Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
FALLON
I stand beside Daniel while he talks to Mark Stevens, one of the assistant district attorneys from his office.
They're discussing some case—plea deals and evidence suppression and procedural technicalities that I used to find intellectually stimulating back when I taught civics alongside literature.
Back when I had opinions about justice and the law. Back when I believed the system worked.
Now the words wash over me like white noise, meaningless syllables that require nothing from me except the occasional nod when Daniel glances my way to ensure I'm performing correctly.
I'm a prop. An attractive accessory in the right dress, positioned at the correct angle to make Daniel look like a devoted husband instead of what he actually is.
I've perfected this role, stand slightly behind and to the left, smile when he glances my way, look interested but not too engaged in the conversation.
Never draw attention to myself. Never speak unless someone addresses me directly.
Never, ever outshine him or make him look less intelligent by comparison.
It's an art form, really—this calculated invisibility.
I already want to leave and we've only been here forty minutes. My feet hurt in these four-inch heels he insisted I wear despite knowing they make standing for extended periods agonizing. But Daniel likes how they make my legs look, and what Daniel likes matters more than my comfort. Always.
Movement across the room catches my eye—a small group weaving through the crowd of politicians and their carefully curated spouses.
Mayor Delaney leads them, his professional politician's smile fixed firmly in place like a mask he's worn so long it's become his actual face.
ángel Lazaro follows half a step behind, moving with that particular grace that speaks of power held loosely but ready to deploy at any moment. And behind them—
I freeze.
My heart actually stops beating for one suspended second before hammering back to life with painful force.
Kade.
He's here. Walking toward us through this glittering crowd in a tuxedo that looks both completely out of place and devastatingly perfect on him.
The formal wear does nothing to soften his edges—if anything, the elegant clothing makes him look more dangerous, like a predator who's learned to wear civilization as camouflage.
His dark blonde hair is styled but still slightly tousled, as if he ran his hands through it before arriving and couldn't quite tame it completely.
His eyes scan the room with that quiet, assessing intensity I recognize from school, cataloguing exits and threats and power dynamics with the same focus he brings to everything.
And then they land on me.
The impact steals my breath, punches the air from my lungs like a physical blow.
His gaze locks with mine across twenty feet of polished marble floor and a sea of oblivious guests, and my knees actually go weak.
Heat floods my face, my chest, spreads through my entire body as memory crashes over me—his hand on my thigh in that empty classroom, fingers tracing patterns on my skin that made me forget every reason this was wrong, made me remember what it felt like to be wanted instead of owned.
The weight of his touch. The heat of it.
How good it felt. How alive it made me feel.
I shouldn't be remembering this. Not here. Not now. Not with Daniel standing six inches away and—
Then I notice the woman on his arm.
Oh God.
She's stunning in a way that makes my chest physically ache with something that feels horribly like jealousy mixed with resignation.
Honey-blonde hair that catches the chandelier light like spun gold, curves that fill out her emerald silk dress in ways my thin, stress-ravaged body never could, and a face so naturally beautiful it belongs in magazines or movies or anywhere except standing beside the boy I've been fantasizing about for weeks.
Young—probably his age, maybe even younger—with that fresh-faced radiance and genuine smile I lost years ago, before Daniel systematically destroyed everything good in me.
She moves with natural, unconscious grace, comfortable in her own skin in a way I've completely forgotten how to be. There's an ease to her presence, a confidence that doesn't need to announce itself. She's everything I used to be before I learned to make myself small and quiet and invisible.
His girlfriend.
Of course he has a girlfriend. Of course she's gorgeous and age-appropriate and perfect for him in every way I could never be. The realization hits like a physical blow, stealing whatever oxygen I had left in my lungs after that initial eye contact.
What did I think? That a boy like Kade would be single? That whatever happened between us meant something more than a teacher having a breakdown and making catastrophically poor decisions? That I was special somehow instead of just pathetically desperate?
"Daniel!" Mayor Delaney's voice pulls me back to the present, to the reality of where I am and who I'm supposed to be. "I have some people you should meet."
Daniel turns smoothly, his hand settling possessively on my side exactly where I knew it would. Right where the bruise is. The pressure sends pain radiating through my ribs but I don't flinch, don't react at all. I learned that lesson two years ago—showing pain only encourages him to press harder.
"Rich, ángel." Daniel's politician smile activates instantly, all charm and warmth and calculated friendliness. "So nice to see you could make it tonight. Wonderful turnout."
His attention shifts to Kade and the blonde woman, assessment flickering in his eyes for just a moment—cataloguing threat levels, usefulness, whether they matter to his career—before the charm returns full force.
"This is Kade Stone and Grace Gentry," ángel says smoothly, gesturing between them. "And this is District Attorney Daniel Reid and his wife."
He doesn't even know my name. ángel Lazaro has been Daniel's "business associate" for two years and he still refers to me as simply "his wife," as if I'm an extension of Daniel's identity rather than a person with my own name.
That's how much Daniel talks about me in his professional life—I'm just an accessory, a prop that proves he's a stable family man rather than what he actually is.
"Nice to meet you both." Daniel shakes their hands with practiced warmth, his politician's charm operating on automatic.
The girl—Grace—smiles at me, the expression genuine and sweet in a way that makes something in my chest ache. She turns from Daniel to focus on me directly, not dismissing me as invisible the way most people in his orbit do.
"It's nice to meet you. I didn't catch your name?"
The question is asked with such natural courtesy, such genuine interest, that it takes me a moment to process. When was the last time someone at one of these events actually wanted to know my name?
"Fallon." I shake her hand when she extends it, surprised by the grip—firm but gentle, confident but not aggressive. Southern manners mixed with quiet strength.
"It's lovely to meet you, Fallon." Her accent carries that soft Southern lilt that makes every word sound warmer, more genuine. "That's such a beautiful name."
I want to hate her. I really, desperately do.
She's with Kade, she's beautiful in ways I could never compete with even before Daniel broke me, and her presence here makes whatever happened between Kade and me feel even more shameful and sordid than it already was.
She represents everything I'm not—young, unscarred, full of possibility instead of defeat.
But her smile is so genuinely kind, her accent soft and charming, and there's real warmth in her blue eyes that makes hatred impossible.
She's not performing the way everyone else at these events performs. She's just...
nice. Actually nice. The kind of person I might have been friends with in another life, in another version of reality where I made different choices.
When she releases my hand, Kade extends his.
"Nice to meet you, Fallon."
His voice is low, quiet, meant just for me despite the crowd around us. My hand meets his and my mind immediately floods with memory—his hand on my thigh. The weight of his touch, the heat of it, how good it felt to be wanted.
He sees it. I know he does because something flickers in those green eyes—recognition, heat, memory—and his mouth curves into the smallest smirk, barely there but unmistakable. A secret shared between us that no one else in this room can read.
I drop his hand too quickly, too obviously, muttering, "Nice to meet you" while trying desperately not to look at him anymore.
The guilt crashes over me in waves, cold and suffocating and absolutely deserved. His sweet, beautiful girlfriend standing right there. What kind of person am I? What kind of teacher? What kind of woman wants her student while wearing another man's wedding ring?
The conversation continues around me—Daniel holding court the way he always does, Mayor Delaney laughing at something ángel says, the sound polished and practiced—but I'm drowning in my own shame, struggling to breathe through the weight of it.
I focus on staying upright. On breathing steadily. On not looking at Kade again, not even a glance, because I can't trust my face to hide what I'm feeling.
Grace says something animated about the charity the gala supports, her hands gesturing expressively the way people do when they care about what they're saying, and my eyes catch on the ring glittering on her left hand as it moves through the light.
Engagement ring.
Stunning. Expensive. The kind of ring that speaks of love and commitment and a future together. The kind of ring I got from Daniel three years ago when I was too naive and desperate to see the cage it represented.
My chest tightens until I can't breathe properly, until the air feels too thick to pull into my lungs.
The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, too crowded.
The chandelier light is too bright. The voices around me too loud.
I'm going to break down right here in front of everyone if I don't move, don't escape, don't get somewhere I can fall apart in private.
"I need to go to the ladies' room." The words come out steadier than I feel, my voice still functional even when everything else is crumbling. "Excuse me."
I don't wait for permission—Daniel's too engaged in his conversation to care anyway, too busy networking and building connections that will advance his career—and move through the crowd with careful, measured steps that hide my desperate need to run.