The terrace offers air and relative quiet.
I stand at the railing, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest. Manhattan glitters below like scattered diamonds, and I hate every single one of them.
The champagne buzzes unpleasantly in my veins, mixing with hurt and confusion and something that feels dangerously close to defeat.
"Rough evening?"
Victoria Snyder appears beside me, silver hair catching the light from the ballroom behind us. She produces a cigarette case from somewhere in her elegant clutch, flips it open with practiced ease.
"Want one?"
I shouldn't. Haven't smoked since that disastrous semester junior year when I was trying to prove something to people who didn't matter.
"Desperately." The word escapes before I can stop it.
She hands me a cigarette, lights it for me with a small silver lighter. The first inhale burns my lungs in ways that feel appropriate for the evening.
We smoke in companionable silence. The noise from the gala drifts through the terrace doors, muffled and distant, like it belongs to a different world.
"I've known you your whole life, Adison." Victoria exhales slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the sky. "Watched you grow up at these events. Watched you learn to perform."
I don't respond. Just take another drag and wait.
"You were never really a good girl." Her voice carries something almost like admiration. "There's a fighter underneath all that polish. I told Richard as much while he was busy trying to mold you into Elena."
The name lands like a stone in still water.
"You knew my mother?" I turn to face her, cigarette forgotten between my fingers. "What did you think of her? Did you two ever talk?"
Victoria considers the question. Takes her time with it, the way she does with everything.
"Elena seemed unhappy." The words come out measured. Careful. "Though she hid it well. Better than most people realized." She pauses, something softening in her expression. "But she definitely loved her daughter. Perhaps endured this life because of her."
The observation cuts deeper than it should. My mother, enduring Manhattan because of me. Staying trapped so I could have the privileges that came with being Richard Ward's daughter.
"I'm not Elena." My voice comes out harder than I intend. "My mother was a defenseless kitten. She let this world consume her." I meet Victoria's eyes directly. "I'm something else entirely."
Victoria almost smiles. The expression transforms her face, making her look younger. Fiercer.
"Yes." She nods slowly. "You are."
The terrace doors crash open.
I spin toward the sound, heart lurching. Security guards flank Jake, escorting him firmly toward the side exit. His cowboy hat is slightly askew, his expression thunderous. Zachary follows behind, his face arranged into careful neutrality.
I rush over, cigarette crushed beneath my heel. "What the hell is going on?"
"Miss Ward." One of the guards speaks without releasing Jake's arm. "There was an incident. Mr. Sullivan needs to leave."
"An incident?" I look at Jake, searching his face for answers. "What happened?"
"Some asshole was groping a waitress." Jake's jaw is granite. "She asked him to stop. He didn't. So I stopped him."
"He struck a guest." Zachary's voice is smooth. Professional. "A very influential guest."
"I defended a woman from unwanted advances." Jake's voice rises with frustration. "Apparently that constitutes grounds for removal in Manhattan."
"Mr. Sullivan has had quite a bit to drink this evening." Zachary adjusts his cuffs, not quite meeting my eyes. "Perhaps his judgment was impaired."
"My judgment is fine." Jake pulls against the guards' grip, not quite breaking free. "The man had his hand up her skirt. What was I supposed to do? Stand there and watch?"
I can see he's been drinking. The slight looseness in his posture, the flush across his cheekbones. But his eyes are clear. His words are sharp. Whatever he did, he meant to do it.
Regardless, he cannot return. Not after this. Not with security literally holding his arms and half the ballroom pretending not to watch through the glass doors.
"I'll call a car." The words taste like betrayal in my mouth. "You should go home."
Jake stares at me like I've slapped him.
"Go home?" His voice cracks on the words. "Adison, come with me. We can leave together. This whole evening has been—"
He reaches for my hand. His fingers brush mine, warm and familiar. Almost succeeds in taking it.
I pull away.
The look I give him communicates everything I can't say out loud. We can't. Not here. Not now. Not with everyone watching and security waiting and my father's empire hanging in the balance.
"We've caused enough of a scene." My voice comes out cold. Distant. Nothing like how I actually feel.
Jake's expression shatters. I watch the hurt bloom across his features, raw and undisguised.
"Zachary." I don't look away from Jake. Can't. "Summon our driver, please."
"Of course, Miss Ward." Zachary is already pulling out his phone.
The guards release Jake's arms. He straightens his jacket with jerky movements, adjusts his cowboy hat. Looks at me one more time with eyes that hold everything we've built and everything I'm watching crumble.
"Fine." The word comes out rough. Broken. "I'll go."
He turns. Walks toward the service exit with security flanking him like he's a criminal instead of the man I love.
I stand on the terrace and watch him leave.
The gala continues inside. Music and laughter and champagne flowing like nothing has happened. Like my heart isn't walking out the door in cowboy boots while I stay behind in my armor.
Zachary appears at my elbow. "The car is on its way."
"Thank you." My voice sounds strange. Hollow.
"You handled that well." His tone is approving. "Discretion was the right choice."
I don't respond. Just stare at the exit where Jake disappeared, feeling the distance between us stretch into something that might be permanent.
Victoria watches from the railing, cigarette still burning between her fingers. Her expression is unreadable.
The night air feels colder now. The champagne sits sour in my stomach.
Jake leaves the gala alone. And I let him.