The Cipriani ballroom was a cavern of gold leaf and old money. Chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the ceiling, casting a flattering amber glow over Manhattan's elite.
Ever held onto Garrick's arm like it was a life raft. Or an anchor. She wasn't sure which anymore.
Niles, Garrick's head of security, walked a few steps ahead of them, parting the crowd. He nodded at her. "Evening, Mrs.-"
"Miss Wells," Ever corrected automatically.
Garrick's hand tightened on her waist. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "Stop correcting him. It makes you look insecure. In their eyes, you belong to me. The title is irrelevant."
Ever bit the inside of her cheek. It's relevant to me.
They circulated. Ever smiled until her face ached. She nodded at the wives who looked at her with disdain and the husbands who looked at her with hunger. She was the trophy. The shiny object Garrick Head had acquired.
Then, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
It wasn't a sound, but a feeling. A drop in pressure. The crowd near the entrance parted, not out of politeness, but out of instinct.
A man walked in.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. But unlike the soft, doughy men of Wall Street surrounding them, this man looked like he was carved from granite. He moved with a lethal fluidity.
Clarence Frazier.
Ever's breath hitched. It was Clay.
He was older, harder, his jawline sharper than she remembered, but those eyes-deep, warm brown like polished mahogany-were the same. The eyes that used to check under her bed for monsters at St. Mary's.
He scanned the room. He wasn't looking for business partners. He was hunting.
His gaze locked onto hers.
Time stopped. The noise of the gala faded into a dull roar. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just stared, an intensity in his expression that made her knees weak.
He started walking toward them.
Garrick felt her reaction. His body went rigid. He stepped slightly in front of her, a shield of possessiveness.
"Frazier," Garrick said, his voice ice cold. "I didn't think they let casino trash into Cipriani."
Clarence stopped a few feet away. He ignored Garrick completely. His eyes were glued to Ever's face, tracing every feature as if he were memorizing her all over again.
"Head," Clarence said. His voice was deep, gravelly. "And... Miss Wells."
He said her fake name with a strange inflection, a mockery.
"Do I know you?" Garrick asked, stepping closer to Clarence. The tension was palpable. Two alpha predators circling each other.
Clarence smiled then. It was a terrifying smile. "Your companion looks... familiar. Reminds me of someone I used to know a lifetime ago."
Ever looked down, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. "I have a common face, Mr. Frazier."
"Hardly," Clarence said softly. He extended a hand. "A pleasure."
She had to take it. To refuse would be a scene. She reached out, her hand trembling.
His skin was warm, rough with calluses despite the expensive suit. As he gripped her hand, his thumb brushed against her palm in a specific pattern. Tap-tap-slide.
The secret handshake. The signal they used at the orphanage to say 'I've got your back.'
Ever snatched her hand away as if burned.
Garrick saw it. His eyes narrowed. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her violently into his side.
"She's with me, Frazier. Find your own entertainment."
"For now," Clarence said. The threat hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.
Miles appeared suddenly, looking flustered. "Garrick! The Senator is asking for you. It's urgent."
Garrick hesitated. He didn't want to leave her. He glared at Clarence. "Niles. Stay with her. If he comes within ten feet, break his legs."
Garrick walked away, but he looked back three times.
Ever stood by a pillar, shaking. Niles was five feet away, scanning the room, but Clarence was gone.
A waiter appeared with a silver tray.
"Compliments of the gentleman in the corner," the waiter murmured.
On the tray was a single Red Velvet cupcake.
Ever stared at it. It was cheap, out of place among the caviar and champagne. But it was her favorite. It was the only treat they ever got at St. Mary's, once a year on Christmas.
She looked up. Across the room, in the shadows, Clarence raised a glass of whiskey to her.
He knew. He knew everything.
Ever felt sick. She pushed the tray away. "I don't want it."
Garrick returned moments later. He saw the rejected cupcake.
"I thought you didn't eat sweets," he said suspiciously.
"I don't," Ever said. "Whatever. Let's go. I have a headache."
"We're leaving," Garrick decided. He grabbed her arm, marching her toward the exit.
As they passed the shadows, Ever couldn't help it. She looked back.
Clarence was watching. He caught her eye. He didn't speak, but his lips moved clearly.
Leo.
The floor seemed to drop out from under her. Ever stumbled. Garrick caught her, practically dragging her out to the waiting car.
He shoved her into the backseat and slammed the door. The lock clicked.
"Who is he to you?" Garrick snarled, leaning over her. "Don't lie to me, Ever. You know him."
