Chapter 13 Rina
Rina
Even after Oliver calls my name, I don’t slow down. My heels strike the ballroom floor, each step a deliberate cut meant to sever the invisible tether that keeps pulling me back to him. I move faster, as if speed alone can outrun the emotions clawing at me.
The room is enough to give me sensory overload.
There are sequins, laughter, and the metallic snap of shutters.
Crystal chandeliers scatter light across glossy marble, but all that shimmer feels more like a spotlight I’m trying to escape from.
The scent of champagne and perfume hangs heavy, sweet enough to turn cloying.
What I should be doing is networking and checking on donors. In other words, my job. Instead, I’m dodging questions and trying not to fall apart in the middle of a crowd that thrives on spectacle and gossip.
I weave between tables, the fabric of my dress whispering against the linen as I slip through clusters of conversation.
Relief loosens the tightness inside me when I spot Lilah, Callie, and Sloane huddled near the dessert station.
If anyone can help me pull it together and get through the rest of this night, it’s them.
I paste on a smile that feels more like armor.
Sloane is the first to spot me. “Who’s the blonde who just dropped a small fortune on Oliver?”
The question slams into me, and I force a shrug. “Just some wealthy socialite who has a thing for the Big O.” The nickname tastes bitter in my mouth. I hate that two syllables can twist me up so much.
Lilah reaches out, fingertips grazing my arm. It’s barely a touch, but it somehow manages to do the impossible and steady me.
“Big O,” Sloane repeats, face scrunching like she’s fitting puzzle pieces together in her head. “Huh, that’s interesting.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
Her mouth curves into a sly smile. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Before I can press, Evelyn approaches, radiant in midnight-blue silk, with a younger man in tow. His smile is easy and posture relaxed, as if he’s right at home next to the older woman.
“Oh good, you’re all here,” Evelyn says warmly. “I’d like you to meet my nephew, Lucas.”
Lilah’s expression lights up. “It’s so nice to see you again! It’s been years.”
“That’s because I’ve spent the last five of them buried under a mountain of spreadsheets,” he says with a laugh. “Although, thanks to a timely job opening, I’ve just joined the Railers’ accounting department.”
After a few minutes, Lilah excuses herself to use the restroom.
It doesn’t take long for my attention to drift, and I grab a champagne flute from a passing tray out of habit, hoping the bubbles might settle the unease that continues to curl in my gut.
As soon as the first sip hits my tongue, my stomach turns.
I hand the glass back before it can slip from my fingers.
Oh God. What if there’s something wrong with the champagne?
Evelyn sips hers without a flinch, and I realize it isn’t the drink at all.
It’s me.
No, not me.
It’s him.
Oliver Van Doren has dug so deep under my skin that even the taste of champagne has soured. This situation is so much worse than I first suspected.
Across the room, he stands stiffly beside the blonde, who’s busy laughing and cozying up to him.
Even though he doesn’t touch her, he doesn’t have to.
She’s doing enough of it for the both of them.
His gaze stays locked on me. I tighten my grip on my clutch and do my best to pretend that his stare doesn’t sear me like a brand.
It’s possession disguised as patience.
A warning wrapped in a silky promise.
I force my attention back to Lucas, who’s joking about the harshness of Chicago winters, and manage to laugh on cue. But my mind is still a static blur. Every inch of me vibrates with awareness.
Movement catches the corner of my eye, and I jolt. I’m almost grateful for the distraction. “Is that Devon?”
All heads turn toward the bar, where Lilah’s ex stands awkwardly beside her. Her posture mirrors his. It’s both guarded and distant. It’s crazy to think that six months ago, they were living together. While Lilah was busy planning their future, he was screwing a colleague behind her back.
“It’s tempting to march over there and knock him flat on his ass for what he did to her,” Sloane mutters.
Evelyn arches a brow. “Perhaps not at a black-tie event.”
“That man deserves it,” Sloane grumbles.
Callie’s gaze zeroes in on them. “I just hope Steele doesn’t notice. He’ll lose it.”
“The last thing we need is a brawl overshadowing the two hundred thousand dollars we just raised,” I say.
Instead of rushing over to rescue our friend, we wait until Lilah makes her way back to the group. Even more surprising than seeing her talking to her ex is that she doesn’t look the least bit upset by it.
“Well?” I ask, a mix of impatience and curiosity bleeding through my tone.
Lilah exhales before dropping a bomb none of us saw coming. “He and Marissa broke up. Turns out the baby wasn’t his.”
My eyes widen. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope.” She shakes her head, eyes distant but steady. “She came clean a few weeks ago.”
Sloane lifts a brow. “Am I a terrible person if I say that’s karma?”
“Not even a little,” Callie says, giving Lilah’s hand a squeeze.
Evelyn sets down her flute with deliberate grace. “I was never particularly fond of the man. But karma or not, heartbreak leaves its mark. All any of us can do is learn from it, heal, and try not to make the same mistake twice.”
Her response settles over us like a gentle but heavy truth. And maybe because I’m still raw from everything that happened with Oliver, it hits harder than expected.
I tell myself I’ve learned that lesson, that I’m too smart to let a man in far enough to hurt me again. But the knot forming deep inside me says otherwise.
Callie’s ex stalks past, alone and scowling as he mutters something about the auction being rigged.
“Poor Zane,” Callie says dryly. “Imagine the humiliation of coming in fourth.”
Sloane snorts and I almost laugh, but the sound catches in my throat instead. For one small, fragile moment, everything almost feels normal again.
Until I glance up and find Oliver still watching me.
He doesn’t smile or move.
Just silently stares.
The look on his face cuts through the noise and lights to land square in my chest.
It’s the kind that strips away all pretenses.
My mother’s voice circles through my head.
Never depend on anyone.
Don’t let a man be your undoing.
As his attention remains locked on me from across the room, I wonder if it might be too late for that.