20. Scarlett
Scarlett
T he music swelled. Silverware clinked against plates. Someone laughed too hard—maybe me.
The lights. The buzz under my skin. The way Trace’s stare burned holes through the tablecloth and Alden kept offering to top off my glass like I wasn’t already two sips past a good decision.
I laughed too hard at Kane’s stories. Leaned too close to Alden when he said something about the stars. Let my eyes linger on Trace just a second too long when he looked away. Alden’s smile faltered. Trace’s posture stiffened—but he didn’t look away fast enough.
It was reckless.
And it felt good.
Lena leaned in and whispered, “You okay?”
I nodded. Smiled. Drank. I didn’t trust myself to answer out loud. If I opened my mouth, the truth might come out.
Because no—I wasn’t okay.
But I didn’t want to ruin this.
Not the lights Sloane strung. Not the effort Lena made. Not the way Rhett looked like he was holding the whole night together without saying a word. Everyone was pretending. I was just the one doing it the loudest.
So, I played my part.
Scarlett Monroe: birthday girl, wine-drunk and glowing. The chair beneath me felt unsteady. Or maybe I did.
I touched Alden’s arm, lifting a quizzical brow. “You’re being sweet tonight. Suspiciously sweet.”
He raised his brow. “Maybe I’m just finally letting myself.”
My heart did something it shouldn’t have. And I hated that it was Alden. That it was so easy with him. That it had always been.
Across the table, I felt Trace’s eyes land on me again. Heavy. Hot. Punishing. He hadn’t said a word to me all night.
“You’re really working the room tonight,” Rhett said, grinning as he sat back down in his chair, with a full glass of whiskey. “Trace. Alden. Maybe even Kane if you gave him the right look.”
My stomach dropped. He was joking and clearly tipsy. But it didn’t feel like a joke. Sloane shot Rhett a look—sharp enough to slice through bread.
“Dude.”
He held up his hands. “What? I’m just saying if I had that power, I’d be dangerous.”
Lena glanced at me, then at Trace, then Alden. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Traces gaze flicked towards Rhett. Alden’s fingers drummed once against the table. Kane just smirked like it wasn’t the first time he thought it.
I stood, a little too fast. My chair skidding back with a squeal. The ground shifted under me, and I laughed it off. “I need air,” I said. “Or cake. Or both.”
“I’ll come with you,” Alden offered, half out of his chair.
But Trace moved first.
“No,” he said, sharp. “I got it.”
The air crackled. Even Kane shut up.
“I’m good,” I said quickly, voice too high. “Really. Just going to walk it off.”
I didn’t wait for anyone to follow. I just walked—barefoot, wine in hand. My heart was in my throat. The wine glass sloshed as I walked, each breath tasted off. Wrong.
I didn’t know what I was chasing, but something deep inside me did. The answer was in my blood, buried too deep to reach without bleeding for it.
I craved the way they looked at me.
Impossible.
Untouchable.
Theirs.
Even if I was too afraid to choose.
Heavy footsteps followed behind me and I knew it was him.
Trace.
I kept walking, gravel biting at my feet, sipping my wine.
“Scarlett,” Trace said, low behind me.
I didn’t slow. “I don’t want to do this right now.”
“Then don’t. Just walk.”
So, we did. Past the edge of the lights, down the gravel path that led to the trail and back again. Just enough to feel the dark. He walked beside me, not saying a word. Just breathing like he was trying not to say too much.
Finally, I broke. “Why’d you come?”
“Because I had to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He exhaled hard, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “You think I don’t know I shouldn’t be here?”
I stopped walking. Turned to face him.
“You think I’m not trying?” My voice cracked. “To move on. To be okay. And then you show up and look at me like that—like you still feel it.”
“I do still feel it.”
That wrecked me. “Then why did you leave?”
His eyes were darker than the trees behind him. “Because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”
“From what?” I scoffed.
He hesitated.
I blinked. “From what, Trace?”
His voice dropped, rougher this time. “Everything.”
For a second, I swore he was going to reach for me. Say more. Say too much. But instead, he shook his head. “Come on. They’re probably wondering if I pushed you off a cliff.”
I let out a breath that hurt my ribs. Then nodded once and started back towards the house.
We didn’t touch. Didn’t speak again. But every step back felt like a choice I didn’t want to make.