10. Jade
— ? —
Jade
The green dress fits like armor.
I stand in front of the mirror, staring at the woman reflected back. Hair down, like he said. Makeup careful and dramatic. The silk clings to every curve, the slit revealing leg with every step, the bare back making a statement I’m not sure I’m ready to make.
Is that me?
It doesn’t look like the woman who walked out of prison a week ago. It doesn’t look like the woman Donald married or the woman Vivian destroyed.
It looks like someone new. Someone dangerous.
Someone ready to fight.
I descend the staircase. Damian is waiting at the bottom, black suit perfectly tailored, looking up at me with an expression that makes my stomach flip.
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“Is it okay?”
He walks toward me. Slow. Deliberate. Stops at the bottom of the stairs and offers his hand.
“You look incredible. I can’t take my eyes off you.”
I take his hand. Step down to meet him. We’re inches apart.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” I manage.
He smiles. That rare, genuine smile that transforms his whole face, softens the hard edges, crinkles the corners of his eyes.
“Ready to burn it all down?”
“With you?” I squeeze his hand. “Always.”
***
Damian
The Castillo Foundation Gala is the social event of the season.
The city’s wealthiest and most powerful, gathered in a ballroom dripping with crystal and candlelight, champagne flowing freely and alliances being forged and broken with every toast.
I hate these things.
Always have. Even before I became the family disappointment, I hated the performance of it all, the fake smiles, the calculated conversations, the way everyone is constantly assessing everyone else’s net worth and social standing.
But tonight, I don’t hate it.
Tonight, I have Jade on my arm.
We arrive together, and the room goes quiet.
Not all at once - that would be too dramatic, even for this crowd. But heads turn. Whispers spread. People recognize her - the disgraced wife, the convicted thief, the woman who was supposed to be rotting in prison.
And she’s here. Looking like that. On my arm.
I feel her tense beside me. Feel the way her fingers tighten on my arm.
“You’re okay,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
She straightens her spine. Lifts her chin. And walks into the room like she owns it.
That’s my girl.
***
Jade
I see Donald first.
He’s standing near the bar, champagne in hand, surrounded by the usual sycophants. He looks good - he always looks good - but there’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there before. A tension in his jaw.
He sees me.
Goes pale.
Good.
Then Vivian.
She’s across the room, holding court with a group of society matrons, and her champagne glass freezes halfway to her lips when our eyes meet. For one satisfying second, I see something that looks like fear flash across her face.
Then she smiles.
That perfect, practiced, poisonous smile.
And standing beside her-
Nova.
My breath stops.
She’s four years old now. Wearing a pink dress with a sparkly skirt. Her hair is in two braids, tied with ribbons. She has my eyes - I see that now, across the room - and Donald’s stubborn chin.
She’s holding Vivian’s hand.
My daughter. My baby. Right there.
“Jade.”
Damian’s voice, low and urgent.
I realize I’ve stopped walking. Stopped breathing. I’m just staring at Nova with tears burning in my eyes and four years of grief clawing at my throat.
“I can’t-” The words come out broken. “Damian, I can’t-”
“You can.” His hand finds the small of my back.
I force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
You can do this. You have to do this.
I straighten my spine. Lift my chin.
And I watch my daughter.
Nova is looking around the room with curious eyes, not really paying attention to the adults talking around her. She looks bored. Restless. Like she’d rather be anywhere else.
Then she looks up. Across the room.
Her eyes meet mine.
For a moment - one heart-stopping moment - something flickers in her expression. Recognition? Curiosity? I can’t tell.
Then she tugs on Vivian’s hand.
“Mommy, who’s that lady staring at us?”
Mommy.
The word is a knife to the heart.
Vivian looks up. Sees me. Her smile goes sharp.
“Nobody, sweetheart,” she says, loud enough to carry. “Let’s go get cake.”
She steers Nova away from me. Toward the dessert table. Away.
My daughter called her Mommy. My daughter doesn’t know who I am.
The tears are coming now. I can’t stop them. Four years of grief and rage and loss, all crashing over me at once.
Damian’s hand presses harder against my back.
“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
I lean into him. Just for a second. Just long enough to draw strength from his presence.
Then I straighten my spine.
Lift my chin.
Time to fight.
***
Donald corners me by the bar.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
His voice is low, furious, and I feel a savage satisfaction at the panic in his eyes.
“I was invited,” I say coolly. “Damian’s a board member. I’m his guest.”
“You’re supposed to be in prison.”
“And yet, here I am.”
“You have some nerve-”
“I have every right to be here.” I step closer, dropping my voice. “I was exonerated. Or didn’t Vivian mention that?”
Donald flinches. A tiny movement, quickly controlled. “That doesn’t change what you did-”
“What I did?” I laugh, sharp, brittle, nothing like humor. “I didn’t do anything. Your wife framed me. She stole four years of my life. She stole my daughter.”
“You’re insane.”
“Is there a problem?”
Damian materializes at my side, his hand finding its usual place at the small of my back. Donald’s eyes flick between us, and his face twists with something ugly.
“The problem is you bringing my ex-wife to a family event like some kind of trophy.” His voice rises. People nearby are starting to look. “What is this, Damian? Revenge? You’ve always wanted everything I have-”
“Everything you have?” Damian laughs. Cold. Humorless. “You mean the company you inherited because Father didn’t trust me? The wife you cheated on? The daughter you let another woman raise while her real mother rotted in a cell?”
Donald’s jaw tightens. But he doesn’t back down.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve spent four years knowing.
” Damian steps closer. They’re nearly chest to chest now.
The same height. The same jaw. But everything else - different.
“You want to know what the difference between us is, brother? You had everything handed to you. And you destroyed it. I had nothing. And I built something real.”
“Something real?” Donald’s laugh is bitter. “You mean her? She’s using you, Damian. She’s always been a-”
Damian moves so fast I barely see it.
He grabs Donald by the collar. Shoves him against the bar. Glasses rattle. Someone gasps.
“Finish that sentence,” Damian says quietly. Deadly. “I dare you.”
Donald’s eyes are wide. I’ve never seen him scared before.
But he’s scared now.
“Get your hands off me.”
“Apologize to her first.”
“I’m not going to-”
Damian’s grip tightens. “Apologize. To. Her.”
The room has gone quiet. Everyone is watching. Vivian is frozen near the dessert table, Nova pressed against her legs.
Donald’s jaw works. His pride fighting his fear.
Finally, through gritted teeth: “I’m sorry.”
“Look at her when you say it.”
Donald’s eyes slide to mine. There’s hatred there. But something else too. Something that looks almost like shame.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Hollow. Meaningless.
But I don’t need his apology to mean anything. I just need him to know - I’m not the broken woman he threw away. Not anymore.
“Apology accepted.” My voice is cool, composed. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we were about to get a drink.”
Damian releases Donald. Smooths down his own jacket. Takes my hand.
We walk away together. Leaving Donald disheveled and humiliated at the bar.
“That was-” I start, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “Thank you,” I manage.
Damian squeezes my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
***
We leave through a side entrance.
The night air is cold. I lean against the brick wall, trying to breathe, trying to process everything that just happened.
“She didn’t know me,” I whisper. “My own daughter looked at me like I was a stranger.”
“She’s four. She doesn’t understand.”
“Four years, Damian. I missed four years. Her first steps. The first word out of her mouth. The first morning she walked into school without me.” My voice cracks. “Vivian got all of it. And I got a concrete cell and a number.”
He doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t offer empty comfort. He just stands beside me, solid and warm and there.
“We’re going to get her back,” he says. “I promise you.”
I look at him. At the certainty in his eyes. At this man who has given me everything and asked for nothing.
The alley is dark. Empty. The muffled sound of music from inside. No one around.
I don’t think. I grab his tie. Pull him toward me.
And kiss him.
***
Damian
She kisses me and I forget everything.
I forget that we’re standing in an alley behind a gala. Forget that my brother is probably inside losing his mind. Forget that this is complicated and messy and probably a terrible idea.
I forget everything except the taste of her.
She kisses me desperately, hungrily, pouring four years of loneliness and wanting into a single point of contact. And for half a second - half a second of sanity - I freeze.
Then something in me snaps.
My hands grip her waist. I spin her around and press her back against the brick wall. My mouth devours hers. Hungry. Desperate. Like I’ve been dying of thirst and she’s water.
“Jade-” I groan against her lips.
“Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
My thigh pushes between her legs. My hands slide up her sides, thumbs grazing the edges of her breasts through the silk. She gasps into my mouth.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” I rasp against her throat. “How many nights I stayed awake thinking about touching you?”
“Show me.”
My hand finds the slit in her dress. Slides up her bare thigh. Higher. Higher. My fingers brush against the lace of her underwear and she whimpers.
“God, you’re so wet,” I breathe. “Already. Just from this.”