28. Haunted #3
I look at my dad—who gives me the smallest nod. Not performative. Not rehearsed. Just him.
I swallow.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Philippa claps her hands excitedly. “You ready?”
“I think so,” I say, even though I’m not sure.
“Go be a star, babe,” Riley says, squeezing my hand. “We’ll be front row.”
After some pre-show drinks, I’m ushered by the crew to the stage. I hear the countdown in my ear as the first chords of my song plays. The lights hit and I take in the crowd stretched before me in all directions.
New York, breathing under my feet, buzzing through the soles of my boots.
I hold the mic steady, heartbeat crashing in my ears—then I sing.
As I finish the first song, fireworks shoot up behind me. I laugh into the mic, breath fogging in the air, chest heaving.
“New York…” I say, voice shaky but loud, “you’ve made this the best night of my life.”
The crowd roars.
“I’ve got one more surprise for you. My debut single—Touch—drops at midnight tonight. This one’s for the fans. For sticking with me. For seeing me.”
The backup dancers pour out behind me. The beat drops. Lights flare.
And I lose myself in it—singing, dancing, adrenaline flooding every cell.
Louder than the fireworks. Stronger than the cold.
When I hit the final note, the crowd screams. Fireworks burst behind the skyline. Confetti rains like snow. The other artists join me on stage, arms thrown around each other as we count down the final seconds of the year.
Ava pulls me into a hug. I cling to her.
And then—
The clock strikes midnight.
“Happy New Year!”
The opening notes of “Auld Lang Syne” echo across the square.
I look out over the crowd—
And I see them.
My tribe.
Riley champagne in one hand, waving wildly with the other. Philippa and Andrew, forehead to forehead, wrapped in each other.
My father, beside Carole. His face unreadable, but his eyes—glassier than I’ve ever seen them.
And Broderick.
A few rows back, just far enough to stay out of the chaos. Watching me with that quiet, still focus. Like I’m the only thing that exists.
And right there—under the lights, with my name echoing across Times Square and a new year breaking open around me—everything’s falling into place.
The party doesn’t stop there—as soon as I’m off the stage, our group is whisked off by my father who’s arranged for us to attend the Renaissance Hotel’s New Year’s Eve party, where the night shifts from epic to obscene.
The ballroom is packed with New York’s richest and most recognizable faces. Glittering gowns. Flashbulbs. Clinking glasses. The kind of party where secrets are traded like currency.
Broderick and I have been eye-fucking each other across the table since the moment we sat down.
Our friends might know—but I’m not about to turn it into a whole thing in front of Daddy Dearest. Not until I’ve figured out how I feel about us.
Heat passes between bites of dessert, champagne toasts and stolen glances. My skin buzzes every time his greedy eyes drags over me. The need has teeth now. It gnaws.
“I’ll be right back,” I announce casually.
Everyone nods, too caught up in their own conversations to clock the tension.
I catch Broderick’s eye and tip my chin toward a secluded corner on the other side of the room.
Then I slip away.
A few people stop me—selfies, congratulations, someone even shoves a phone in my hand to speak to their cousin in Idaho—but eventually I make it.
A dimly lit hallway. Quiet. I stand in front of the tall window, lights from below dancing in the glass. As the city below celebrates the new year.
“Come here often?” he says behind me, voice low.
I turn, smiling. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”
“Hmm. Vaguely remember pounding into that sweet ass the last few days.”
“Broderick,” I groan, laughing as I swat his chest.
He slides his arms around my waist, pulling me in. “You were spectacular tonight,” he whispers against my ear, heat blooming along my skin.
“Thank you for coming.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair, nails grazing the back of his scalp. He lets out a soft groan.
“Maybe later I can make you come,” he murmurs, grin lazy, sinful.
We both snort like horny teenagers.
“How about my first midnight kiss?” I ask.
“Your first?” he teases, brow lifting.
“Yep. So you better make it good.”
He brushes his thumb over my jaw, tracing the shape of my lip, lifting my face toward him.
Then he slips that thumb into my mouth. Just barely.
I bite down.
He growls, yanking it back—then crashes his mouth into mine.
All that pent-up energy detonates. Broderick’s hands roam my body like he’ll die if he doesn’t touch me everywhere at once. Mine grip his shirt, his neck, his hair. We can’t get close enough.
When we finally break apart, his eyes stay on mine. The lights of the city reflect in them, like something celestial.
I’m falling for him.
The thought comes unbidden, unleashed from the depths of my heart.
“Happy New Year, El,” he whispers.
My heart swells. I open my mouth—
About to say the words to fall into this moment with him, head first.
“Elena?”
That voice—
Cool. Pained. Furious.
My head snaps toward the sound.
Alex.