7. Noelle
— ? —
Noelle
The family wants a united front.
That’s how Cordelia phrased it when she called this morning, her voice smooth and cold and twice as dangerous.
A united front. The new flagship hotel opens tonight, ribbon and investors and a wall of press, and the Sterling family will line up and smile for the cameras like nothing is wrong.
This isn’t a party. It’s a business performance, and I’m being cast in it.
Which means I’ve been ordered onto Dorian’s arm to play the gracious almost-ex-wife. Smile pretty. Look happy. Pretend my life didn’t explode ten days ago in front of everyone I know.
No.
Absolutely not.
The phone is in my hand before I can think twice, Sebastian’s number already dialing.
“I’m not going with him,” I say before he can even say hello. “I won’t do it. I don’t care what Cordelia wants. I’m not walking into that event on Dorian’s arm like nothing happened.”
Silence on the other end. Then: “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Take me instead. Be my date. Whatever you want to call it.” The words come out fast, desperate. “I just need to not be alone with him. I need someone in my corner.”
More silence. The sound of him thinking, calculating, running the numbers on what this means for his plans.
“Fine,” he says finally. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
The line goes dead.
Getting ready is its own kind of torture.
The guest room at the Sterling estate is a cage dressed up as luxury.
Stylists who work for Cordelia have filled the closet with clothes chosen for me, not by me.
The dress hanging on the door is beautiful, dark green silk, floor-length, cut low in the back.
It fits like it was made for me, because it was.
Everything about it makes my skin crawl.
But there’s nothing else to wear, so the dress goes on anyway. The zipper slides up my spine like a sentence being handed down.
Makeup takes longer than it should. My hands won’t cooperate, trembling every time I try to apply liner. Every glance in the mirror shows the woman from ten days ago, the one standing at the altar, holding her husband’s hands, believing that maybe things could get better.
That woman was an idiot.
This woman knows better.
A knock at the door startles me so badly that the mascara wand jerks sideways, leaving a black streak across my temple.
“Come in.”
Sebastian steps through, and for a second my lungs forget how to work.
He’s wearing a tuxedo. Black, perfectly tailored, like it was sewn directly onto his body. His dark hair is styled, his jaw freshly shaved, and those cold eyes sweep over me with the kind of assessment that makes me feel like a spreadsheet being audited.
He looks like he was born in that suit. Like he’s never been uncomfortable a day in his life. Like discomfort is something that happens to other people, lesser people, people who weren’t raised with silver spoons and stock portfolios.
“You’re not ready,” he says.
“I’m aware.”
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest in a way that pulls the fabric of his jacket tight across his shoulders. “The car leaves in ten minutes.”
“Then I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
“You’ll be ready in five. I need to brief you on which investors to avoid.”
“I’ve worked these events for five years.” The mascara wand goes back to work, more carefully this time. “I know who to avoid.”
“You’ve worked them as Dorian’s wife. Tonight you’re walking in with me.” His eyes meet mine in the mirror’s reflection, clinical and assessing. “That changes the math.”
“Is there a point to this visit, or did you just come to be insufferable?”
“I came to give you this.”
He holds out a small velvet box. Inside: earrings. Diamonds set in platinum, simple but obviously expensive. The kind of thing a man gives a woman he’s trying to impress.
“I’m not wearing your jewelry.”
“They’re not mine. They’re my grandmother’s.” His position in the doorway doesn’t change, but something in his voice does. “My mother wanted you in Sterling diamonds tonight. I told her you’d refuse, and she said to make you.”
The earrings catch the light as I stare at them. They’re beautiful. They’re also a trap, and we both know it.
“So this is what, a test?” My eyes lift to meet his. “Do you always do what your mother says?”
“No. And it’s a leash.” His voice is flat, matter-of-fact, like he’s explaining basic arithmetic. “If you wear them, you’re playing her game. If you refuse, she’ll find another way to control you.” The box snaps shut in his hand. “I told her I’d ask. I didn’t say I’d succeed.”
He leaves without another word, and the room feels emptier than it did before.
My own damn earrings go in my ears. Small gold hoops that belonged to my grandmother, the real one, the one who loved me, not the one whose jewelry comes with strings attached.
The car ride is tense.
Sebastian drives because he doesn’t trust anyone else behind the wheel. The passenger seat feels too close to him, the console between us not nearly enough barrier. Neither of us speaks for the first ten minutes.
The silence presses down like a physical weight. Electric and heavy, like the air before a storm breaks.
“The Hendersons will try to corner you,” he finally says, eyes fixed on the road. “They want to know if the scandal affects their investment.”
“I’ll tell them everything is fine.”
“Tell them the company is stronger than ever. Use those exact words.”
“Stronger than ever. Got it.”
More silence. His hands flex on the steering wheel, knuckles going white then relaxing.
“Gerald Webb will ask about Dorian. Don’t engage. Just smile and change the subject.”
“I know how to handle Gerald Webb.”
“You know how to handle him as Dorian’s wife. Tonight-”
“Tonight I’m with you. Yes, you mentioned.” My head turns to look at him directly. “Is that going to be a problem?”
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. “It’s going to be noticed.”
“Good. Let them notice.”
He glances at me, something flickering in his eyes that I can’t quite read, curiosity, maybe, or something warmer that he’s trying to bury. Then his attention returns to the road.
“You’re not what I expected,” he says quietly.
“What did you expect?”
“Someone easier to manage.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“I didn’t say I was disappointed.”
The silence between us takes up space neither of us knows how to fill. My heart is beating faster than it should, which is ridiculous. This is Sebastian Sterling. The man who chose me off a short list and handed me to his brother to clean up a scandal. The man who ignored me for five years.
The man whose hand I can still feel on my waist from the rooftop.
The rest of the drive passes in silence, but it’s a different kind of silence now. Charged. Aware.
At the event, we’re good at the performance.
Too good.
His hand finds the small of my back as we enter the ballroom, warm and steady through the thin silk of my dress. It lingers there a beat too long, his thumb tracing small circles against my spine that no one else can see.
His whispered commentary comes too close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Crane, three o’clock. Third marriage. Wandering hands. Don’t let him get you alone.”
“I know.”
“Webb at the bar. He’s already on his fourth drink. Avoid.”
“I know.”
“My mother, by the ice sculpture. Watching us like we’re an experiment she didn’t authorize.”
“I definitely know that.”
We move through the crowd like we’ve done this a thousand times. His hand guides me, not controlling, just present. When someone approaches, he shifts slightly closer, his shoulder brushing mine, a united front that feels more real than any of my performances with Dorian ever did.
A photographer calls for one more shot. “Mr. Sterling! Ms. Hartley! Closer, please!”
Sebastian’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me against his side. Without thinking, my hand comes up to rest on his chest. Through the fabric of his jacket, his heart beats against my palm.
It’s faster than I expected.
For the length of a shutter click, neither of us is acting.
“Smile,” he murmurs against my temple, his lips close enough to brush my hair. “My mother is watching.”
“So is your brother.”
“Let him.”
Across the ballroom, Dorian stands with a drink going warm in his hand, watching us, his face working through something. Anger? Jealousy? Confusion? All three, maybe. His eyes track Sebastian’s hand on my waist, my hand on Sebastian’s chest, the way we’re standing close enough to share breath.
Cordelia watches Dorian watching us.
I’m not sure which is worse.
Later, in a quiet corner, the mask slips.
We’ve found a spot near the emergency exit, half-hidden by a potted plant the size of a small car. The noise of the party feels far away here, muffled and distant. Almost peaceful, if peace were something either of us knew how to find.
Sebastian stands close. Too close for business partners, too far for anything else.
His shoulder brushes mine when he shifts his weight, and neither of us moves away.
The heat of his body bleeds through the fabric at my back, and I’m suddenly very aware of every inch of space between us, aware of how easy it would be to close that gap, aware of how dangerous that awareness is.
He seems aware of it too. His body angles toward mine without quite touching, like a magnet held just far enough away to resist the pull.
“Why do you hate him so much?” The question is out before I think better of it. “Dorian. It’s not just the money.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. His fingers tap against his glass, a nervous rhythm I’ve never seen from him before. When he shifts, his arm grazes mine, and the contact sends a jolt through my entire body.
“I built this company.” His voice is low, private, meant only for me. “Every hotel. Every development. Every deal. I built it while he coasted on the name and cashed the checks. And my mother let him. Praised him. Made excuses for every mess he made.”
He takes a drink and sets the glass down. His hand comes to rest on the wall beside my head, not caging me in, just... there. Close enough that I can see the veins on the back of his hand, the elegant length of his fingers.
“You know what she said when I told her he was stealing?” His eyes find mine, and the look in them stops me cold. “She said, ‘That’s just Dorian. He means well.’”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It’s not.” He shifts closer, and now his arm is definitely brushing mine, the fabric of his jacket soft against my bare skin. “Nothing about this family is fair. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”
“I figured it out ten days ago. At my vow renewal. When my sister walked down the aisle with my husband’s secret child.”
“Right.” Something at the corner of his eyes eases, the nearest he comes to agreement. “I suppose we both have reasons to burn it down.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Burning it down?”
“I don’t know.” His voice drops even lower, and he turns to face me fully. The movement puts us chest to chest, close enough that I can smell his cologne, something woody and expensive that I’ve never noticed before. “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.”
My pulse is hammering in my throat. His eyes drop to my lips for just a second, so quick I might have imagined it, before returning to meet my gaze.
“Sebastian...”
“I didn’t expect this.” His voice is barely a whisper. “Whatever this is. I didn’t plan for it.”
“You plan everything.”
“I tried to plan you.” He reaches up, and for a breathless moment I think he’s going to touch my face. But his hand stops an inch from my cheek, hovering there like he’s afraid of what happens if he makes contact. “You were supposed to be simple. Controllable. A piece on the board.”
“And now?”
His hand drops. He steps back, and the distance lands, a door slamming shut between us.
“Now you’re the most complicated thing in my life.”
Before I can respond, before I can figure out what to do with the words he’s just handed me, his expression shutters closed. The mask slides back into place, and he’s Sebastian Sterling again, every wall locked back into place.
“We should get back,” he says. “People will talk.”
“Let them.”
“Noelle.” My name in his mouth sounds different than it used to. Softer. “Not yet. We’re not ready for what comes next if they start talking about us.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But that doesn’t make the walk back to the party any easier.
On the way out, Cordelia catches my arm.
Her grip is stronger than it looks, nails digging into my skin through the sleeve of my dress. Her smile is ice and venom, the kind of expression that looks pleasant from across the room and cuts like glass up close.
“Careful, dear.” Her voice is low enough that only I can hear it. “You’re not as forgettable as you were a week ago. And my son is not your consolation prize.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t play games you can’t win, Noelle. It doesn’t suit you.”
My eyes drop to her grip on my arm, then lift back to her face. Something in my chest hardens into steel.
“Which son?” I ask sweetly.
Cordelia’s grip tightens hard enough to bruise, her manicured nails biting into my flesh.
“Don’t be clever,” she hisses. “It doesn’t suit you either.”
She releases me and walks away, disappearing into the crowd like she was never there at all.
My hands are shaking.
Sebastian appears beside me, his face carefully neutral even as his eyes scan my expression. “What did she say?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know.”
“Noelle-”
“Can we just go?” The words crack despite my best efforts to hold them together. “Please. I want to go home.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push. Just puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the door, his touch steady and warm and not a weapon at all.
The car ride home is quiet.
But his hand finds mine on the center console, and he doesn’t let go until we pull into the Sterling estate driveway. His thumb traces circles on my knuckles the entire way, a small point of contact that feels like a promise neither of us is ready to make out loud.
When the car stops, neither of us moves.
“Goodnight, Noelle,” he says finally, and there’s something in how he says my name that wasn’t there a week ago.
His hand tightens on mine for just a moment. Then he lets go, and the night is over.
But I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin long after I’ve closed my bedroom door.