Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
MIRANDA
The after-party is exactly what I expected—and somehow so much more.
Music thumps softly through the elegant ballroom, a blend of classic Hollywood glamour and electric modern energy. Golden light spills from chandeliers, and the air smells like the Hollywood elite. It’s a thing. Everywhere I look, laughter sparkles brighter than the sequins on the gowns.
Anna’s already done with the whirlwind of press photos and interviews, her Oscar locked up at the ritzy hotel we’re staying at so she can enjoy the night.
Jaden has barely stopped smiling since her name was called.
When she spots me across the room, she waves, her eyes still shining.
Props to her makeup artist because her picture-perfect face of makeup hasn’t smudged at all.
“She’s glowing,” I say, half in awe.
Miles, who’s beside me holding a cocktail, grins. “She just won a freaking Oscar. I’d glow too.”
He takes a sip, grimaces, and mutters, “That’s definitely not what I ordered.” He sets the drink on the bar top.
I laugh, tugging him toward the dance floor where Jaden and Anna are already spinning in circles, Anna’s dress shimmering under the moving lights. Jaden dips her dramatically, and she throws her head back, laughing loudly.
Miles slides in behind me, his hand brushing mine. “C’mon, Sunshine, don’t leave me hanging. Come dance with me.”
He twirls me onto the dance floor, and before I can protest, we’re spinning among the swirl of tuxedos and gowns.
I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
Miles is all chaotic energy—singing lyrics he only half knows, doing that jock shuffle that’s more confidence than rhythm.
Somehow it works, with him—everything does.
When the DJ transitions from something elegant to something with a deep bass line, Miles whoops and throws an arm around Jaden, pulling him into our circle. Anna joins, too, and suddenly, the four of us are moving in sync—our little Crane crew in the middle of Hollywood royalty.
Someone snaps a picture, and I can already imagine the headlines: Oscar winner Annalise Sterling celebrates with her team.
For once, I don’t care how I look or if the world sees. My cheeks hurt from smiling, my feet from dancing, and my heart from being so full it could burst.
At one point, Miles disappears for a drink and returns with two glasses of champagne, handing one to me.
“For the goddess,” he says, raising his glass.
I clink mine against his. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Always.” He tips the glass to his mouth, downing the sparkling beverage in one gulp.
The warmth of the champagne spreads through me. “Did you get uncomfortably close to any celebrities on your way to the bar?”
He shrugs. “I may have taken a few selfies, but I totally played it cool. I didn’t fangirl.”
“Ha!” I force a laugh. “Sure you didn’t.”
He smirks. “I didn’t. That’s all out of my system now.”
“All right, if you say so.” I press my lips together, trying not to laugh.
Miles bops my nose with his pointer finger. “Rude.”
I hand him my half-finished glass of champagne. “Here. I’m going to grab a mojito or something from the bar. Dancing and all the bubbles don’t sit well with me.” I press my hand against my abdomen.
He downs the rest of my champagne, places the glass on a passing server’s tray, and follows me toward the bar. “I’ll come with you.”
We weave through the crowd of celebrities.
In front of the bar stands a woman in a red dress.
She turns as we approach, and I freeze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat.
I stare, glassy-eyed, at a ghost from my past. I haven’t seen her since I was fifteen, yet she looks almost the same twelve years later.
She must recognize me, too, because her mouth falls open in surprise.
Miles steps up behind me, and I lean back toward him, instinctively wanting distance from the woman before me.
“Miranda? Oh my God, is that seriously you?” Tracey shrieks.
Her voice has the same shrill tone it did sophomore year of high school—and just like back then, it makes my skin crawl.
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is dry, like I’ve swallowed glass. I’m physically unable to speak.
Tracey’s gaze shifts to Miles, standing protectively behind me.
Her nose wrinkles in a sneer. “Ah, so... you traded in for a younger model. Probably for the best. Much more appropriate.” Then she turns her attention to Miles.
“Hi, I’m Tracey. Miranda and I go way back.
” Her eyes return to me, poisoned and cruel.
“Though I have to say, I always thought you and Clive were endgame.”
My step falters, and if not for Miles behind me, I’d have fallen backward.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight.
I don’t know if he feels my erratic heartbeat or the ice spreading beneath my skin, but when Tracey puckers her lips in that mean-girl way she perfected years ago and begins, “Or should we call him—”
“That’s enough,” Miles snaps, cutting her off.
Tracey clicks her tongue and glares at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said that’s enough out of you. We’re not interested in what you have to say.”
Tracey’s lips curve into a smug pout. “I think you’d find a little walk down memory lane quite interesting. In fact”—she tilts her head—“judging by the deer-in-the-headlights look on Miranda’s face, I’d guess you have no idea what I’m about to say.”
Miles holds me closer. “Get the fuck out of here,” he growls.
“What did you just say to me?” Tracey snaps.
“Look around, Stacey. This isn’t high school. Grow up.”
“It’s Tracey,” she hisses, correcting him.
Miles waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, whatever.” He lowers his voice as he leans toward me. “Come on, Sunshine. Let’s get back to Jaden and Anna. This isn’t the vibe.”
“You really should know—”
Keeping one hand on my back, Miles steps around me and lunges forward. “Seriously, shut the fuck up, Lacey. We don’t want to hear it. Come near us again, and I’ll throw you out myself.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her attempt to furrow her brows fails thanks to too much Botox.
“Try me,” Miles seethes.
He threads his fingers through mine and tugs gently. Somehow, my legs remember how to move, and I let him guide me away from the bar. He doesn’t lead us back to the dance floor. Instead, he finds a small two-top in a quiet corner.
He grips my waist and lifts me onto the tall-backed chair. “Hey, talk to me.”
I still haven’t said a word. I can only imagine what I look like—terrified, pale, hollow.
“Are you okay?” He rubs his hands up and down my arms. “You’re freezing. Come here.” He pulls me into his arms, wrapping me up completely.
My cheek rests against his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into mine until I start to thaw.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, emotion thick in his voice as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.
It’s only then that I realize I’m crying—silent tears soaking through his white dress shirt. I pull away. “I’m so sorry.” I swipe at my face. “Your shirt—”
He cups my arms, leaning close until we’re eye to eye. “I couldn’t care less about my shirt. Are you okay?”
My body trembles as the adrenaline drains. “I’m fine.”
But I’m not. Not even close.
My biggest fear came true tonight. My past caught up with me. While LA is huge, the elite circles are small, and I’ve been running for over a decade—believing if I moved fast enough, it would all stay buried. Foolish. This moment was inevitable.
My brain is spinning. What does this mean? What will Tracey do? I would’ve hoped she’d grown empathy since she was fifteen. Clearly, I was wrong.
I need Anna—but I can’t darken her night with my drama.
She deserves every ounce of her happiness.
She’s the only one who’d understand, the one person who could pull me out of this spiral.
But not tonight. Tonight, I have Miles—and though I know he’d love me anyway, I can’t tell him the truth. Some secrets are meant to stay buried.
Miles is still holding my arms. “Miranda,” he says, like it’s not the first time he’s tried to reach me.
I blink, his voice pulling me back into focus.
“Miranda,” he repeats, desperation in his tone. “Come back to me. Talk to me.”
The air feels heavy, muffled, like we’re underwater. My head throbs. My mouth won’t work. I’m trapped between thought and sound.
“I’m going to get Anna,” Miles says.
That jolts me out of the fog. “No.” My voice cracks. “No,” I repeat, stronger this time.
“Miranda,” he sighs, worry darkening his features. “What’s going on? Who was that bitch? What does she have on you? I’m so worried about you.”
I inhale slowly through my nose. “I’m fine.”
He studies me, eyes narrowing. Before he can argue, I continue, “I will be fine. You don’t have to worry about me. Please don’t say anything to Anna. I don’t want to ruin her big night.”
“Okay, but—” He glances over his shoulder toward the bar. Tracey is gone.
“Miles, can you do me a favor?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Don’t bring this up again. Don’t ask questions. And please—don’t ever search my name on the internet.”
His brows knit together.
“Please,” I whisper. “Just promise me.”
He clears his throat. “Okay. I promise.”
“We’ll never talk about tonight again?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“You swear you’ll never google me?”
“I promise.” He tucks a loose strand of hair that’s fallen from my updo behind my ear. “Everyone has a past, Sunshine. I hope you know I’d never judge you.”
I start to speak, but he goes on.
“If you don’t want to share that part of yourself with me, I respect that. It’s your story to tell, when and how you want. I’ll never look you up. Cross my heart.” He swipes his index finger over his chest in a cross.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
I nod, exhaling. “Okay. Good.”
“Though…” He hesitates, voice soft. “I hope someday you’ll feel safe enough to share it with me. Whatever it is, you shouldn’t have to carry it alone. If not with me, then with someone.”
“Anna knows. That’s enough.”
He nods. “Okay. But please know I’m here if you need me.”
“I won’t. But thank you.”
My words sound colder than I mean them to, but I can’t help it. I would give anything to keep my past buried—even if it means lying to one of my best friends.