Chapter 15 #2
I finished with the security team and made my way through the crowd to take up position near Stella.
Security detail at a party was an art form.
You had to strike the right balance. Close enough to intervene if needed, but not so close that you were looming.
Present but invisible. Alert but unobtrusive.
I found my spot about ten feet away, near a pillar that gave me sightlines to both the main entrance and the service doors. Close enough to reach her in seconds. Far enough not to intrude.
And then I watched.
Oliver was doing most of the talking. He was good at this, I had to admit. Charming, personable, the kind of man who could make small talk with anyone about anything. He guided Stella from group to group, introducing her to colleagues, and made sure they acted like a couple.
But Stella herself... she just smiled and looked pretty.
I watched her open her mouth to say something—to contribute to a conversation, to share an opinion—and then close it again when someone talked first, or over her. Swallowing whatever she’d been about to say. Letting the men around her fill the silence instead.
In this setting, she was playing the role her parents had taught her to be. The dutiful daughter. The appropriate girlfriend. The ornamental woman who was seen but not heard. It made me want to put my fist through a wall.
I realized my jaw was clenched, my teeth grinding together with enough force to crack a molar. I forced myself to relax. To breathe. To remember that I was here to protect her, not to cause a scene.
Across the room, Celeste was holding court with a group of society matrons, all of them dripping with jewels and opinions. She laughed at something someone said—that tinkling, artificial laugh I’d come to despise—and then turned, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on Stella.
“Stella, darling, come here,” she called, beckoning her daughter with a manicured hand. “You can explain it—they want to know what TikTok dances are.”
For the love of God. Even I knew Stella didn’t do TikTok dances. She used the platform for her business, for showcasing her designs, connecting with potential clients, and building her brand. It was a professional tool, not a source of viral dance videos.
Did her mother really know so little about her daughter’s life? Had she ever once actually looked at Stella’s content, seen what she was creating, and really understand what she was trying to build?
The answer, I suspected, was no.
Stella gave a small smile I was pretty sure only I knew was pained, and left Oliver’s side to join her mother. Oliver gave her arm a quick squeeze, an encouraging look, and then turned back to his own conversation without missing a beat.
My stomach tightened. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the guy.
He seemed decent enough. Genuinely fond of Stella, even if their relationship was a charade.
But he wasn’t really her partner. He wasn’t going to protect her, stand up for her, push back against the people who made her feel small.
Of course he wasn’t. He needed her parents to keep liking him. This arrangement was for his benefit too. He couldn’t afford to rock the boat.
I watched as Stella talked to the women surrounding her mother. She smiled. Laughed. Chatted with apparent ease, but her body language said differently. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the slight strain around her eyes. The way her smile never quite reached them.
Could anyone else see it? Or was I the only one who noticed?
It was a strange thought—that I might know Stella better than people who’d known her for her entire life. Her parents, who’d raised her. Her brother, who’d grown up alongside her. The society friends who’d attended the same schools, the same parties, the same endless rounds of obligation.
They saw what she showed them. The polished exterior. The perfect daughter.
I saw what was underneath.
The Stella I’d gotten to know was adventurous, even when she was uncertain. Eager to learn, even when she was nervous. Smart and determined and absolutely unwilling to let a lack of confidence stop her from going after what she wanted.
She was nothing like these people surrounding her. Nothing like this glittering, vapid crowd who seemed to care about nothing but their own comfort.
I overheard snatches of conversation as I stood there, watching.
Talk of new cars and vacation homes and which restaurant was impossible to get a reservation at.
Complaints about the difficulty of finding good help.
Debates about whether to renovate the kitchen again—for the fifth time in as many years—because they were bored and had more money than purpose.
Occasionally, I caught glimpses of something else. An artist discussing her latest exhibition. A young man talking passionately about his environmental nonprofit. Rare moments of genuine engagement in a sea of hollow chatter.
Stella was like that. A bright point in the darkness. Someone who actually wanted to do something with her life, who was building something real and meaningful despite every obstacle her family threw in her path.
And they couldn’t even see it. Or didn’t want to.
It made my stomach turn over.
As the evening wore on, I watched Stella get pulled into conversation after conversation. Watched her smile and nod and say the right things, her energy visibly flagging with each new introduction. She was starting to look wan. Pale. The brightness in her eyes dimming.
Not a people person, then. Or at least not this kind of people.
She needed a break. A moment to breathe, away from the crowd and the noise and the endless performance.
“I’m going to get another drink,” Stella said to the group surrounding her, her voice light and casual.
The moment she turned away, I moved. I couldn’t help myself. I stepped up and in, closing the distance between us, my hand coming to rest at the small of her back.
“Walk with me,” I murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
Stella stiffened, her eyes going wide with alarm. “Everything all right?” she whispered. “Is something wrong?”
She thought there was a threat. That I’d spotted something or identified a danger. Of course she did—why else would I break protocol like this?
“You’re fine,” I assured her quietly. “Nothing concerning. Just walk with me.”
She gave me a confused frown but handed her empty champagne glass to a passing server and fell into step beside me. I guided her out of the main ballroom, my hand still pressed against her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin silk of her gown.
The hallway was quieter. Cooler. The sounds of the party faded as we walked, replaced by the distant chime of slot machines and the soft murmur of the casino beyond.
I found what I was looking for—a smaller ballroom, dark and empty, clearly not in use tonight. The doors were unlocked and I ushered her inside, pulling them closed behind us.
Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the empty dance floor. The silence was almost shocking after the noise of the gala.
“Tate, what the hell is this about?” Stella demanded, turning to face me. Her confusion was giving way to irritation. “If I’m not in danger—”
“You know you’re worth more than that entire room put together, right?”
The words came out rough, almost angry. I hadn’t planned to say them—hadn’t planned any of this—but they’d been building inside me all night, pressure mounting with every fake smile she’d forced, every condescending comment she’d endured, every moment she’d made herself small to fit into a space that was never designed for someone like her.
Stella stared at me. “What?”
“That entire room. All of them together.” I took her by the shoulders, my grip firm, needing her to hear this. To understand. “You’re worth more than all of them combined.”
“Tate...” She shook her head slowly, bewildered. “Where is this coming from?”
“From watching you have to stand there while your mother trots you around like some show pony.” The frustration I’d been suppressing all night came pouring out, hot and bitter.
“From seeing you swallow your words every time you try to speak. From knowing how brilliant you are—how talented, how driven, how extraordinary—and watching you pretend to be ordinary so you don’t make anyone uncomfortable. ”
My hands moved from her shoulders to cup her face, tilting it up toward mine. Her skin was soft beneath my palms, her eyes wide and luminous in the moonlight.
“It’s infuriating,” I continued, my voice dropping lower. “You walk into a room and you’re the most remarkable person there, and no one sees it. Even your own mother doesn’t see it.”
A small smile curved her lips—surprised, almost wondering. “You really think that?”
“I know it.” I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone, unable to stop touching her.
“I’ve known it since the moment I met you.
That night at the club, before I had any idea who you were, you walked in and I couldn’t look at anyone else.
Couldn’t think about anyone else. And that hasn’t changed.
” The words spilled out before I could stop them, exposing the feelings I tried to keep locked away.
Her breath caught. I watched her lips part, watched her lean imperceptibly closer.
I should have stopped. Should have stepped back, remembered where we were, and what I was supposed to be doing. Anyone could walk in and see us. But her eyes were shining, and her face was tilted up toward mine, and she was so goddamn beautiful it made my chest ache.
“Tate,” she whispered.
I kissed her.
I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t planned or calculated or strategic. It was pure instinct—the same instinct that had driven me to chase her through that backyard, to claim her in the grass, to give in to something I’d been fighting since the moment we’d been thrown together again.
My mouth found hers, and everything else disappeared.
She melted into me instantly, her hands coming up to grip my lapels, pulling me closer. The kiss was deep and desperate, nothing like the brutal claiming in the backyard. This was something else entirely. Something that felt terrifyingly like tenderness and longing.
I kissed her like she was precious. Like she was everything.
Because she was.
When I finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Her lipstick was smeared, her careful composure completely undone.
She looked beautiful.
“We should go back,” I said, my voice rough. “Before someone notices we’re gone.”
Stella nodded slowly, but she didn’t move. Just stood there, looking up at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?”
She reached up and touched my face, her fingers gentle against my jaw. “For being the only person in that entire room who actually sees me.”
I closed my eyes, leaning into her touch despite myself. “Stella...”
“I know.” She dropped her hand, stepping back. “We have to be careful. Professional. I get it.”
She straightened her gown, touched her hair and fixed her lipstick, transforming back into the polished society princess in a matter of seconds. Only her swollen lips and the brightness in her eyes betrayed what had just happened.
“How do I look?” she asked.
Like everything I never knew I wanted.
“Perfect,” I said. “You look perfect.”
She smiled, the first genuine one I’d seen from her all night, and headed for the door.
I followed her back to the gala, resuming my position at a professional distance. But something had shifted between us. Something that felt like the beginning of something I wasn’t sure either of us could control.
And despite everything—despite the danger, the complications, the impossible situation we’d found ourselves in—I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.