Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Dane
“What a shitshow,” I mutter under my breath as Mitzy grinds over Dad at the center of the dancefloor, her eyes feasting on me.
“A very expensive shitshow,” Julian drawls, taking a long pull of his cigar, smoke curling in rings.
“And a who’s who of everyone the IRS really should be talking to.”
It doesn’t matter where my eyes land; the ballroom is a glittering display of excess, a five-star playground for the powerful.
Politicians shaking hands with men who should be in prison; women in gowns worth more than some people’s annual salary.
Everywhere, the sheen of wealth—and the rot beneath it.
It’s a lavish display of power, greed, and quiet corruption—all orbiting my father’s impending marriage, a union built with those very values baked into its foundation.
This is my world.
And I see it for exactly what it is.
“On a positive note.” Julian whistles under his breath. “Leandra looks beautiful tonight.”
I’ve been avoiding looking at her—too easy for her to mistake eye contact for encouragement—but now she’s impossible to ignore.
She’s pressed in close to Dad and Mitzy, smiling like she’s part of the family.
Dad has an arm slung over her shoulder, the other waving me over with a grin that’s already two drinks too loose.
I stay exactly where I am. He responds with a long-suffering sigh and sends Mitzy instead, tottering in my direction, and then turns back to Leandra, the two of them swaying to Frank Sinatra as if this were all part of the evening’s choreography.
Julian snorts into his wineglass as Mitzy crooks a glitter-tipped finger at me, beckoning like a deranged Disney villain.
“Go dance with her,” I bark at Julian.
“What, and miss the pleasure of watching Mitzy dry hump you to Fly Me to the Moon?” Julian lifts his brows. “Not a chance.”
I’m seconds from faking my own death when Charlotte drifts up beside us.
“Oh, go on, Dane,” she says, nudging me. “One dance won’t kill you. It is their engagement party.”
“I’ll remind you of that,” I tell her, knocking back the rest of my drink. “When Hugo Bexley asks you to dance. Have you seen how that slimy bastard’s been eyeing you up?”
My gaze slides to the Bexleys. Sloane’s doing an admirable job corralling them—pairing them off with guests who won’t immediately regret the conversation—but even she’s struggling to contain Hugo, who’s so obliterated he’s one sway away from face-planting into the canapé tower.
“Come on, Loverboy,” Mitzy trills, weaving toward me through the haze of the smoke machines. Her eyes are glassy; her smile sloppy. “You’ve been brooding on the edge of the dance floor for way too long.”
Julian lifts his glass in a silent good luck, and I mouth a fuck you over my shoulder before following her into the crush of bodies and pulsing lights.
Mitzy hooks her nails into my waist and drags me indecently close, perfume thick as syrup, false lashes fanning over her half-lidded stare.
“No date tonight?” she purrs.
“Not one I’d bring here,” I say, clipped.
“Oh, so there is someone?” she pouts, lower lip pushed out in a way she probably thinks is sexy.
She actually looks disappointed—like this entire circus isn’t celebrating her own engagement.
“That’s my business, Mitzy.”
Ivy flashes through my mind—her laugh, her mouth, her everything, the way she looks at me like she hasn’t figured out she should run. A half-smile tugs at my lips before I catch myself.
At the moment, Ivy is my perfect secret, untarnished by the grime in my life.
“They can’t be that important if you’re not displaying them proudly on your arm.”
I wince; of all people, Mitzy’s jab lands harder than I expect. I barely have a second to swallow it before her hand is sliding down my stomach, heading somewhere I don’t want this to go.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Mitzy?”
“Oh, relax. Don’t you want a little fun? It’s a party after all.”
“Yes, your engagement party.”
“But you’re single...”
“I never said that.”
“If she’s not here tonight, then...” her fingers creep even lower before my hand closes around her wrist, rage burning beneath the surface.
“Do you want to know what I think, Mitzy?” I say, voice scraping rough. “I think you’d love it if I shoved you against that wall and fucked you loud enough for everyone to hear.”
She releases a breathy whimper, no denial in sight.
“Then do everyone a favor and walk away from this sham of a marriage.”
Her face twists with anger before she’s rescued by Dad, who spins towards us, eager to trade one nightmare for another.
“Dane,” he crows, fake smile dialed to the max. “I think it’s about time you danced with Leandra. How can you keep such a beautiful woman waiting?”
“Leandra,” I grind out. “What a surprise.”
This night just keeps getting worse and worse.
Mitzy slopes back to Dad, clearly irritated, but she’s the least of my concerns.
“Dane, I was hoping to see you,” she says, her voice tentative as we sway to a slower beat.
I brace. “Leandra—”
“Look, I know what you are going to say, Dane, that you can’t give me what I want. But I want to say I was wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“To push for marriage after six months. It wasn’t fair, after what you went through...” She swallows, and I almost pity her.
“But I don’t need that. Let’s reset and go back to how it was before.” Her hand slides up to my cheek, thumb soft. I catch her wrist gently and lower it.
I’m silent for a beat, mulling over my words. The thing is, I don’t hate her, but Leandra is used to getting what she wants. She’s used to men being obsessed with her.
“Is it because of that girl?” she asks, disbelief curled into her brow. That she could ever be second place to anyone difficult for her to comprehend.
Her question lands like a punch I didn’t brace for. That girl. Christ.
“Yes and no,” I say, jaw tight.
She waits, expecting a confession I’m not giving her.
“The ‘no’ is because this... whatever happened between us, it was already over before anyone else was in the picture.” My tone stays even, resolute. “You didn’t lose to someone.”
“The ‘yes’ is that going backwards makes little sense anymore. For either of us.”
It’s the closest I can get to honesty without ripping anything open.
And it’s all she’s getting. I’m not about to tell her she was just filling the silence. Or that since Ivy, nobody else even registers.
Leandra blinks at my answer, and something uneasy flickers across her face—the look of someone realizing they’re losing ground they thought they owned. Her hand slips from mine, and she takes a tiny step back, recalibrating.
“Okay,” she says. “I hear you.”
She doesn’t—not really—but she knows pushing will only make it worse.
“Come sit,” she offers, the smile she musters fragile. A peace offering. Or a last attempt at proximity.
“Fine,” I say, gesturing toward Julian’s table. “Go join the others. I’ll be there shortly. I just need to check on something.”
Before I return to the table, I make a detour toward Sloane. It’s not distrust—she’s the most capable person in the room—but the Bexleys are unpredictable on a good day, and tonight is nowhere near that.
She spots me approaching and straightens, her expression calm, the picture of control in a room full of people pretending to have it.
“Everyone behaving?” I ask under my breath.
“They’re fine,” she replies smoothly. “Maria handled introductions with the parents—investors, political donors, the usual crowd. They seem engaged.”
“And Hugo?” I scan the ballroom.
Her mouth tugs with the faintest hint of dry amusement.
“He found a woman within minutes of arriving here. She seems....tolerant.”
“Or desperate,” I quip.
Sloane gives me a hint of a smile; she’s far too professional to badmouth anyone, even if she agrees. How the hell I didn’t spot Ivy the second she set foot in my office, I’ll never know.
I don’t know when it happened, but it hits me in a small, unexpected way—how much warmer I feel toward Sloane because she matters to Ivy. How badly I want to ask her how Ivy is. What she’s doing. If she’s okay.
I don’t ask.
Sloane doesn’t know about us.
And my life is already a minefield.
I make my way back to the table where Julian, Charlotte, and Leandra have claimed a bottle of champagne and are already halfway through it.
Chase and Violet slide in a few minutes later, and for a while, the night softens at the edges.
We drink, we mock the décor, and Julian forces us into a terrible toast. Violet makes Charlotte laugh so hard that champagne comes out of her nose.
It’s the first moment of actual levity I’ve felt all damn night.
Hugo staggers past, mumbling something obscene to his guest for the night.
Julian leans in. “Hugo Bexley looks like he’s one sip away from meeting God.”
“One sip?” I say. “Try one blink.”
We’re still laughing when Dad’s voice cuts through behind us.
“Dane.”
He stands rigid, jaw locked, wearing the smile that usually comes right before a political move or a family blow-up. Only this time, the smile looks like it's choking him.
“I need a word,” he says. “Both of you.”
Julian and I exchange a glance—the kind reserved for childhood emergencies and incoming disasters—and follow him out of the ballroom.
He leads us into a small private lounge off the hall. The second the door closes behind us, his facade drops.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, turning on us. “A private investigator? Digging up that accident again?”
Julian pales. My pulse spikes.
“Don’t bother lying,” Dad growls. “I know. I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
“We deserve answers,” I say.
“You deserve to leave the past buried,” he fires back. “There is nothing there that will do you any good. Nothing.”
“Why?” I step in, heat rising hard and fast. “You got something to hide?”
“Dane—” Julian warns.
Dad moves toward me, fury flashing sharp. “I said, leave it alone. Your mother is dead. Helena is dead. And digging won’t change a damn thing.” His face flashes with something—not guilt, but fear masquerading as anger.
Julian puts a hand on my shoulder as I move even closer. “Dane,” he warns quietly.
I shrug him off, but the restraint costs more than it should.
I can’t breathe in this room—in this family.
Without another word, I turn and walk out.
Past the ballroom.
Past the music.
Past the spectacle.
Outside, the cold air douses the fire in my chest, and it’s the first clean breath I’ve taken all night.
My phone is in my hand before I even register moving, my thumb swiping over Ivy.
me
Can I see you?
I stare at the blank screen, waiting for god knows how long. Until I feel a soft hand on my shoulder.
“Dane,” Leandra says. “Charlotte is looking for you. Come back inside.”
Without a word, I follow her, vengeance heavy in my gut.
Because now I’ve never been so sure of anything.
I will find out who is responsible, and they will pay.
Minute by minute.
Hour by hour.
Until they wish they had never been born.