30. Lilian
Chapter 30
Lilian
I walk a half-step behind Daddy, just like I’m supposed to. My fingers rest lightly on his sleeve, careful not to wrinkle the fabric. He doesn’t speak to me, but I don’t expect him to. His attention is elsewhere—on the people who matter.
The room glows in soft gold and champagne, filled with beautiful gowns, pressed suits, and glittering jewelry. Perfume and cologne blend into a cloud of wealth, and everyone looks like they belong in a painting meant to be quietly admired.
“Darling, I told her—tighter rotation—real silk—eastern—believed me?—”
Daddy murmurs names and shakes hands. I smile when he does, even though I’m not introduced, but I stand tall. I’m a reflection. A presence. A ribbon on his sleeve.
A woman nearby laughs too loud and clutches the elbow of a man with a waxy smile. I think he’s a senator? Or maybe he just thinks he should be .
I smooth the front of my dress.
“I told Mark we should’ve—location won’t hold—the traffic over the—another breach—absolute nightmare.”
A woman in a velvet gown gestures with a manicured hand, her bracelets clinking softly while she speaks in a high, fluttery voice. I don’t know what she’s talking about, but everyone else laughs, so I do too.
I straighten the bow on my shoulder and try to glide instead of walk. It’s easier when I pretend I’m part of the decor.
“Oh my god, tell her—lab’s secured—about Ibiza—phase three?—”
I keep my smile sweet and my steps perfectly in time. No questions, no fuss. Just be lovely. Just be good. The quartet in the corner drifts into something slower—still beautiful, still grand, but with a strange kind of sadness tucked beneath the notes, like maybe the music knows something we don’t.
Someone bumps into me lightly, and walks away without apologizing.
Daddy keeps moving, and so I follow.
“Lilian,” Daddy says, turning with a tight smile. “This is Kellan.”
The man he gestures to is tall, glass of amber liquor in one hand, a smirk in the other.
“He’s going to be important to our family.” With that, daddy drifts away without me.
Kellan’s looking at me the way Dominic does sometimes… only there’s something meaner behind his eyes. Something I can’t quite name.
“Pleasure,” he says. “Been looking forward to meeting my fiancée.”
I blink once. Then again. My smile wobbles.
“I… think you’re mistaken. I belong to someone else.”
His grin doesn’t budge. The woman whose features are similar to Kellan’s slinks up beside him—sister, maybe—laughing softly.
“She’s awfully… sweet. That can’t last in our world,” the woman says.
“C’mon upstairs. I’ll fuck the sweetness right out of you,” Kellan says, griping my wrist and giving it a little tug. Something makes my skin feel cold and my stomach sinks at the thought of this man taking me anywhere alone.
I take a step back and pull my wrist free. My voice is too small. “I don’t think Dominic would like you saying that.”
“Oh, honey,” the sister purrs, “he doesn’t get a vote. You belong to us now.”
Kellan chuckles. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You won’t have to settle for some stray. You’ve got pedigree now.”
“No. I belong to Dominic,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster.
Kellan glares at me before he lifts a hand and waves Daddy over, the motion’s casual like he’s ordering a refill.
“Seems we’ve got a little issue,” he says. “Lily doesn’t realize she’s off the market.”
Daddy’s eyes shift to mine, cool and clinical.
“That can’t be right,” he says. “I told you that you were forbidden from seeing that boyfriend of yours ever again.”
My stomach lurches. My hands tremble.
“But…”
“You’re ruining everyone's evening with your selfishness, Lilian.”
“I didn’t mean to upset anyone. ”
His tone doesn’t change.
“Are you being disobedient, Lilian?”
I open my mouth. No sound comes out.
He watches me a second longer, then nods like he’s already made a decision.
“I didn’t think so.”
And just like that, he turns and walks away.
“But I love him,” I whisper to no one.
“Sure you do,” the sister says with an eyeroll. “As if love is ever a reason for anything. Why have love when you can have power?”
I don’t understand what she means, but I know I would rather have Dominic than any thing they have to offer.
“Why don’t you let me get a taste of the love I’ll be taking whenever and wherever I want,” Kellan murmurs, far too close, his lips brushing my ear. “Once that marriage certificate’s signed, you’re mine.”
I feel frozen and like something is crawling all over my skin. His words and touch make me want to run away. I don’t understand what this is.
“Something tells me you’re not very experienced. We can start small. I know just the thing. Let’s see if that pretty mouth looks even better wrapped around my cock.”
“I don’t think Dominic?—.”
He cocks his head. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what your ex-boyfriend thinks.”
“He’s very protective of me. He even punched a man once—right in the face! Just because he grabbed my wrist too tightly.”
The sister laughs into her champagne flute.
“Oh, sweetie. Is he the one who gave you that shiner?”
“Real prince charming, I’m sure.”
I blink, then lift my fingers to my cheek—across the bone, where the bruise is hiding beneath a careful veil of concealer.
“I think I’ll go check my makeup,” I whisper.
The sister smiles. “Be sure to blend that bruise a little better. Wouldn’t want your future husband thinking you’re damaged.”
“Yeah,” Kellan adds with a smirk. “Can’t bruise the merchandise.”
I nod. Step away. Keep walking.
Each step feels floaty. Off. Like I’m walking underwater in someone else’s shoes.
But I keep moving.
Because I’m a good girl.
And good girls don’t make scenes.
The bathroom is gold and glass, warm light caught in every corner. The chandelier makes the walls sparkle and shimmer across the counter. It feels like the kind of room a fairytale would pause in—one a princess could cry in.
I pull out my phone. Hands shaking.
Dominic? There’s something happening.
I think it might be bad.
After what felt like an eternity but might have only been a few moments, I realize he’s not going to respond.
My throat tightens. I force a smile. Lift my compact.
“Everything is going to be fine. I just need to touch up…”
I open the purse. Concealer. Lip gloss.
And then?—
Green eyes darken and hazel ones glance around the space.
Smile drops. Chin lifts. Posture shifts.
“Where the fuck am I?”
“…And why the hell do I taste prosecco and pastel regret?”
Time to ghost this sparkle trap before I catch a felony.
The hallway smells like old money and sterilized secrets.
I move quiet—heel to toe, breath shallow, heartbeat slow. There’s a door at the end of the corridor, cracked just wide enough to spill a sliver of light. Voices leak through. Low. Sharp. One of them’s Voss. The other?
Not someone who takes orders.
“You’ve cost me millions, Voss.”
“Do you have any idea who’s watching now?”
“They weren’t supposed to know I existed.”
I freeze just short of the threshold. Whoever that is—he doesn’t sound like a lackey. He sounds like someone used to having governments scrub things on his behalf.
Leviathan?
“We’re too close to pull out now,” Voss snaps. “We have one final phase?—”
“Your phases are sloppy. Your security’s compromised. And now I’m exposed.”
I lean in, slow, eyes narrowing, one hand hovering at my hip.
And that’s when the fucking heels show up.
Click. Click. Click.
“Oh for?—”
“There you are,” the sister says, her voice a nasal blend of smug and Janice fucking Litman-Goralnik. “We were afraid you got trapped in a daydream and forgot where the real world was.”
I pivot slowly. Calm. Flat.
The brother grins like he’s about to say something clever.
Spoiler, he doesn’t.
“Don’t take it personally,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve just got that soft, glazed-doughnut thing going on. Real pretty, not much else.”
The sister laughs into her overpriced champagne that tastes exactly like the ten dollar bottle.
“Cat got your tongue?” she snips. “Or did Daddy forget to program you for banter?”
I smile. It’s not friendly.
“You’re giving Dollar Store Regina George energy—if she snorted glitter just before falling into a meat grinder.”
I lean in. Real close.
“Fetch isn’t happening, sweetheart. But a closed-casket funeral? That could.”
The brother laughs. It’s thin. Weak.
Then he reaches out. Smirking. Fingers trailing down the curve of my ass like he paid for the privilege.
“Feisty. That’s cute. Bet you like it rou?—”
I grab him by the collar and slam him into the wall so hard his champagne sloshes over the marble. His breath whooshes out like a balloon slipping out of a sad clown’s grip.
“Touch me again,” I growl, “and I’ll staple your dick to your father’s tax returns.”
I smile. All teeth.
“And I’ll deduct it as a charitable contribution.”
His sister gasps. Too late.
“Jesus— ”
I don’t even glance at her.
“Relax, sweetheart,” I mutter. “I’ve got enough duct tape and delusions to start a Netflix docuseries.”
Then I smooth his lapel like I didn’t just try to redecorate his spleen.
“Run along now. Before I remember I don’t play well with trust fund toddlers.”
I turn back to the study door—now wide open.
Voices? Gone.
Men? Gone.
Of course.
“Fucking typical.”
I slip inside anyway.
The scotch glass on the side table is still sweating. Folder half-pulled from a drawer. Laptop closed but not powered down. They left in a hurry.
I flip through the top pages—nothing I don’t already know. Then my fingers catch on a flash of silver in a glass dish.
A USB drive.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
It disappears into my clutch before I’ve finished the sentence.
A new voice cuts through the quiet. Male. Deeper. Not the same one from before.
“Hey. This area’s restricted.”
I pivot. Security guard. Big. Solid. Arm twitching toward his radio.
“You lost?”
“Nope,” I say—and lunge .
Knee to the groin. Palm to the nose. He staggers, but he’s quick. Grabs my wrist. I twist, duck, slam my fist into his face once—twice—and he hits the floor like a broken filing cabinet.
“You know what they say; the bigger they are the harder they fall.”
I’m moving before he stops groaning.
Not toward the party. Fuck that.
I cut through the pantry—opulence stacked in glass jars and overpriced indulgence. On the way out, I pass a dessert spread tucked against the wall. Tiny confections lined up like edible jewelry.
One catches my eye.
It’s pink. Glossy. Shaped like a flower but clearly not one. Probably made of elderberry foam and daddy issues.
I pluck it off the tray, stare at it like it personally insulted me.
“What in the Gwyneth Paltrow hell is this?”
I take a bite.
And immediately forget why I was mad.
“Okay… fuck, that’s good.”
I finish it in one more bite, wipe my fingers on a linen napkin, and slip out the side door like a ghost with a grudge and a sweet tooth.
“Don’t ever invite me to a fucking party again.”
The alley smells like piss and expensive perfume.
I stumble once in the ridiculous ensemble I’m somehow wearing—Pink! It’s fucking pink—but I recover fast. The city hits me all at once. Horns. Lights. Cold wind knifing through satin.
“Where the fuck even am I?”
A crowd spills past the mouth of the alley, bundled in coats, screaming with excitement.
“Ten… Nine… Eight…”
I look up. Giant screen. Confetti cannons locked and loaded.
“Oh, what the actual?—”
“Seven… Six…”
A massive glitter ball is dropping in Times Square.
“Five… Four…”
Of course it is.
“Three… Two…”
If denial had a holiday, this would be it.
“One—Happy New Year!”
Fireworks. Screaming. Champagne-soaked couples making out on the sidewalk.
I stand still. Blood drying on my knuckles. Dress stuck to one thigh. One heel of questionable structural integrity.
“Guess I’m in New York.”
What the fuck is—oh, my bag’s buzzing.
I frown. Forgot I was even wearing one.
Pink. Glittery. Tacky.
Yikes.
I unzip it and pull out the phone.
Not mine. Of course not mine.
It unlocks with my thumb anyway.
I swear to God, if this is all an episode of Black Mirror, I will rage.
What happened?
Angel?
Happy New Year.
I stare at it. Read it again.
“…From some tool-bag named Dominic,” I mutter, shoving it back into the clown car of a bag.
“Fuck.” I let out a long suffering sigh that even Scar would have a hard time competing with.
“It’s gonna be a long-ass night getting home.”