Chapter Twelve #2
Thirty-five minutes later, I’m waltzing into the ballroom.
Dark red and stark white lights pulse in uneven pockets around the room, casting jagged shadows along the walls as the chandeliers catch the glow, fracturing it into shards of crimson.
Peonies—her mom’s favorites—are everywhere, lush heads of deep red and pristine white arranged along tables and pedestals like an altar to a woman Wade helped bury.
The place is packed, bodies and laughter and crystal clinking for a cause that doesn’t exist, not the way it’s written in the brochure.
I recognize enough faces from past jobs to know exactly how rotten this room really is.
The few I don’t recognize make me wonder if they have any idea what they’ve bought tickets to.
Wade’s billed me as a special guest for some organization I’ve never even heard of.
Whatever game he’s playing, I’m now an important player.
Something tugs at me, and I turn my head to the left.
There stands Kiera beside Lila. The two of them dressed like the same side of a dark night.
Lila’s in a low-cut dress that shifts through shades of darkness, made to catch every wandering eye.
Kiera is dressed like death, coming to collect souls.
A fitted black lace dress clings to her, the sheer pattern revealing a white slip beneath.
The plunging neckline, wicked against the fabric's purity. The lace spills down into red blossoms at the hem, like blood dripping from the edge of a shroud. Her hair is curled and tossed over her shoulder, exposing the long line of her throat. She’s beautiful.
I move toward her before I’ve even decided to, drawn in.
Kiera’s head snaps in my direction, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before she slams her expression back into place. “Why are you here?” she asks, her voice aiming for neutral and landing somewhere closer to shock.
“I was invited,” I answer truthfully, a hint of amusement curling the words. “Why else would I be here?”
“Oh, I don’t know—Maybe to keep up the whole stalker routine you’ve got going,” she scoffs.
“Well, I was invited here to stalk,” I tease, letting my boyish smile pull at my mouth. “But lucky for you, you’re not my target tonight.”
The mic squeals as Wade taps it, drawing the room’s attention.
“Good evening, everyone. I would like to invite my daughter, Kiera, and tonight's guest, Sterling, up here to say a few words.” Kiera’s gaze cuts to me.
I just shrug; this is the first time I’m hearing about any of it.
I offer her my arm, and she threads hers through, softly placing her hand on my forearm, the two of us crossing the room under a hundred curious eyes.
Onstage, I send Wade a what the fuck look. I wasn’t prepared to speak.
Kiera clears her throat, her voice smooth over the speakers.
“Hello, I’m Kiera Hawthorne, as many of you know.
Tonight we have a special guest, so instead of giving you my usual speech, I’m going to let Sterling tell you about his charity.
” She turns, amusement sparking in her eyes as she hands me the mic. Wicked little thorn.
“Thank you, Kiera.” A smooth smile carves itself into my facade.
“I am excited to be here with y’all tonight.
Now, for the part you’ve all been waiting for.
” A soft ripple of laughter moves through the crowd.
“Tonight’s event is one from my own heart: Helping Hands from Neighbors.
We focus on underprivileged kids—whether they’re growing up in low-income families or navigating the foster care system.
Our goal is simple…” I pause for a moment, making sure everyone is paying attention.
“To help these kids break the cycle they were born into and give them a real shot at succeeding in life.” Applause swells, and when I look over, Kiera has a look of awe and shock.
Like she’s never seen me before. “So tonight, let’s have a damn good time,” I add, letting a hint of drawl and charm seep in, “and remember that every dollar you spend can help a kid who needs it. Thank you.” I step back from the mic as she moves in to reclaim it.
“Well, you heard it from Sterling—let’s show up for the children and make tonight the best event we’ve had this year.
The auction will begin at nine p.m.” Kiera steps away from the mic and crosses back to me, skirts whispering over the stage.
“Do you really help these kids?” she states almost accusingly under the noise of the room.
“Or is this just another one of my dad’s facades? ”
“Seeing as he didn’t tell me what to say, I picked one I actually believe in,” I answer, catching her hand and guiding her to the dance floor. “I’m not a complete asshole.”
“What are you doing? Dinner will be served soon.” She tries to yank her hand back, but I keep my grip firm.