Anna's second regression, Alpha regrets it

Chapter 7 — The Public Reckoning

The charity gala was a glittering thing—crystal chandeliers, people who smiled like they were used to being admired, and a sense of importance that made the air taste like champagne. I went because Lina insisted and because I wanted to see how the men behaved when the world was watching.

Rian was there, of course, looking like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. He moved through the room with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to command attention. Mateo arrived later, paint still under his nails, a little out of place among the polished crowd. Evan came quietly, as if he’d slipped in through a back door, and his presence felt like a steady anchor.

The night was a study in contrasts. Rian worked the room, charming donors and making deals. Mateo drifted near the art installations, eyes bright with ideas. Evan stood by the bar, talking to a woman about a book he loved, and I watched him with a warmth that made my chest ache.

Then it happened. A rival of Rian’s—someone who’d once been a thorn in his side—made a pointed comment about my “sudden reappearance.” The remark was casual, the kind of social jab that’s meant to sting. Rian, in a reflex I recognized, tried to smooth things over with a public apology that sounded more like a press release than a confession.

He took the microphone and said words that were polished and safe. He spoke about mistakes and growth and the importance of accountability. The crowd applauded because that’s what crowds do when they’re given a tidy narrative. But I felt the old pattern like a bruise: spectacle instead of substance.

I excused myself and left the gala before the applause could start. The night air hit me like a cold splash. My phone buzzed—Rian asking if I was okay. I texted back: I don’t do performances. I do honesty.

He called. When I answered, his voice was smaller, realer. “I’m sorry,” he said, without the polish. “I thought I could fix it with a show. I was wrong.”

“Then don’t show me,” I said. “Show me.”

There was a long silence. “I will,” he promised. “I’ll show you.”

Promises are easy to make in the dark. They are harder to keep in the light. I wanted to believe him, but I had learned to watch for the proof.

Mateo found me on the sidewalk, paint on his hands and a look that made my knees remember old rhythms. “You left,” he said, breathless. “I thought you were going to stay.”

“I left because I don’t do performances,” I said. “I do honesty.”

He nodded, then reached for my hand. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “I’ll be messy. I’ll be here.”

Evan arrived with a thermos of tea and a quiet smile. He wrapped his coat around my shoulders like someone who had learned how to care without making a spectacle. “You okay?” he asked.

“I am now,” I said.

We walked, the three of us, through a city that felt both familiar and new. The night had been a test, and the test had revealed something important: some people will choose spectacle because it’s easier than change. Others will choose the slow, hard work of being present.

Rian’s public apology had been a performance. His private words were different. Mateo’s messy honesty was real. Evan’s quiet presence was steady. The differences were not moral judgments; they were data points. I catalogued them like a scientist catalogues specimens.

When we reached my building, Rian hesitated. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Show me,” I said.

He nodded. “I will.”

Mateo kissed my hand like a benediction. “I’ll call you,” he said.

Evan walked me to my door and kissed my forehead like someone who had always known how to be gentle. “I’ll be here,” he said.

That night I lay awake thinking about the gala. The world loves spectacle because it’s easy to digest. Real change is messy and slow and often invisible. I wanted the messy, slow kind. I wanted men who would choose to be present when no one was watching.

The public reckoning had been instructive. It had shown me who could perform and who could be real. It had made my list—curiosity, boundaries, honesty—feel less like a wish and more like a filter. I had given them a chance to show up. Now I would watch to see who could keep their promises.