The invitation came on a Tuesday, slipped casually into conversation like it wasn't a big deal.
"There's this charity gala on Saturday," Archie said, perching on the edge of my desk. "Black tie, open bar, questionable auction items that rich people bid on to feel good about themselves. I have to go, and I thought maybe you'd want to come with me."
I hesitated. After what happened at his apartment, things between us had shifted into something undefined.
We hadn't talked about what we were, what this meant, where it was going.
Archie read my expression and held up his hands.
"No pressure. I know you haven't... I know we haven't figured everything out yet. I ask you to come at least as my friend." That easy smile spread across his face. "No expectations. Just good food and great company of mine. And I promise to make fun of at least five people's outfits with you."
"I don't have anything to wear to a black-tie event."
"I know a stylist who owes me a favor. She'll set you up with something amazing." He tilted his head. "Come on, Daphne. When's the last time you had a night out that didn't involve chicken nuggets and animated movies?"
He had a point. I couldn't remember the last time I'd done anything for myself that wasn't survival-related.
"Fine," I said. "But I reserve the right to leave early if I hate it."
"Deal."
So Saturday night, I stood in front of my mirror in a borrowed dress, emerald green silk that felt and looked way too expensive for me to afford, feeling like an imposter.
The stylist had done my hair and makeup too, transforming me into someone who looked like she belonged at galas. But underneath the polish, I was still just Daphne Carter.
Single mom from a cramped apartment, pretending to fit into a world that wasn't hers.
The gala was everything I'd expected and more. Crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, women dripping in diamonds, men in tuxedos that probably cost more than my car.
I felt every curious glance, every appraising look, every silent question.
Who is she? Why is she here?
Archie stayed close, attentive, his hand warm on my elbow as he guided me through the crowd.
"This is Daphne Carter. She's brilliant—puts everyone at Xander's company to shame, and that's saying something."
He introduced me to colleagues, business partners, always with warmth.
"Daphne, meet Harrison. He runs the most boring hedge fund in the city, but don't tell him I said that."
He made me laugh. He made me feel included. And when people looked at us together, I could almost believe I belonged here.
Then he steered me toward the bar, where a distinguished older man held court among a small circle of admirers. Silver hair, sharp eyes, the kind of presence that commanded attention without trying.
"Dad," Archie said, and my stomach dropped. "I want you to meet someone. This is my close friend—Daphne Carter."
Dad?
I shot Archie a sharp look, but he was already smiling at his father, completely at ease. He hadn't mentioned anything about this. Not a word of warning. No casual "oh, by the way, my father will be here tonight and I'd like you to meet him."
Just... sprung it on me.
Richard Hankel turned those shrewd eyes on me, and I felt suddenly exposed. Like he could see through the borrowed dress and professional makeup to the exhausted single mother underneath.
"Daphne." He extended his hand, his grip firm but not crushing. "Archie's mentioned you. Several times, actually. I was beginning to think he'd invented you."
"I assure you I'm real, Mr. Hankel." I managed a smile. "Though some mornings I have my doubts."
He laughed—a genuine sound that softened his intimidating presence.
"Please, call me Richard. ‘Mr. Hankel’ makes me feel ancient." He studied me with open curiosity. "Archie tells me you work for Xander Hale. Quite a demanding position, from what I understand."
"It has its challenges. But I've learned a lot."
"I imagine you have." His eyes flickered to Archie, then back to me. "You know, my son doesn't introduce me to many people. He guards his personal life rather fiercely. Even though I’ve been telling him for years it’s time to start a family of his own."
The weight beneath Archie's casual introduction suddenly became clear.
You don't introduce just anyone to your father. Not at events like this.
"Dad," Archie said, a hint of warning in his voice.
"I'm just making conversation." Richard smiled, but his gaze remained sharp, assessing. "It's lovely to meet you, Daphne. I hope we'll see more of each other."
As we walked away, I caught Archie watching me with barely concealed hope, quiet happiness softening his features.
Then I saw them.
Xander stood across the room, devastating in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. And Bianca was next to him.
She stood unjustifiably close, so close that their shoulders touched. She couldn't allow herself to be any closer—her husband was surely somewhere around here. But I know damn well she wanted to so badly.
They looked perfect together. Old money, shared history, matching elegance.
My stomach twisted. The backup feeling returned full force—the sense that I was always second choice, always the complication, never the one who fit.
"Hey." Archie's voice pulled me back. "You okay?"
"Fine." I forced a smile. "Just taking it all in."
Before he could press further, a man approached us—heavyset, expensive watch, the kind of confident swagger that came from never being told no.
"Archibald!" The man clapped Archie on the shoulder. "Good to see you, son. How's that development project coming along?"
"Making progress, Gerald. We should have preliminary numbers next week." Archie's tone shifted into business mode. "This is Daphne Carter. Daphne, Gerald Morrison. He's been instrumental in several of our international ventures."
Gerald turned his attention to me, and something in his gaze made my skin crawl.
"Well, well. Archie's been holding out on us." His eyes traveled slowly down my dress, then back up. "Where has he been hiding you?"
"I work in the city," I said carefully, forcing a polite smile. "Nothing exciting."
"I find that hard to believe." He stepped closer, his cologne overwhelming. "A woman who looks like you must have quite a story."
His hand found my lower back, settling there with familiar weight.
Too low. Too lingering. I stiffened.
"Gerald's being modest about his own accomplishments," Archie said, steering the conversation back to business. "His firm just closed the biggest deal in Southeast Asian markets this quarter."
Gerald's hand didn't move. His thumb traced a small circle against my spine.
"Is that right?" I managed, my voice tight.
"Tell me, Daphne." Gerald leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "What does a man have to do to get a private conversation with you?"
My heart sank into my heels. This was a charity gala. Hundreds of people surrounded us—waiters passing champagne, society women in diamonds, business executives making small talk.
And this man had his hand on my back, his mouth at my ear, propositioning me like we were alone in some dark corner.
Was no one seeing this? Was no one going to say anything?
I glanced around, half-expecting someone to intervene, to notice. But the crowd kept moving, kept laughing, kept clinking glasses. As if I were invisible. As if what was happening to me didn't matter.
I stepped away, breaking contact. "Excuse me. I need some air."
I walked toward the terrace as quickly as my heels would allow, my heart pounding, skin crawling where his hand had been.
Behind me, I heard Archie laugh at something Gerald said, the conversation continuing as though nothing had happened.
He probably didn’t notice. I'd see it in his eyes if he did, right?
He wouldn’t just stand there, not after what we’ve had.
The terrace was blessedly empty and I gripped the stone railing, breathing in the cool night air, willing my hands to stop shaking.
I just need to move on from this. It's not a big deal, even though it's a very unpleasant one. No need to make a scene and drag Archie into troubles out of nothing.
Besides, If I was really in danger, Archie would never have stayed away. It couldn't have been any other way.
Right?