5.0 #4
Kian's hand grazed the small of my back-just enough to steady, just enough to say stay put. "Relax," he murmured. "You look good."
I almost told him I wasn't worried about how I looked. That it was everything else-the cameras, the eyes, the glittering room that made me feel like my sneakers and smocks were showing through the gold latex.
But then he leaned closer, lips brushing my ear. "Trust me."
And for whatever reason, I did.
We wove through the crowd, his hand at my waist a constant anchor. People stopped him here and there-dap, quick jokes, a smile that didn't touch their eyes. He responded in kind, never lingering long, always keeping me moving with him.
The place was alive in a way I hadn't expected.
Not loud-never loud-but full, like the walls themselves were buzzing.
Women glided past in gowns that looked custom, all sequins and satin, perfume thick as smoke.
Men in sharp suits laughed too hard at each other's jokes, drinks sloshing in crystal glasses.
Servers weaved through with trays of champagne and tiny plates I couldn't name.
I tugged at the hem of my dress, suddenly aware of how tight it clung to me. Gold latex wasn't exactly the uniform here, but I'd been too stubborn to second-guess myself when I slipped it on. Now, surrounded by all this wealth, I wondered if I looked like I'd wandered in by mistake.
Kian didn't seem to notice-or care. He had one hand at the small of my back, steering me through the crowd like I was his shadow. Every few feet someone stopped him-dap, hug, handshake-and every time, his grip on me stayed firm.
"Damn, you know everybody," I murmured under my breath.
He smirked, sipping from a glass someone had shoved into his hand. "Philly small, baby. Circle even smaller."
"You ever get tired of it?"
"Of what?"
"Being... seen."
He chuckled low, leaning close so only I could hear. "You kidding? This the fun part. This where everybody remembers what they owe me."
The words made something in me shift. I glanced around again, at the chandeliers dripping glass like icicles, at the clean shine of money old enough to pretend it wasn't.
The hustle was everywhere in Kian-the chain, the gun he didn't bother to hide, the casual stack of bills I'd seen him count like loose change.
But here, looking at the way people looked at him, I couldn't help the thought that slipped in sharp: If your family lives like this... why the streets? Why the weight?
I swallowed it back before it showed on my face.
"Yo, cuz!" A tall guy in a dark suit clapped Kian on the shoulder, pulling him into a hug. His eyes flicked to me, quick but curious. "Unc's looking for you."
Kian nodded once. "Bet. Tell him I'll be there."
The cousin smirked, eyes cutting back to me before he drifted off into the crowd.
"What's that about?" I asked.
Kian only grinned, squeezing my hip. "Come on. You'll see."
By the time we reached the center of the room, I felt dizzy from the chandeliers and the perfume, from the way everyone seemed to know each other by name.
Then a voice cut through the buzz.
"Kian!"
A man in a tailored navy suit pushed through the knot of people, arms open like he was greeting his own son. His hair was silver at the temples, his smile practiced but warm.
"Unc," Kian grinned, pulling him into a quick hug.
So this was Bryan.
The man's eyes landed on me next, sharp but kind. "And who's this?"
"This Amira," Kian said easily, his hand tightening on my waist. "She's with me."
Bryan extended his hand, and I shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing. "It's a pleasure. Welcome, welcome. Kian doesn't bring just anyone around here."
I smiled politely, though my stomach flipped at the weight of his words.
"You enjoying yourself?" he asked.
"It's beautiful," I managed. "More than I expected."
He laughed, a sound that filled the space without effort. "That's what we're going for-unexpected. Politics is all about showmanship."
Politics. The word hit harder than the champagne fizz I hadn't even sipped yet.
Bryan clapped a hand on Kian's shoulder, then looked back at me. "You picked a fine evening to join us. Big announcements, big futures."
I tilted my head, unsure how to respond, but before I could, he lifted his hand and waved across the room.
"Let me introduce you to someone important," he said. "My running mate."
I followed his gaze, the crowd parting just enough for me to see him.
Tall. Dark suit cut sharp. Broad shoulders that made the fabric strain. His profile was unmistakable-jawline too sharp to mistake, mouth set in that line I used to know too well.
For a second, my breath stuck like it had forgotten how to move.
He looked older. Harder. His hair was trimmed close, his face clean, but it was his eyes when they met mine-those same brown eyes that once read me too easily-that undid me.
Bryan gestured him closer, calling out, "Brooks, come meet someone!"
And just like that, the floor felt like it tilted under me, the whole glittering room fading into a single impossible truth: four years, and here he was.
Here we both were.