Chapter 20
Stella
I couldn’t stop smiling. It had been three days since Tate had offered to invest in my business, and the reality of it still hadn’t fully sunk in.
Someone believed in me. Someone with no obligation to do so, no family ties compelling them, no ulterior motives—just genuine faith in my talent and my vision.
And that someone happened to be the man I was falling for.
During the day, we maintained our distance. Professional and appropriate. He was the bodyguard; I was the client. Nothing to see here.
But at night...I slipped through the darkened hallway to his room and everything changed.
That first time, he’d let me take control, set the pace, call the shots, and discover what I wanted.
But every night since, Tate had shown me more of that dominant side to him.
And God, the things he’d introduced me to.
.. get on your knees, put your hands behind your back, don’t move until I say so.
The delicious helplessness of being blindfolded, every sensation amplified, never knowing where his touch would land next.
The sharp sting of his palm against my ass, followed by the soothing stroke of his fingers, pleasure and pain blurring until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
I’d never known I could want those things. Had never imagined that surrendering control could feel so freeing.
With Tate, I wasn’t the perfect Hayward daughter. I wasn’t the influencer with the curated image or the designer desperate for approval. I was just Stella—raw and real and vulnerable with him. And he accepted every part of me without judgment.
I was falling for him, and for the first time in my life I wasn’t afraid of what I might lose, only excited by what I might gain.
* * *
The double date had been my mother’s idea, but I found myself approaching it with unexpected optimism. It gave me something to think about other than the threat still lurking out there while Tate and his firm tried to figure out who’d taken the pictures at the gala.
Oliver picked me up looking effortlessly polished in a navy blazer, and we drove to the restaurant together, making easy small talk. Tate followed in a separate vehicle, close enough to respond if needed but far enough to give us the illusion of privacy.
Charlie and Bridget were already waiting outside when we arrived.
Bridget was pretty—light red hair, a constellation of freckles across her nose, with an energy that somehow managed to be both youthful and sophisticated.
She couldn’t have been more than twenty-four, young enough that I felt an immediate, unexpected protectiveness toward her even though we were close to the same age.
She was one of my father’s paralegals. If this relationship went south, it wouldn’t be Charlie who’d have to find a new job.
So when she smiled at me and pulled me into a hug like we’d known each other for years, I couldn’t help but like her.
“It’s so lovely to be able to talk to you in a less formal setting,” she said warmly. “I think we chatted briefly at the gala, but this is different. More intimate.”
“I feel the same,” I replied, returning her smile. “It’s about time Charlie introduced us to you properly, which is quite the commitment for him.”
“Hey now,” my brother protested lightly as he slipped an arm around Bridget’s waist. “I was waiting until I found someone worth introducing you to.”
Oliver offered me his arm as we headed inside, playing the doting boyfriend to perfection.
For the first time, the gesture irritated me.
It wasn’t his fault—he was doing exactly what we’d agreed to do—but I found myself wishing it were Tate beside me instead.
Tate, who was nearby, watching without being intrusive, keeping me safe while I pretended to be someone else’s.
The restaurant was elegant without being stuffy, all warm lighting and crisp white tablecloths.
We settled into a corner booth and the conversation flowed easily, mostly centered on Charlie and Bridget, which suited Charlie’s personality.
My brother had never met a spotlight he didn’t want to stand in.
We ordered, and as the evening progressed, I learned more about Bridget.
Her father had passed away when she was sixteen from cancer, sudden and devastating.
Her mother had never really recovered, retreating into grief while Bridget stepped up to hold things together.
She’d dreamed of law school, but finances had made that impossible.
So she’d worked her way up instead, secretary to paralegal, learning everything she could along the way.
“That’s admirable,” I said, meaning it. “You didn’t let circumstances define you. You found another path.”
Bridget shrugged, a little embarrassed by the praise. “You do what you have to do. Besides, I love the work. Even if I’m not the one arguing cases, I enjoy being a part of making things happen.”
The server delivered our meals, and we were all quiet for a few moments as we ate our dinners.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Bridget said after a short while, redirecting the conversation to me. “I know your father, obviously, but Charlie doesn’t tell me much about his family. What do you do?”
“I’m a fashion designer,” I said. “I create custom pieces and—”
Charlie laughed, cutting me off. “That’s a rather generous description, don’t you think? She sews clothes in her spare time and posts videos online, playing at being an influencer.”
My own brother’s dismissal felt like a slap. I felt my spine stiffen, my hands curling into fists beneath the table. “As a matter of fact,” I said coolly, wanting Charlie to eat his damn words. “I’m launching my own fashion line. I’ll be opening a storefront next year.”
Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “You? With what capital?”
“I have an angel investor.” The words came out before I could stop them, pride and defiance overriding caution.
Because that’s exactly what Tate was—an angel who’d appeared when I needed him most. We still needed to sort through the legalities, which we’d decided to approach once he was no longer working for the family, but he was adamant about his investment and I’d agreed to accept his offer.
Charlie snorted. “You’d better have a lawyer review that contract thoroughly. These so-called investors prey on naive dreamers. He’ll take your profits, your intellectual property, and everything else.”
“He won’t,” I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended as I glared at my brother. “He’s a good man, and he believes in what I’m building. Unlike some people I could name.”
An uncomfortable silence descended over the table. Bridget and Oliver exchanged awkward glances, clearly wishing they were anywhere else.
“This scallop risotto is extraordinary,” Bridget said quickly, her voice bright with forced cheer. “Have you tried the truffle oil? It’s so delicate.”
“Here, taste it with this red wine,” Oliver added, reaching for his glass. “I know the conventional wisdom says white with seafood, but I think the red complements the earthiness of the mushrooms beautifully.”
I swallowed my anger and let them steer the conversation to safer waters. This wasn’t the time or place for a family argument. Bridget and Oliver didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire.
But even as I smiled and nodded and pretended everything was fine, Tate’s words from the gala echoed in my mind. About how Oliver, as my boyfriend, should stand up for me. Should defend me when someone—even my own brother—dismissed my dreams as frivolous.
Tate would have said something. Tate would have told Charlie exactly where he could shove his condescension.
I hadn’t minded this arrangement with Oliver when I didn’t have anyone else.
He was a friend and our fake relationship served both our purposes.
But now I knew how much better I could have it.
I had someone who genuinely cared about me, who saw me clearly and valued what he saw.
In comparison, Oliver’s performance felt exactly like what it was… fake. Perfunctory. Not enough.
I was going to have to stage a breakup soon and I was actually looking forward to it.
* * *
The rest of dinner passed without incident, the conversation carefully skirting any controversial topics. By the time we left the restaurant, I’d almost convinced myself the evening had been a success.
Then we got home and everything fell apart.
Charlie had stopped by after dropping off Bridget, apparently feeling the need to report to our parents in person.
I found them all in the living room—Dad with his customary nightcap, Mom perched on the edge of the sofa, Charlie looking insufferably pleased with himself while Tate retreated to the study to look over the security feed.
But I wasn’t in the mood for small talk and started toward my room, instead.
Mom intercepted me before I could escape upstairs. “Well? What did you think of her?”
“She’s lovely,” I said honestly. “She’s had a difficult life, but she’s worked hard and made something of herself. I think you’d be impressed if you gave her a chance.”
“Hmm.” Mom didn’t sound convinced, but before she could interrogate me further, Dad’s voice cut through the house like a thunderclap.
“What?”
I frowned, following Mom back toward the living room. Dad was on his feet, his expression thunderous, his attention fixed on Charlie, then on me as I followed beside my mother.
“Is this true?” Dad demanded as I entered.
I frowned, completely confused by his outburst. “Is what true?”
“You have some sort of angel investor for your little fashion hobby?”
Mom whipped around to face me, her eyes wide with shock. “Stella? What on earth is he talking about?”