Chapter 34 The Entrance
I spent the last two hours getting ready somewhere no one could interfere.
With the lottery money finally mine, I no longer had to compromise. I didn’t use the same hotel. I didn’t let Marissa’s people anywhere near me. Instead, I rented a private suite at a smaller luxury hotel across the river.
The room smelled faintly of citrus and clean linen. Soft music played as the makeup artist worked and the hairstylist moved around me.
I didn’t need to explain myself twice. She understood what I wanted almost immediately.
A week earlier, I’d bought the dress.
A limited piece from élise Morcant, an up-and-coming designer whose name meant nothing yet. Each design produced once. No replicas. No repeats. Collector pieces.
In four years, her early work would be hunted down by stylists and collectors alike. Auctioned. Archived. Worn on red carpets and runways in Paris, Milan, New York. Words like timeless and iconic would be attached to her name.
I knew that because I’d lived it before.
The dress was delivered straight to my room, sealed and untouched. I made sure no one saw it before tonight.
Over the past few months, eating well, training with purpose, and no longer punishing my body had changed me. It softened me in the right places, replacing angles with curves.
The dress required only minimal alterations, one of the few advantages of having proportions designers built their samples for.
Now, I filled it perfectly.
The dress was floor-length, deep red silk, cut to move rather than restrain. Elegant without stiffness. A high slit along my thigh that turned beautiful into unmistakably sensual. Appropriate for the event, yet impossible to ignore.
My light blonde hair was styled half up, half down, clip-in extensions adding length. I’d chosen it carefully. I’d shown the stylist an old photograph of my mother. Her wedding photo my uncles had given me. Her hair had been styled the same way.
I wanted to look like her.
For more reasons than one.
My makeup carried the same intent, with defined eyes and cool tones that made my blue irises look sharper and more expressive.
When the moment came, I didn’t hesitate.
I walked into the hotel and into the ballroom, head high, spine straight, shoulders back.
I felt the shift before I saw it.
Conversations faltered. Glasses stilled. Heads turned. The stares followed, surprise, confusion, disbelief. Some admiration. Some resentment. Something darker in a few of them.
Let them look.
I kept moving.
I made it halfway into the room before Marissa noticed me. Her body stiffened as the color drained from her face almost instantly.
Then, just as quickly, she recovered, her expression smoothing as the mask slipped back into place.
She moved toward me quickly, abandoning her champagne flute on a passing tray, her heels clicking as her smile settled into place. Her arms opened as if this had been exactly what she had planned all along.
“Ashley,” she said brightly. “There you are.”
I smiled back and returned the hug. Over her shoulder, I caught sight of my father.
He looked sick, like he couldn’t decide whether to vomit or pass out. But beneath that was something else too. Something that looked disturbingly like heartbreak.
I could feel Apple somewhere nearby, sharp, furious, burning, but I didn’t look for her yet.
Marissa pulled back and scanned me from head to toe.
“Why aren’t you wearing the dress we picked?” she asked. “I had it steamed this morning.”
I lowered my gaze briefly, just enough to appear apologetic.
“It got damaged this afternoon. A seam tore when I sat down.”
Her pupils dilated. “It tore?”
“Yes.” I lifted my eyes to hers. “I didn’t have time to call. The party was starting, so I found a replacement.”
Her gaze swept over me again, sharper this time.
“This isn’t something you just find at the last minute,” she said.
I met her eyes without blinking. “I got lucky.”
Her lips parted, then pressed together. I could see the questions forming, how, where, with what money, but the room was full, and Marissa never slipped in public.
She forced a smile, wide and brittle.
“Well,” she said tightly, “as long as you’re happy.”
“I am.”
Her hand brushed my arm, possessive, performative. “We’ll talk later.”
I smiled back, soft and unreadable.
“We will.”
Then I stepped past her and fully into the room.
That was when I felt him.
That old, familiar pull tightened in my chest, sharp and unwelcome, like muscle memory refusing to die.
Nick stood near the bar, a drink untouched in his hand, watching me.
He didn’t have to try to stand out. At six-foot-three, with broad shoulders that filled out his jacket, space seemed to bend around him naturally.
His dark hair was a little longer than I remembered at this age, curling slightly at the nape of his neck.
His face still carried traces of youth, softness along the jaw, a hint of baby fat that hadn’t yet sharpened into the harder lines I knew too well.
His brows lifted, confusion flickering across his face before recognition set in.
His gaze moved slowly, openly, from my face to the line of my dress, the way it fell, the way I stood. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.
Our eyes met.
His were still that familiar blue.
Something in his expression shifted, surprise softening into something more open, more unguarded. Then he smiled.
The same smile. Crooked. Familiar. The one that used to undo me.
For a moment, the noise of the ballroom faded. The music dulled. The laughter blurred into background static.
The last time I had seen him, he had been twenty-four, angry, hollowed out by betrayal and grief, weighed down by resentments he never learned to let go of.
This Nick wasn’t that man yet.
He recovered first. Set his glass aside. Straightened. Then he crossed the room toward me, weaving through the crowd with long, confident strides.
“Ashley,” he said when he reached me.
“Hi, Nick.”
My voice stayed steady, calm and measured, as if my pulse hadn’t jumped at the sound of his voice.
He didn’t hesitate. He pulled me into a hug like it was the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment, I let myself melt.
I rested my cheek against his chest and breathed him in, the familiar warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the quiet solidity of him. The scent of clean soap and something uniquely his loosened my shoulders without permission.
I pressed closer before I could stop myself.
His arms tightened, instinctive, protective.
For one fragile second, I let myself believe I could stay.
Then I stepped back.
His hands lingered for half a beat too long before he let go, his eyes searching my face like he was afraid the moment might disappear if he blinked.
“I—wow,” he said with a breathy laugh. “You look—”
He trailed off, clearly searching for a word.
“Different,” I supplied lightly.
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
His gaze lingered, studying me. “How have you been?”
“Good,” I said.
It wasn’t a lie. Just incomplete.
“MIT,” he said, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you’re really going there.”
“I am,” I said simply.
“That’s… impressive,” he said, genuine admiration breaking through his composure. “Congratulations again.”
“Thank you. I heard you’re doing well too,” I replied. Neutral. Safe.
“Yeah. I mean—yeah.” He laughed softly, a little off-balance.
It was rare to see Nick like this, unsteady, unsure, out of his element.
A pause settled between us. Awkward.
The kind that used to make me nervous, desperate to fill it with something, anything, just to keep him close.
This time, I let it exist.
I wondered what it would be like to keep him. To let him stay in this life the way he had in the last.
That was a problem.
“I should go say hello to some people,” I said gently.
Something flickered across his face, a brief flash of disappointment before it disappeared.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Of course. You too, Ash.”
Ash.
As I stepped away, I felt his gaze follow me.
I didn’t look back.