Fallon
The Prescott estate was already buzzing with activity by the time we arrived.
Golden light spilled from the house, stretching long and soft across the lawn, where perfectly arranged seating areas had been set up beneath strings of twinkling lanterns. Waitstaff moved through the crowd with trays of champagne, their uniforms crisp and their smiles polite. Laughter rose from the garden, drifting through the warm evening air, blending with the quiet hum of conversation and the soft notes of a string quartet.
It was perfect.
Elegant. Polished. Exactly the kind of event my parents loved.
It was also the last place I wanted to be.
Not with Reid beside me. Not with the silence between us still feeling like a fresh wound.
“Smile,” he murmured as we stepped onto the patio. His hand set
