POV Shane
Stellan commands the stage with the practiced ease of a man who learned performance before he learned sincerity.
His presentation unfolds with theatrical precision. The investors lean forward, charmed by his charisma, blind to the machinery behind his smile.
I've watched my cousin work for years. I know every trick, every manipulation, every carefully constructed moment of vulnerability designed to make audiences feel chosen. None of it should surprise me anymore.
What surprises me is where his gaze keeps landing.
Every time Stellan sweeps the audience with those calculating eyes, they find Audrey.
She sits beside me in the second row, composed and professional, and each time their eyes meet, she offers the same polite smile. The kind that carries no warmth, only social obligation—a courtesy extended to strangers at networking events.
Something primitive ignites in my chest.
Before this trip, Audrey was the single thing in my life Stellan could not touch or diminish. My arranged fiancée existed entirely outside his sphere of influence, protected by the simple fact that he'd never met her.
That protection is crumbling with every lingering glance he throws her way.
"The projected returns speak for themselves," Stellan continues, clicking to another slide. "But what I'm really offering is partnership. Vision shared between equals who recognize each other's worth."
His eyes find Audrey again. She nods politely, her attention apparently fixed on the data, but I see the slight tension in her shoulders. She notices. She knows she's being targeted, even if she doesn't understand why.
"Shane." Her voice is barely audible, pitched for my ears alone. "Is everything alright? You've been gripping that armrest since Stellan started speaking, and I'm fairly certain the upholstery didn't personally offend you."
I force my fingers to relax, manufacturing a calm I don't feel. "Fine. Just analyzing his methodology."
The lie slides out smoothly, even as fury coils tighter beneath my composure. Audrey studies my face for a moment longer, her blue eyes sharp with questions she chooses not to ask.
Then she returns her attention to the stage, and I return mine to cataloging every instance of my cousin's interest in my fiancée.
The cocktail party invitation arrives before Stellan has even finished accepting applause.
Networking continues on the venue's lower terrace—champagne, canapés, and conversations designed to transform today's presentations into tomorrow's partnerships.
I cannot stomach another hour watching Stellan circle Audrey like a shark who's caught the scent of something vulnerable.
"Actually, I was thinking we might skip the reception." The words emerge before I've fully decided to say them. "We could find somewhere quieter instead. Dinner, perhaps. Just the two of us, away from the investor circuit and the endless small talk."
Audrey's surprise is immediate, her eyebrows rising with undisguised curiosity. "You're suggesting we abandon a networking event? The same man who lectured me about professional obligations and the importance of maintaining strategic relationships? That Shane Reed wants to skip cocktail hour?"
"Even strategic relationships require occasional breaks. The investors will survive one evening without our combined charm overwhelming them."
"This is about Stellan, isn't it?" She asks directly.
The observation bothers me more than I'm willing to show.
"I have a headache developing," I manage, pressing my fingers against my temple in a gesture that feels unconvincing even as I make it. "The presentation schedule has been demanding, and I'd rather recover in the suite than manufacture enthusiasm for another three hours. You should stay, though. The connections here are valuable, and your presence will satisfy the networking requirements for both of us."
Audrey studies me with an expression I can't quite read—concern tangled with skepticism, curiosity pressing against discretion.
"If you're certain. I'll make our excuses and handle the socializing."
I nod once, already moving toward the exit, escaping before her perceptiveness can excavate anything else I'm not ready to reveal.
* * *
Paul answers on the first ring.
"Tell me you're calling with good news. The merger is proceeding smoothly, the investors are throwing money at your feet, and your arranged marriage is blossoming into genuine affection that will sustain you through decades of—"
"Stellan is here."
I cut him off, pacing the length of the penthouse suite with restless energy I can't contain.
"He appeared at lunch the day before yesterday, charmed his way through today's presentations, and now he's circling Audrey like she's the next acquisition in his portfolio. He keeps finding excuses to speak with her, keeps looking at her during his presentations, and I can see exactly what he's doing but I cannot neutralize it without revealing how much it affects me."
Paul's silence stretches for exactly three seconds. "You're jealous."
"I'm concerned. There's a significant difference between—"
"Shane, I've known you for ten years. This isn't a strategic concern. This is jealousy, pure and visceral, and the fact that you can't admit it tells me everything about how far gone you already are."
I stop pacing, staring at the San Francisco skyline without seeing it.
"He doesn't want her for herself. She's a weapon aimed at my vulnerability, and Stellan has always had perfect instincts for locating exactly where I'm most defenseless. He'll pursue her just far enough to destabilize everything I'm building, then discard her once the damage is done."
"Then protect her. Claim her. Stop treating this arrangement like a business transaction and start treating it like something worth fighting for."
The accusation lands somewhere I can't deflect from. I sink onto the suite's leather sofa, exhaustion and honesty finally overwhelming my resistance.
"There's something I haven't told you." My voice drops to something barely audible. "About Audrey. About who she really is."
"I'm listening."
"She's the ghost from prom night, Paul. I saw her tattoo at the gallery—the constellation across her lower back. Audax. The same stars I've been searching for across nine years and countless women who never quite matched the memory. Audrey Lennox is the girl who disappeared and left me with nothing but regret and an obsession I've never been able to shake."
Paul's shock transmits through the phone as heavy silence. Then, slowly, his voice returns with something approaching wonder.
"That's extraordinary. Shane, that's—you've been looking for her all this time, and she was right there. The universe has a truly sadistic sense of poetry."
"What do I do?"
"You act. Before Stellan figures out what she means to you and uses it to destroy everything. You start showing her who you really are—the man behind the corporate armor, the one she made you feel seen for one night almost a decade ago. Because if Stellan gets to her first, he won't just take her. He'll make certain you watch while he does it."
The truth settles like clarity, sharp and undeniable.
Movement in my peripheral vision makes me turn. Audrey stands in the doorway, her expression carrying exhaustion and something else—relief, maybe, at finding me here.
"The party was unbearable without you," she says simply. "I made our excuses, smiled at the appropriate investors, and escaped before Stellan could corner me with another proposal for 'direct collaboration.' I hope your headache has improved, because I could use considerably stronger drinks than the champagne they were serving downstairs."
I end the call without goodbye, Paul's voice cutting off mid-sentence. The presentation days are finished. Tomorrow we fly home, back to Seattle, back to reality.
"Do you want to get drunk with me tonight?" The question emerges raw and honest, stripped of strategy. "Properly drunk. The kind that makes tomorrow's flight uncomfortable but tonight feel survivable."
Audrey's smile breaks across her face like sunrise. "Yes. Absolutely yes. I thought you'd never ask."