The car door opens, and Manhattan's elite await their show.
I step onto the red carpet feeling like armor wrapped in silk—designer elegance that cost more than most people's annual salary. The dress fits like it was made for this moment. Because it was.
Jake emerges behind me, and I hear the collective intake of breath from nearby photographers.
He's wearing the expensive new jeans I picked out. The cowboy boots he refused to compromise on. A tailored jacket that actually fits his shoulders. And despite three separate arguments—the hat.
"You sure about this?" I murmur without turning around.
"You agreed I could keep the hat." His voice is low, steady. "I agreed to auction off my ranch to strangers. We both made sacrifices."
The reluctance in his tone reminds me how hard that concession was. The weekend at his home, offered up as a raffle prize for people who'd never understand what the land means to him.
I finally turn to face him. The sight still catches me off guard—Jake Sullivan cleaned up for Manhattan, somehow looking more himself than ever despite the new clothes.
"Tonight's going to be memorable." I let warmth bleed into my voice. "Because you're here with me."
Something flickers across his face. Then his jaw tightens.
"We're living a lie in there, Adison." The words come out flat. Careful. "Can't walk arm in arm. Can't touch. Can't be real." He adjusts his hat, eyes fixed somewhere past my shoulder. "I don't want to remember time spent pretending we're strangers."
The words cut deeper than he knows.
I want to tell him this isn't what I chose. That every second of distance feels like bleeding out slowly. That I'd trade every chandelier in that ballroom for one honest moment where we didn't have to hide.
But the photographers are watching. The guests are watching. And my dying father's empire depends on the performance we're about to give.
"Let's go." I start walking before my voice can betray me.
Inside, the ballroom glitters with old money and new ambition. Crystal chandeliers throw fractured light across silk gowns and designer suits. The Ward Foundation logo dominates every surface—my father's legacy, now somehow mine to protect.
Attention follows us like heat.
I feel the gazes tracking Jake's movement through the room. Women in particular—their eyes sharp with predatory interest, assessing the mysterious cowboy who appeared at Richard Ward's daughter's side.
New to Manhattan. Unfamiliar. Intriguing.
I hate how much I want to claim him publicly. Want to thread my arm through his and announce to every woman watching that he's mine.
Instead, I smile at strangers and pretend the space between us doesn't feel like drowning.
"Adison!"
The voice makes my stomach clench before I turn around.
Lucia Bell approaches with Charles in tow—literally dragging him by the arm, her grip possessive and triumphant. She's beautiful in that polished way Manhattan rewards, and she clearly wants everyone to see her prize.
"We heard about Richard." Lucia's condolences drip with performative sympathy. "How devastating. He must be so proud of how you're stepping up."
"Thank you." I arrange my expression into gracious acceptance. "It's been challenging."
"I can only imagine." Her eyes slide to Jake, lingering with obvious interest. "And who's this?"
"Jake Sullivan. My father's oldest friend." The words taste like ash. "He's been invaluable support during this difficult time."
Charles says nothing. The bruises from Jake's fists have faded, but the memory clearly hasn't. His jaw is tight, his posture rigid with barely concealed hostility.
Jake's disgust is equally obvious. I see it in the set of his shoulders, the flat expression that promises violence if provoked.
My toe connects sharply with his boot.
He glances at me. I hold his gaze with clear warning.
"Well." Lucia's smile sharpens. "It's so good to see you managing. Charles and I were just saying how impressive it is—a woman your age taking on so much responsibility."
The condescension is expertly delivered. Perfectly deniable.
"Miss Ward." Zachary appears at my elbow like salvation in a pressed suit. "My apologies for interrupting, but there's someone requiring your attention."
"Of course." I nod to Charles and Lucia with practiced warmth. "Enjoy the evening."
Zachary steers me away with a gentle hand at my back. I feel Jake following at a careful distance—close enough to intervene, far enough to maintain the fiction.
"Noel Henderson arrived." Zachary keeps his voice low. "You remember him from your father's files."
The name clicks into place. Old money. Conservative. Notoriously dismissive of women in any position of power.
"He'll expect me to be decorative and empty-headed." I say it without inflection.
"Precisely." Zachary's expression is grim. "He's never taken a female executive seriously. Winning his respect could be transformative for your position. But I won't pretend it's likely."
A slow smile curves my mouth.
"I know exactly how to handle men like Noel Henderson."
But even as I say it, something uncertain flutters beneath my ribs. The confidence feels thinner than it should. This whole evening feels like walking a tightrope without a net.
"I'm nervous." The admission escapes before I can stop it. "More than I expected."
Zachary turns to face me fully. Something shifts in his expression—the professional mask softening into unexpected warmth.
"You're brilliant, Adison." His voice is quiet. Sincere. "Capable. Extraordinary. I've watched you navigate impossible situations with grace and intelligence. Whatever happens tonight, you've already proven yourself."
The words land somewhere vulnerable. Somewhere I didn't realize needed hearing.
"Thank you." My throat tightens. "For everything. For believing in this. In me."
I hug him. Impulsive, genuine, grateful. His arms come up to return the embrace with careful professionalism.
Then I catch Jake's gaze across the room.
He's furious.
The realization hits like ice water. What this looks like—me wrapped in another man's arms while he watches from the distance I've demanded he maintain. The embrace is innocent but devastating in its optics.
I pull back from Zachary. Want to cross the room and explain. Want to tell Jake it meant nothing, that I was scared and Zachary was kind and none of it changes what we are.
But Noel Henderson is waiting somewhere in this ballroom.
And I have a performance to deliver.