Jealousy is an ugly emotion. I've always prided myself on being above it.
But watching Jake laugh with those women, watching him not even look for me across the room—something hot and vicious claws up my throat. My feet are already moving toward the bar before I make a conscious decision.
Zachary appears at my elbow, cutting off my trajectory with practiced smoothness.
"Miss Ward." His voice is careful. Measured. "Perhaps Mr. Sullivan shouldn't be disturbed. He seems to have found entertainment for the evening."
I stop. Turn to face him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Only that if you retrieve him now, he'll hover over you for the rest of the night." Zachary adjusts his cuffs, not quite meeting my eyes. "You've just accomplished something remarkable with Noel Henderson. You deserve space to capitalize on that momentum."
"Space." The word tastes wrong. "You think I need space from Jake?"
Zachary is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped lower. More intimate.
"I've observed something over these past weeks." He chooses each word with surgical precision. "Mr. Sullivan doesn't seem to protect you so much as control you. As though he's afraid to see what you could become without his constant supervision."
The observation lands somewhere vulnerable. Somewhere I didn't realize was exposed.
"That's not—" I start.
"The woman who just charmed Noel Henderson." Zachary gestures toward where the old man is still speaking animatedly to his assistant. "That woman was remarkable. Confident. Brilliant. And Mr. Sullivan wasn't anywhere nearby when she emerged."
The words carry uncomfortable truth. I feel them settling into my chest like splinters.
But I don't stop.
"Thank you for your concern." My voice comes out colder than I intend. "I'll handle this myself."
I walk past him, my heels clicking against the marble floor with more force than necessary. The distance to the bar feels eternal.
Each step brings Jake into sharper focus—his easy posture, his genuine smile, the way one of the women has her hand on his forearm like she has every right to touch him.
He doesn't pull away.
"Mr. Sullivan." I pitch my voice to carry. Bright. Professional. Completely false. "What fascinating conversation am I interrupting?"
The women turn toward me with the kind of assessment that happens between predators evaluating territory. One of them—blonde, elegant, probably old money—lets her gaze travel from my shoes to my face with deliberate slowness.
"Miss Ward." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "There are plenty of eligible men still circulating. I'm sure you can find your own entertainment."
The dismissal is expertly delivered. As though I'm a child interrupting adult conversation.
"I appreciate the suggestion." I let my own smile sharpen. Honeyed and dangerous. "But Mr. Sullivan is my father's oldest friend. I'm responsible for ensuring he doesn't embarrass the Ward name at our foundation's event."
Jake's expression doesn't change. If anything, his smile widens slightly. He's enjoying this, I realize with sudden, nauseating clarity. Enjoying watching me squirm. Making no move whatsoever to leave these women and come to my side.
His smile carries an edge I don't recognize. Something cruel living behind his eyes.
"Is anyone bothering you?" I ask directly. Dropping the pretense. Letting him see exactly how much this is costing me.
"Absolutely not." Jake's voice is easy. Relaxed. Like we're strangers making small talk. "In fact, I've been having a wonderful evening. This is Catherine." He gestures to the blonde. "She breeds champion Arabians in Connecticut. Fascinating operation—fifteen hands, impeccable bloodlines."
Catherine preens under his attention.
"And Victoria." He indicates the brunette who's been hanging on his every word. "She just returned from a philanthropy tour in Costa Rica. Remarkable work with endangered species. Did you know the golden toad was declared extinct in 2004?"
He's cataloging them. Displaying his conquests like trophies. Making absolutely certain I understand that he's been collecting attention all evening while I was fighting for my father's empire.
The hurt is immediate and sharp.
It slices through my chest like something physical. Something that might actually leave a mark.
"How educational." I force the smile to stay in place. Feel it stretching my face into something that probably looks deranged. "I'll leave you to your studies, then."
I turn before he can see my expression crack. Before the tears burning behind my eyes can spill over and destroy everything I've built tonight.
A server passes with a tray of champagne. I grab a flute without slowing down, drain it in one long swallow, and set the empty glass on the nearest table.
The bubbles burn going down. Not enough. Nothing like enough to numb what I'm feeling.
I keep walking. Past the auction tables. Past the dance floor. Past clusters of Manhattan's elite who are probably already whispering about the heiress who just got publicly humiliated by her father's cowboy friend.
The evening I'd hoped would be memorable is becoming unforgettable for entirely wrong reasons.
I conquered Noel Henderson. Proved myself to the board. Demonstrated that I'm more than the decorative object everyone assumed.
And none of it matters.
Because Jake is at the bar with beautiful women who are touching him, laughing with him, receiving exactly the attention he's been denying me all night.
Because Zachary's words keep echoing in my head. Control, not protection. Fear, not love.
Because I'm standing alone in a room full of people, wearing my armor like it means something, and the only person I want to celebrate with is actively punishing me for crimes I don't understand.
Another server passes. Another champagne flute.
This one I drink slower. Let the bitterness sit on my tongue.
The gala continues around me. Music. Laughter. The clink of glasses and the murmur of deals being made.
I should be networking. Should be capitalizing on the Henderson victory. Should be doing anything except standing here drowning in feelings I can't afford to show.
But I can't make myself move.
Can't make myself care about any of it.
The ring hidden under my dress feels heavier than it did this morning. A secret that used to feel precious now feels like a chain.
I finish the champagne. Set down the glass. And I decide to go out for some fresh air. Far away from the man I love.