CHAPTER 44 — The Things That Don’t Add Up

The gala sparkled like a dream Alex never signed up for.

Grand chandeliers dipped low from the ceiling, their crystal limbs scattering golden light across the ballroom. Waiters floated by like shadows with trays of champagne, and the orchestra’s smooth strings swelled above the murmur of high-profile guests. Everything smelled of rich perfume, fresh-cut roses, and money.

It was the kind of event she always imagined herself attending—when she was younger, sneaking business proposals out of her father’s office, fantasizing about making her own mark on the world. But now that she was here, standing in glittering heels and a couture gown with a drink in her hand, the moment didn’t feel like hers.

She had been invited as the daughter of Steel’s empire. But escorted in as the fiancée of Zade Hale.

She spotted him across the room almost immediately.

Zade was dressed in a black velvet tux, sharp and regal. His presence turned heads, his charm reeling in everyone he passed. A few women tried to linger near him longer than they should’ve, but his eyes only found one person in the room.

Alex.

She straightened her posture automatically.

He approached with that smooth, easy confidence she hated how much she noticed.

“I see the gala’s in good taste this year,” Zade said, offering her a fresh glass of champagne. “Or maybe it’s just the company.”

She took the glass, barely masking her eye-roll. “Careful. Compliments from you feel like landmines.”

He grinned. “Only if you step on them wrong.”

The night wore on, and she was pulled into shallow conversations with investors and CEOs who treated her more like a symbol than a person. But Zade stayed close, as if on some unspoken mission to make sure she was seen, accompanied, claimed.

And Alex hated every moment of it.

Because no matter how much she dreamed about this, it came with a price. A really big price to pay.

It was annoying. Convenient. Complicated.

Eventually, he extended a hand toward her. “Dance?”

Alex glanced around. People were watching. Cameras flashing. Luca and Nova were somewhere in the crowd, no doubt hoping she would play along.

She sighed and placed her hand in his.

Not like she had much choice left, anyway.

The ballroom floor was soft underfoot, the rhythm of the music guiding them into slow, measured movements. Zade held her close but respectful, his hand on the small of her back light as silk. Alex knew how to dance all too well, having taught by her father since she was 14 years old, but this felt different, almost different enough to take her confidence.

He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. For all the frustration he caused, he was a graceful dancer. Elegant. Natural.

“Didn’t think you were the waltz type,” she muttered.

“I’m full of surprises.”

She glanced over his shoulder—and spotted her parents across the room.

Nova leaned lightly against Luca, laughing softly at something he said, a hand resting on his chest. For a moment, Alex’s frustration faded. They looked younger than usual. In love.

Zade’s eyes followed her gaze.

“You keep staring,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Jealous of my parents’ moves?”

His expression shifted—sharp, calculating.

“No,” he said quietly. “I was just... thinking.”

Alex tilted her head. “About?”

Zade paused, then replied in a low voice, “Your father. He looks just like his own father.”

The words dropped like ice in her stomach.

“What?” she asked.

He blinked, almost as if realizing he’d said it out loud.

Then he gave a small, self-correcting laugh. “It’s nothing. Just an observation.”

But his tone had changed—just for that brief second.

“How would you know what my grandfather looked like?” Alex asked, stepping back slightly in the rhythm.

Zade’s smile returned immediately, practiced and polished. “Your family’s history is pretty public. You know... articles, photos, boardroom portraits.” He shrugged, spinning her with ease. “I just have a good memory.”

Something didn’t sit right. It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. The flicker in his eyes before the mask returned. Like he had said too much.

And then, just as suddenly as the tension sparked between them, he ended the dance.

He took her hand, kissed it softly, and whispered, “Enjoy the rest of your night, Miss Steel.”

Before she could say a word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“Zade—” she started, but stopped as she heard someone calling her name.

The voice wasn’t loud—but urgent. Panicked.

She turned.

At the far side of the ballroom, past the champagne towers and orchid-lined tables, a small crowd had formed in a ripple of motion. Whispers spread like wildfire. People moved aside.

Alex’s heart dropped.

She saw her father on his knees.

Luca was holding Nova in his arms, her head slumped against his shoulder, eyes shut. His other hand clutched a phone to his ear—calling an ambulance, by the look on his face.

“Mom,” Alex breathed, her feet already carrying her forward.

The orchestra faltered. Lights dimmed just slightly. The night shattered.

She didn’t feel the dress clinging to her anymore, or the ache in her heels. She didn’t care who was watching. She only cared about the woman who had just collapsed under the weight of secrets none of them were ready to face.

And in the back of her mind, as she knelt beside her father and heard him saying her mother’s name over and over again, Alex couldn’t stop thinking—

What did Zade know that I didn’t?