Chapter 19 Adaline
Adaline
Hunter Rexon in a tuxedo should not be a problem.
But the second I see him, I feel a buzz down my spine, and my heart forgets; it shouldn't feel this way.
He looks like he belongs in a black-and-white movie, black jacket tailored perfectly across his shoulders, crisp white shirt, a dark bow tie sitting at his throat like a warning.
His hair is swept back just enough to look effortless, and his jaw…
his jaw is the same sharp line I’ve been trying not to stare at since the night he rolled out from under my car.
Only tonight, in polished fabric and that quiet, controlled power he carries everywhere, he looks… unreal.
Devastating.
Heat curls low in my stomach, quick and traitorous. Attraction, raw and immediate, the kind that makes my palms go warm, and my pulse do something reckless.
And then guilt slams in right behind it.
North.
The thought is like cold water.
I haven’t seen his face. I don’t even know his name. He’s been there, patient, and strangely protective in a way that still feels impossible for someone who doesn’t know me.
I’ve leaned on him. Let him talk me down when my chest felt too tight. Started to look forward to him in a way that makes me nervous.
And now I’m standing here, staring at my boss like he’s a temptation with a pulse.
Like I’m betraying North just by noticing how Hunter looks in that tux. It’s ridiculous. It’s unfair. It’s not like North, and I have made promises. But guilt doesn’t care about logic.
It sits heavy anyway.
“Adaline!” Aunt Jane calls. She looks like a queen preparing for her coronation. She’s dressed in a deep navy gown with delicate beading at the neckline, her silver hair styled neatly, lipstick the exact shade that makes her eyes bright. She looks alive. Happier than she did when I first arrived.
Mrs. Lane fusses with the last clasp of Aunt Jane’s necklace. She smiles at her reflection, then turns her gaze on me. “You look radiant,” she declares, eyes sparkling.
My throat tightens unexpectedly. I’m not used to anyone looking at me like that, approving, and so proudly.
“Thank you,” I manage.
After what feels like I tried a million dresses, I’m wearing a red dress Aunt Jane insisted on, simple but elegant, a color that makes my skin look warmer and my eyes brighter.
My hair is pinned back in a soft twist, a few curls left loose like I’m pretending I didn’t spend twenty minutes fighting them into cooperation.
I opted for simple teardrop earrings, my neck is bare, a bracelet on my wrist, and heels that make me feel I am ready for the night.
I feel… pretty.
And it scares me how much that matters.
The limo waits outside, headlights cutting through the early evening as the driver holds the door open. The air is cool, the sky bruised in soft purple as the sun sinks lower.
Hunter steps forward automatically, a hand hovering near Aunt Jane’s elbow, not touching, but close enough that she doesn’t have to ask.
Protective.
Always protective.
Aunt Jane slips her hand through his arm with easy affection. “My handsome boy,” she murmurs, patting his sleeve. “You clean up nicely.”
Hunter’s mouth twitches. “Try not to embarrass me tonight.”
Aunt Jane gasps dramatically. “Embarrass you? At my fundraiser? Never.”
My mouth betrays me with a smile. Hunter’s gaze flicks to me like he feels it. And there it is again, that charged half-second.
The look that says he notices everything, even when he pretends he doesn’t.
I climb into the limo after Aunt Jane, sliding onto the seat opposite Hunter. The space is plush and softly lit, faintly scented like leather and clean linen.
Hunter sits across from me, close enough that my knees are almost touching his if I shift the wrong way.
I tell myself not to.
Aunt Jane chatters happily the moment the limo starts moving, the smooth glide of the ride making her look even more relaxed.
“Oh, this brings back memories,” she sighs, leaning back. “My prom night…”
Hunter’s brows lift, wary. “Here we go.”
Aunt Jane ignores him. “I wore a pale pink gown with gloves up to my elbows. Steve, my date, thought I looked like a princess. I was so nervous I tripped on the steps and nearly pulled the whole punch table down.”
Mrs. Lane laughs from the seat beside her. “You’ve told that story a hundred times.”
“And I’ll tell it a hundred more,” Aunt Jane says, delighted. “Because that night I learned something important, confidence is half the battle. The other half is having someone willing to catch you when you fall.”
Her gaze slides toward Hunter for a fraction of a second. Then toward me.
I feel my face heat.
Hunter shifts slightly, his knee brushing mine for the briefest moment as the limo turns.
It’s an accident. It has to be. But my body reacts like it’s a confession. I glance up and catch him looking at me.
Not openly.
Not like a man who wants anyone to notice. Just… there. A stolen glance that lingers too long before he looks away. My heart thumps once, hard.
Aunt Jane continues talking, blissfully unaware of the silent war happening inside me. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be wondering what it would feel like if he looked at me on purpose.
The limo pulls up to the venue, and everything changes the moment the door opens.
Noise. Light. A sudden rush of cold air mixed with perfume and flowers.
Flashes pop like tiny explosions. Cameras. People. And voices calling Aunt Jane’s name. A violin ensemble plays near the entrance, soft, elegant notes that glide over the chaos like a ribbon trying to tie it all together.
Hunter steps out first. He offers his hand to Aunt Jane, steadying her as she rises. Then, without even pausing, his gaze flicks to me.
Like he’s checking to make sure I’m still okay. I take his hand as I step out, smoothing my dress down with fingers that don’t quite stop trembling.
“Smile,” Aunt Jane whispers, bright as she turns toward the cameras. We move forward together. And suddenly Hunter positions himself between Aunt Jane and me, close, deliberate. His arm slips behind Aunt Jane’s back, and his other hand settles behind mine.
Not on my waist. Not exactly. Just… there.
A guiding pressure. A protective heat. He pulls me half an inch closer than I would’ve stood on my own. His touch is subtle enough that no one would call it intimate.
But try telling that to my heart, my skin lights up.
A reporter laughs. “Hunter Rexon! Is it true? Has your heart finally melted?”
Another voice chimes in, teasing. “We didn’t think anyone could get you out of that mansion, Rexon!”
Hunter’s expression doesn’t change much, but his jaw tightens, his voice dry.
“If you’re implying I’m here because I’ve gone soft, I’m only here for the pie.”
Aunt Jane snorts. “He’s lying,” she announces cheerfully. “He’s here because I told him to be.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd. Hunter’s hand behind my back firms for a second.
Like he’s anchoring. As if he’s saying, Ignore them. But I feel the comment land between us anyway.
Inside the venue, the atmosphere shifts into something grand and warm. Crystal chandeliers, linen-draped tables, gold accents. People in gowns and suits move like they’re part of the décor.
Aunt Jane becomes unstoppable. She drags me from conversation to conversation, introducing me with pride.
“This is Adaline,” she tells a woman with diamond earrings the size of small planets. “My caretaker and my new favorite person.”
I flush. “Mrs. Rexon—”
“Aunt Jane,” she corrects instantly. “And don’t argue.”
The woman smiles warmly at me. “We’ve heard wonderful things. Jane has been glowing lately.”
Glowing. It brings a smile to my face because I know what that means. And because I want to deserve it.
I hear stories about Hunter all night. Not the gossip kind. The real kind.
“He’s self-made,” a man tells me…
“And he runs his businesses with precision,” another adds.
They talk about how his organization helps disadvantaged teens. Kids without foster support.
I think about what that kind of care costs a person, what it takes to keep showing up.
I’ve been to fundraisers before with Connor.
A dozen of them.
But those nights always felt like performance. Smile perfectly. Stand at the right angle or laugh at the right jokes. Be the polished fiancée, so Connor could look like the kind of man who deserved promotions and praise.
Tonight is different.
Tonight, no one expects me to be anything other than… me.
I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to manage anyone’s ego.
I catch myself laughing, real laughter, when Aunt Jane makes a sharp comment about one of the auction items. Mrs. Lane scolds her gently, and Aunt Jane winks at me.
Standing beside Hunter and listening to him talk while Aunt Jane keeps holding my hand, for a moment, in the soft golden light, I feel it again.
Belonging.
The word settles warm and dangerous, before guilt whispers again.
How can I feel this, standing beside Hunter, when my heart has been leaning on a stranger behind a screen?
I don’t have an answer. All I know is that as the night goes on, between introductions and stories and laughter. I keep catching Hunter’s presence near me.
Not hovering. Not controlling.
Just… there.
And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous thing of all.
It doesn’t last.
Because every few minutes, between polite laughter and the violin drifting through the room.
I find myself doing it.
Scanning.
My eyes move without permission, sweeping across faces I don’t know, shoulders in dark suits, the bar, the doors, the edge of the crowd.
Looking for Connor.
I hate that I’m doing it. I hate that I’m letting him take up space in my head when he isn’t even in front of me. And every time my gaze darts, every time my stomach tightens at the thought of him appearing out of nowhere, I catch Hunter.
Not staring. Not watching me. Just… aware.
His eyes find mine like they’ve been tracking my anxiety the entire time. Like he can read the exact moment my pulse spikes.
Are you okay?