Daddy Best Friend

Chapter seven

Alexa POV

The ride to the Palais was suffocating. I kept my head turned, staring out the window at the blurred lights of Paris, but my mind was stuck on that black sedan. Every time a pair of headlights appeared behind us, my heart jumped into my throat.

"Stop it, Alexa," Rafael said. He didn't even look up from his tablet. "You’re being paranoid. It’s Fashion Week. Half the cars in this city are black luxury sedans. Nobody is following us."

I bit my lip, feeling a sharp sting of embarrassment. To him, I was just a jumpy girl who couldn't handle the big city. "I know what I saw, Rafael."

"What you saw was a car in traffic," he said, his voice flat. "We are here for business. I need you to focus. Put that imagination away."

I didn't say another word. I felt small. When we finally pulled up to the grand entrance, the red carpet was crawling with photographers and celebrities. Rafael stepped out and immediately changed. His shoulders straightened, his face became a mask of cold confidence, and he reached back to help me out of the car. His hand was warm, but his touch felt robotic, like he was just doing it because people were watching.

Inside, the Palais was a sensory overload. The bass from the speakers was so loud I could feel it in my bones. Long-legged models with sharp cheekbones strided down the runway, their eyes fixed on a point far in the distance. They looked like statues come to life.

I tried to stay by Rafael’s side, but the second we hit the VIP lounge, I was pushed to the background.

For the next hour, I watched him. He was in his element. He moved from one group to another, sipping champagne and leaning in close to whisper to high-end businesswomen. I watched a tall blonde in a red suit place her hand on his arm, laughing at something he said. He didn't pull away. In fact, he smiled—a real, charming smile that he hadn't given me all day.

The more he ignored me, the more the anger built up in my chest. I wasn't just his best friend's daughter; I was a human being. I was standing right there, and he was treating me like a piece of luggage he had checked at the door.

"Fine," I whispered to myself. "If he wants to have fun, so can I."

I walked over to the bar and ordered a drink I couldn't pronounce. Within minutes, a group of guys—mostly heirs to European fashion houses—noticed me. They were closer to my age, mid-twenties, and they looked at me with an appreciation that Rafael clearly lacked.

"You look far too sad for such a beautiful party," one of them said, leaning against the marble bar. He had a French accent and a smile that told me he knew exactly how handsome he was.

I laughed, feeling a sudden rush of rebellion. "I’m not sad. Just bored."

We started talking, and for a moment, I forgot about the man across the room. I forgot about the car following us and the coldness in the hotel room. I felt like a normal twenty-year-old girl.

But that feeling didn't last.

A sudden, heavy pressure landed on my upper arm. The grip was firm, bordering on painful. I didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. The air around me suddenly felt electric and dangerous.

"We’re moving," Rafael’s voice growled in my ear. He didn't wait for a reply. He practically dragged me away from the bar, his stride long and angry.

He didn't stop until we were in a quiet, dimly lit hallway near the back of the building. He let go of my arm so abruptly I almost stumbled.

"What is wrong with you?" I hissed, rubbing my arm. "You’ve ignored me since we left the hotel! You’re over there flirting with half of Paris, but I can't even have a conversation?"

Rafael stepped into my space, his tall frame blocking out the light. He looked furious. "I am working, Alexa. I am making connections that keep your father’s company afloat. You, on the other hand, are over there giggling with boys who only want one thing from you."

"Oh, so now you care what I do?" I shouted back, my voice cracking. "You spent all night acting like I was invisible! You treat me like a child one minute and a ghost the next. Which is it, Rafael? Am I a professional or am I a distraction?"

He didn't answer right away. He just stared down at me, his jaw working as he tried to control his breathing. For a second, I thought he was going to say something real. Something honest.

Instead, he smoothed down his suit jacket and wiped all emotion from his face. "You’re a responsibility," he said coldly. "One I’m starting to regret taking on. Go fix your makeup. The ball starts in ten minutes."

He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the dark hallway. I felt a tear slip down my cheek and quickly wiped it away. I hated him. I hated how much power he had over my mood.

The ball was the final event of the night. It was a traditional masquerade-style dance, where the music dictated when you switched partners. I didn't want to dance, but I couldn't just stand in the corner like a loser. I accepted a dance from a young Italian guy who seemed harmless enough.

We moved in circles, the room a blur of silk and gold. Every few minutes, the violins would screech a specific note, and we would rotate to the person on our left.

I moved from partner to partner, barely looking at their faces. My mind was back in that hallway, replaying the way Rafael had called me a "responsibility."

Then, it happened.

The music swelled, becoming deeper and slower. A pair of large, calloused hands slid onto my waist. They didn't just hold me; they claimed me. I was pulled forward until my chest hit a hard, warm wall of a tuxedo.

I looked up, my heart stopping in my chest.

Rafael.

He didn't look angry anymore. He looked... intense. His eyes were dark, searching mine as we began to move. He held me much closer than the other men had, his hand on the small of my back pressing me into him so there was no space left between us.

"You're a very pretty girl, Alexa," he whispered.

His voice wasn't cold. It was a low, gravelly sound that made my knees go weak. It was an admission, a confession he didn't want to make. My breath hitched. I wanted to ask him why he was doing this to me, why he was being so cruel and then so kind.

"Rafael—" I started.

But I never got the words out.

The music took a sharp turn, and he led me into a wide, sweeping twirl. I felt the air rush past my face, the world spinning in a circle of gold lights. And then, as my feet touched the floor again, he didn't pull me back.

He spun me straight into the arms of the man behind him.

"Enjoy the rest of your night, princess," he said, his voice disappearing into the crowd.

I stood there, frozen, as my new partner took my hand. I watched Rafael’s back as he walked straight out of the ballroom doors. He didn't look back. He had just set my entire body on fire with six words, and then he had handed me off to a stranger like I meant nothing at all.

As I struggled to keep up with the dance, that cold feeling returned. Someone was watching me from the shadows of the balcony above. I could feel it. But as I looked up, all I could see were the flickering candles and the disappearing ghost of the man who was breaking my heart.