Chapter 14 Keira
KERIA
The ballroom is magnificent.
Orchids, just like I requested, cascade from tall centerpieces. Crystal chandeliers glitter overhead. A string quartet plays softly in the corner while ice sculptures melt slowly on tables draped in ivory silk.
Waiters in crisp white glide between clusters of Boston's wealthiest, balancing trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.
Even though I've planned and done this a hundred times, it's always special to see it all come together. More so now that I have a team of people who take care of most of it.
For me, it's game time. I put on my social mask, take a deep breath, and do my thing.
I work the room. Smile at donors who think their money buys them access to my life. Laugh at jokes that aren't funny. Listen to politicians drone on about community investment while mentally calculating how much of their "charity" is really just tax evasion.
But through it all, tonight feels different.
Because Octavian is here and he's not just playing bodyguard, he's truly acting like my date.
Not lurking in shadows. Not watching from across the room with those dark, unreadable eyes.
Right here, beside me.
I introduce him vaguely as "a family associate," and no one questions it. How could they? He looks like he belongs in a room full of power players, even though I can tell he's not comfortable with it.
He's also a good head taller than everyone here, so he's got that working for him. No one's going to question him.
His arm rests lightly against mine as we move through the crowd, and every time someone approaches, I feel the subtle shift in his posture, protective and ready.
"Miss Killaney!" A woman in a silver gown waves at me, her teeth too white, her skin too tan. "Darling, you look absolutely stunning tonight."
I lean into my practiced charm. "Thank you, Mrs. Harrington. It's so wonderful to see you."
She air-kisses both my cheeks, her perfume choking the air between us. "And who is this handsome gentleman?"
I glance up at Octavian, who stands like a statue carved from stone, his expression neutral but his presence commanding.
"This is Octavian," I say smoothly.
"Wow, where do I get one?" she says, and laughs.
“Oh, this one was specifically made just for me,” I say and look up at Octavian who shoots me a glance.
I just smirk and touch his arm
"Well, enjoy your night, Mrs. Harrington."
"Okay, Keira, darling, thanks. You too. Oh, and I simply must talk to you about our little gala next month for the women's thing I run."
"Absolutely."
She turns to Octavian. "Bye, handsome."
She walks past us, and Octavian's suit jacket brushes against my bare arm. The heat from his body radiates through me, and I catch the faint scent of his cologne that makes me want to lean closer.
Stop it.
I force myself to focus on anyone to talk to.
I spot Mrs. Wills and approach her.
We start talking, but it's no use. Her words turn to a ramble as soon as Octavian shifts and rests his hand on the small of my back.
Just a light touch.
Barely there.
But it burns through me like fire.
"So what do you think, dear?"
I blink, realizing I have no idea what she just asked. "I think that sounds perfect, Mrs. Wills. I'll have my assistant reach out to coordinate."
She beams. "Wonderful! Enjoy your evening."
As she floats away, I exhale slowly.
"You didn't hear a word she said," Octavian says, his breath warm against my ear.
"Neither did you," I shoot back.
I turn to glare at him, but he's already scanning the room again, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp.
A waiter passes with a tray of champagne, and I snag a glass, taking a long sip to steady my nerves.
"You okay?" Octavian asks quietly.
"I'm fine."
"You still seem nervous."
"I'm not," I insist, and it's true. It's not the event that's getting to me, it's this damn man next to me.
His presence is like a constant gravitational pull. How is that possible for someone at my side who's silent, observing?
I don't have too much time to think as a man steps into our path, cutting off my thoughts.
He's in his mid-fifties, expensive suit, too much cologne. His smile is too creepy and his gaze lingers too long on the curve of my dress.
He leans in to speak.
"Ms. Killaney, I've been hoping to catch you all evening. Your foundation's work in South Boston is truly inspiring."
I don't recognize him, which immediately sets off warning bells.
"I'm sorry, have we met?"
"Not formally." He extends a hand. "Taylor Floridin. I represent several investors interested in expansion efforts here in Boston."
I shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Floridin, and thank you. We're very proud of what we've accomplished," I say and try to let go, but he holds it.
His gaze drifts up and down my body, and before I can even react, Octavian slides his arm around my waist. My body knows before my mind does, feeling the heat and tension. His hand spreads across my hip possessively, and pulls me against his side.
I lean into him instinctively. The contact steals my breath, and fire courses through me.
I have to fight to keep my expression neutral, even as my skin prickles from the heat.
Floridin's smile doesn't falter, but he instantly releases my hand. "Of course," he says and looks up at Octavian. "Lucky man."
He pauses for a moment and looks at me. "Well, I'll let you enjoy your evening."
I watch as he disappears into the crowd.
I don't move out of Octavian's hold. Neither does he. His grip tightens slightly, and I swear I feel his thumb brush against the curve of my waist.
I tilt my head to look up at him.
Am I pretending? Is he pretending?
I don't know, but having him at my side, being this close to him for this long, it's not as bad as I thought.
And Jesus, his arm is solid.
Suddenly the band stops playing and the stage lights come up.
It's my time. I do this, and afterward, I'm supposed to meet with the Shadowharbor people.
Jackie takes the stage, and people clap as we walk toward it. She then smiles and stretches her arms out.
"Come on up here, Keira, and say a few words," she says, and more clapping is heard.
I break away from Octavian, and as I ascend the steps, I realize the empty feeling I have of being out of his grip.
I walk across the stage, and the lights are blinding.
I step up to the podium, gripping the edges to steady myself, and the room quiets.
Hundreds of faces stare back at me. Donors, politicians, journalists. People who measure my worth by how much money I can raise, how well I can perform.
I've done this thank-you speech a dozen times, but tonight, my throat feels dry.
I glance toward the side of the stage and spot Octavian, half-hidden from the lighting, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on me.
And somehow, that makes it easier.
"Good evening, everyone," I begin, my voice clear and confident. "Thank you all for being here tonight and for your continued support of the Killaney Family Trust."
Applause ripples through the room, and I let it settle before continuing.
"This organization was built on a simple belief—that everyone deserves a chance. A chance to rebuild, to grow, to thrive. Because of your generosity, we've been able to provide education programs, job training, and resources to thousands of families across Boston."
I pause, letting my words sink in.
"But we can't do it alone. We need partners who believe in second chances, who see potential where others see obstacles."
My gaze drifts back to Octavian, and for a moment, I forget the crowd.
I forget the cameras. I forget everything except the way he's looking at me.
I clear my throat. "So thank you. Thank you for believing in this work, and thank you for being here tonight. Now, I'll hand things over to my incredible team, who will guide you through this evening's auction. Enjoy, and please, bid generously."
Laughter and applause follow me as I step down from the stage, and the tension in my shoulders finally eases.
As I reach the edge of the platform, Octavian is there, holding a glass of champagne.
I stare at him, surprised.
"I remember you mentioned needing air after being on stage," he says, his voice low. "I found an area over there." He gestures toward a set of glass doors leading outside. "We can go if you'd like."
My chest tightens. He remembered.
I take the glass, my fingers brushing his, and the contact sends a jolt through me.
"No," I say, shaking my head and looking at him. "I don't need to be pulled away from the crowd tonight."
Because I have you, I think, but I don't say it.
Octavian studies me for a moment, then nods. "All right."
We turn and watch the auction process kick off.
As the night continues, it's clear it's a roaring success, and I'm relieved.
Bids fly fast and high, and I watch from our seats on the sidelines as my team expertly guides the room through each lot. Art, jewelry, exclusive experiences—all going for prices that will fund the Trust for months.
Laughter and champagne flow freely. The energy in the room is electric.
I should be thrilled, and I am.
But I can't stop thinking about the way Octavian's hand felt on my waist. The way his arm fits around me like it belongs there.
The way, if I'm being honest with myself, I didn't want him to let go.
I don't know if I'm emotional from the news Callum gave me the other day or the fact I was focused on meeting these Shadowharbor VIPs and they canceled, or just—I don't know. Maybe I need to stop looking for excuses about things.
I lean over to Janet, one of my senior coordinators, who's sitting a few seats down. "Are there any more water bottles under the chairs by you?"
She shakes her head. "No, sorry. I think we're out."
I sit back, suddenly aware of how dry my throat feels, how warm the room is.
Octavian leans into me. "I can get you some water if you'd like."
I turn to him. "What? Are you sure? I can—"
"It's all right," he says, standing. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
Before I can protest, he's gone. I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd with ease.
As I stare at him, I'm unable to stop the smile creeping across my face.
He's infuriating, but I can't deny it any longer—how much I like having him here.
I turn back to the stage, forcing myself to focus on the auctioneer's voice as he announces the next lot.
But then I hear it.
Shouting. A commotion.
Confusion passes through the crowd, heads turning, low voices rising.
I turn, trying to see what's happening, when Octavian comes barreling through the crowd like a freight train.
His six-foot-six frame cuts through people with ease, his face hard, his eyes wild. He's moving way too fast for comfort, and I immediately feel my stomach drop.
He reaches me in seconds, grabbing my hand and yanking me to my feet.
"We need to go."
"What—"
I don't get to finish.
He pulls me against his chest, and I crash into him, his arms locking around me.
"Octavian, what's—"
A scream cuts through the air. High-pitched. Panicked.
And then, an explosion.
The world shatters. I see bright light, feel heat, and hear chaos.
Everything blurs together, and I feel myself falling, Octavian's arms tightening around me as the floor pulls away from my feet.
And then, everything goes black.