Chapter 10 Mara
TEN
MARA
Ithink I’ve shaken about five dozen hands tonight, and no amount of bleach could possibly get rid of the amount of germs. My cheeks hurt from fake laughing and smiling—nodding along with donors as they come up to say hello to my father.
Why are we like this? Gathered here in glittering gowns and tailored suits, all pretending this is noble. That we care. No one in this ballroom is here out of goodwill. They’re here for power, access, favors. It’s impossible to fool those who wrote the rules to this godforsaken game.
My mother has kept a watchful eye on me for most of the night, considering the last event I showed my ass and got slapped by my mother as a result. I inhale sharply, and the string of pearls around my neck digs into my throat like a collar.
Wear the red dress—Psi Theta Omega red. The color of legacy and blood.
Wear the pearls. Be the daughter they paid for.
Make your father proud. Smile, nod, obey.
Play the fucking game, Mara.
“Of course, Mrs. Davenport. That sounds like a very effective method to raise awareness for… turtles?” I say with my best political smile, even as my brain short-circuits. Was she talking about turtles? Or taxes? I’ve stopped listening. Her words became background noise five sentences ago.
She prattles on, her voice a droning lull, while I use her cadence as a metronome to keep myself from cracking. I nod at the right moments, offer polite affirmations, but I’ve completely dissociated.
A prickle crawls up the back of my neck. The kind of chill you get when a storm is about to hit. I glance past her shoulder, and my stomach flips.
Talon Reed.
Fuck.
He stands with a man who has the same cut jaw, the same eyes—his father. Both are dressed like OCK royalty: sharp charcoal suits, dark green ties. Talon is taller, broader, and carries himself with a lazy kind of danger that doesn’t belong in this polished room.
His eyes skim the crowd with disinterest until they land on me.
Our gazes lock and my breath catches.
A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his lips. My heart stumbles over itself.
I should look away.
But I don’t.
And then, he moves, breaking away from his father without a word. Moving through the crowd right toward me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“If you’ll excuse me—” I cut off Mrs. Davenport mid-sentence and turn away before I could be intercepted. I move fast, weaving through the crowd, pretending I’m not panicking.
But I can hear him behind me.
Getting closer.
And there’s nowhere to run in this goddamn cage.
“Princess in pearls.” His voice wraps around me like velvet.
I turn slowly and there he is. God, why is he so beautiful? His eyes drag over me without shame, staring at my neatly-pinned hair, sliding down the fitted red dress my mother forced on me, then lingering on the pearls.
His gaze alone makes me feel naked.
“How many lies have you smiled through tonight?” he asks, his voice just low enough for me to hear.
My spine stiffens, but I keep my face composed. “Good evening, Mr. Reed. Always a pleasure.”
He cocks his head, annoyingly amused at the use of a formal greeting.
“Talon. You call me Talon.” A butler passes us with a tray of champagne flutes. He reaches for one and holds it out to me. “Here. You look like you could use a drink.”
I glance down at my empty hand, wishing I hadn’t left my glass of champagne by the table I was just at. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
He steps in closer, his scent unfurling around me—smoke, cedar, and heat. “Come on,” he murmurs, holding the glass out until it nearly grazes my fingers. “I’m trying to be polite.”
He knows that I can’t say no; it would be rude to reject his offer of a beverage. And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of blowing up on him.
“Daddy is watching, so take the champagne.”
I take the glass from him, careful not to touch his fingers, raise it between us, and sip, letting the fizz pop across my tongue. When I lower the flute, his eyes meet mine.
“Happy now?“
“For now. To surviving an evening of lies.” He toasts his glass against mine, making a clinking noise.
“Well, well.” A familiar figure breaks into my peripheral vision as Chase comes into view. I don’t understand why on Earth my mother would try and force him on me. But either way, I just smile and nod. “Didn’t expect to see Omega Chi trash here tonight.”
God. Of course. I suppress a grimace as Chase moves beside me. Before I can sidestep him, his arm snakes around my waist, claiming me. My entire body goes stiff. My hip burns where his hand lands.
“This guy bothering you, Mara?” he asks, like Talon isn’t even a person.
Embarrassment burns up my neck. Everyone here sees Chase as a golden boy. He’s wealthy, politically polite—my mother’s dream son-in-law.
But right now, all he’s doing is dousing kerosene on a fuse that I really don’t need lit. I step out of his grasp, carefully prying his hand off my waist. “Chase, it’s okay,” I say under my breath. “Everything is fine.”
He doesn’t listen. Or just doesn’t care.
“I didn’t realize the Reeds were on the guest list tonight.”
I don’t need a translator to hear the insult laced beneath that. Talon’s polite mask slips. “Didn’t expect to see a blow-up doll with shitty conversation skills either,” he replies as he gives Chase’s perfectly-tailored frame an exaggerated once-over. “Yet… here you are.”
My heart stops. Holy shit.
He didn’t.
He did.
Chase turns a color I’ve only ever seen on raw steak. “What did you just call me?”
Talon doesn’t even flinch, just swirls his champagne like he’s mildly bored and amused. “You heard me.”
The energy around us shifts. People are noticing now.
I slip between them fast, placing a hand on Chase’s arm to anchor him. “All right, that’s enough. Both of you. Please.”
Chase barely spares me a glance. “Mara, step aside. Let’s handle this outside like men—”
“No.” My hand tightens. “Don’t ‘handle’ anything. Let it go.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Like he can’t believe I’m not letting him puff his chest and play the hero. But before he can argue, Talon lets out a low, mocking laugh.
And that’s when he turns on me.
“So, this is your type,” Talon says, loud enough now that I know people are hearing every word. His gaze skims over Chase with venomous disdain before landing back on me. “Daddy-approved, plastic, and emotionally neutered.”
Rage flares in my chest. It’s too much. Talon’s sneer. Chase’s smugness. The heat of being watched—judged. Torn between two people who don’t actually see me. No one ever sees me.
I know I should let it slide.
But I don’t.
I look him dead in the eyes, lift my chin, and say, cold and clear:
“At least he doesn’t make people beg to be humiliated.”
Silence drops like a fucking anvil.
Talon’s face goes blank. Completely, terrifyingly blank.
The playful glint in his eyes disappears—snuffed out in an instant. In its place is something… unreadable. Something that chills the air between us.
My breath catches.
Shit.
I know what that sounded like.
I didn’t mean it like that. Or maybe I did, but not like that.
I feel sick.
Chase lets out a low whistle, clearly savoring the moment like it’s a win. But he doesn’t understand what he’s just helped ignite.
Talon steps into my space, leaning his head down. “Careful, little virgin,” he whispers. “You don’t know how to handle what you’re poking. Push me and you’ll be the next bitch I make beg.”
Everything inside me seizes. Little virgin? Does he know? Or is he just guessing, aiming for the softest part of me he can find and slicing straight through it? Either way, it works. Heat settles in my cheeks, and I pray the lighting is low enough that no one sees.
Talon leans back a little, just enough to look me over, observing the damage of his words. His eyes track every nuance of my reaction. There’s something in his expression that darkens, but then it’s gone.
He turns around without another word, pivoting on his heel, and disappears into the crush of bodies like he never bothered me at all.
And I’m left standing there, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Around me, conversation picks back up. People pretend nothing happened—they always do. The string quartet in the corner swells into another song, a lilting waltz that couldn’t sound more out of place.
I spot my mother across the room, flanked by donors. Her smile is brittle, her posture flawless, her eyes cutting toward me like knives. Even from here, I can see the fury burning just beneath her polished mask.
I’ve humiliated her. Again.
I swallow hard. Later, there will be consequences.
“What the hell was that about?” Chase mutters, dragging a hand through his perfectly mussed hair. Then, like clockwork, he slides his arm around my shoulders again.
I step out from under his arm, smoothing the front of my dress. “I’m fine,” I lie. The words come out quiet, even. Believable. But inside, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
Chase frowns. “Do you want me to go after him? I can get security to toss him out—”
“No!” I snap. He blinks in disbelief. Shit. “No. Please. Just… let it go. He’s already gone.”
Chase stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You’re seriously just going to let that slide? The guy’s a total psycho.”
I press my lips together. A dozen biting responses rise up, but I shove them down. “I’ve got it handled. But… thank you, for trying to help.”
He doesn’t truly know AGU politics since he’s been graduated from the university for some time. My only blessing in this is that I’m only ever around him at events or things my family hosts.
“If he or any of his frat freaks bother you again, they’ll have to deal with me.”
I almost laugh. Chase puffing up his chest like a cartoon bulldog, under any other circumstances, might be funny. Right now, it just feels… exhausting.
“I think I need to freshen up,” I murmur, reaching for the most graceful exit I can manage.
Chase hesitates. “I’ll grab us drinks, okay? Meet you at the bar?”
I nod and slip away fast, weaving through clusters of guests. As soon as I’m outside and out of Chase’s orbit, I exhale a shaky breath. My composure faltering, I press a hand to my stomach. It’s doing fucking somersaults out of embarrassment and fury.
My gaze drifts to the tall windows lining the far side of the ballroom. Beyond the glass, the balcony glows dimly with soft garden lanterns. It’s quieter out there. And occupied.
A shadow moves, half-devoured by the dark until it steps beneath one of the sconces and comes into full view.
Talon.
He’s alone. One hand braced on the marble railing, his head bowed slightly. Even from here, I can tell by the tense line of his shoulders—he’s still fuming.
I don’t know why he’s pissed off. He’s the one that just announced my virginity to an entire room.
Then, a flicker of orange—a lighter—followed by a cigarette pressed to his lips. The inhale pulls his jaw taut, illuminates his cheekbones.
I glance over at Chase. He’s chatting with some woman near the bar, half-watching me from the corner of his eye, like I might cause another scene. Like he’s already rehearsing how he’ll spin it to my mother if I do.
And maybe I should cause another scene.
Because the truth is, I don’t want this life. I don’t want Chase. I don’t want to smile on cue or wear fucking pearls or play the daughter doll anymore.
I want out.
And maybe the fastest, messiest way to blow this whole charade to hell is to give them exactly what they fear: a scandal.
My heart thuds like a war drum in my chest.
I don’t need a boyfriend, I need a weapon. Someone just as sharp, just as charming, just as dangerous. Someone my parents would loathe. Someone who can help me flip the script.
Even if he’s an enemy.
Especially if he’s an enemy.
My gaze cuts back to the balcony. I know it’s reckless. I know I should stay away. But maybe I’m done playing by their rules. Maybe I want to make a new one.
One that ends with their perfect daughter in the arms of a man who’d burn their legacy down just for fun.
Before I can talk myself out of it, my feet are already moving.
I don’t care that every rational thought in my head is screaming.
I want him to see me walk out those doors.
I want him to wonder what the hell I’m doing.
And I want him to know: I’m done being their good girl.
I slip through the French doors into the cool night air, every step closer to him a declaration.
Let the games begin.