He Was Not Supposed To Be Mine

CHAPTER 4

The smell of fresh croissants made Savannah want to puke.

It wasn’t the food. It was everything else. The white tablecloth. The silver flatware. The quiet clinking of teacups. The way her father cleared his throat every time someone’s voice got too loud.

She hated brunch. She always had. But today? Today, it felt like a performance she hadn’t rehearsed for.

Her dress was tight, especially around her stomach. She shouldn’t have worn it. Should’ve stayed home. Should’ve lied, said she had the flu, or anything else that would’ve kept her away from this table.

From him.

Grayson Hart sat across from her, one seat down. Dark suit. Cufflinks. He had a Calm expression. He looked like he hadn’t lost any form of sleep.

Savannah hadn’t looked at him since she walked in. Not once.

But she felt him.

Every time she picked up her fork. Every time she blinked. She felt his eyes on her like heat through glass.

“You’re quiet, Savannah,” her father said, slicing into his eggs.

“I’m tired,” she mumbled, sipping water instead. Wasn't in the mood to eat or drink anything else.

“You should sleep more,” he replied, not looking up. “And stop skipping meals. You look pale.”

Grayson said nothing.

But she felt it again — that pressure. That invisible thread was pulling her toward him whether she wanted it or not.

She couldn’t breathe.

“So,” her father went on, looking between the two of them, “I was telling Grayson about the gala next month. You should come.”

“No,” Savannah said quickly. Too quickly.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Stuff.”

There was a pause.

“Stuff?” her father echoed, clearly annoyed.

Savannah looked down at her plate, biting the inside of her cheek. Her fingers curled around her glass like it might break if she squeezed any harder.

Grayson finally spoke. “It’s okay, Richard. Savannah doesn’t have to attend if she’s not comfortable.”

Her father gave a small laugh. “Oh, come on. She’s always comfortable around us.”

Savannah’s throat tightened.

Grayson’s voice dropped, quieter. “Sometimes people just need space.”

She looked up — and their eyes met.

It was brief. Half a second. But it was there.

And it said everything.

Grayson knew.

Or at least… he suspected.

Savannah pushed back from the table. “I need air.”

“Savannah,” her father started.

“I’m fine. Just… give me a minute.”

She stood too fast and walked out onto the balcony. The door clicked shut behind her.

Outside, the city noise felt better than silence. Honking horns. Birds. Distant construction. All of it helped drown out the rush in her chest.

She leaned against the railing and tried not to cry.

Not here. Not now.

The door opened behind her.

She didn’t turn around.

“You’re not fine,” Grayson said.

“I didn’t ask you to follow me.”

“You didn’t have to.”

His voice was low and Careful.

Savannah closed her eyes. “Don’t do this.”

“I need to know.”

“There’s nothing to know.”

“I don’t believe you,” Grayson replied

Silence.

Then she said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I was invited,” he said

She let out a soft laugh, bitter and shaky. “Right. Of course.”

Another pause.

Then he said it.

“Are you… okay?”

She turned to face him.

Her mouth opened. Then closed.

She wanted to tell him. God, part of her needed to. But the words stuck to the back of her throat.

“Why do you care?” she asked.

Grayson looked at her — not the way he did that night, but not like her father’s friend either.

Like something in between. Something breaking.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Savannah’s chest tightened.

“Stop,” she whispered.

“I’m not saying it to make this harder. I just… I didn’t plan for that night to mean anything.”

“Then we’re on the same page,” Savannah muttered.

“But it does, "Grayson said, looking deep into her eyes.

The words landed like a punch.

She took a shaky breath. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”

He stepped forward. Slowly. Hands in his pockets.

“I need to know, Savannah. Did something happen?”

She stared at him.

Then blinked.

Then dropped her eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Like what?”

“Like you’d care if I told you.”

He didn’t move.

But his eyes changed — softened, darkened. Like he already knew. Or maybe just feared it.

“Savannah—” he started.

But she stepped back.

“I can’t talk to you here.”

“Then tell me when,” he said

“I don’t know,” Savannah replied

“Is it... about that night?”

She looked up at him.

And said nothing.