand settling at my hip, body between me and Lorne. Not blocking me. Claiming space.
“Careful,” Luke growled.
Lorne laughed. “Always.”
Then the room’s air thickened again—because Mr. and Mrs. Dunn had arrived.