Ever if She Runs

Chapter Three

Julian

After the party, I couldn't shake the memory of Grace. The image of her lingered like the aftertaste of a strong drink, unexpected, disarming, and impossible to ignore. The way she’d looked at me, calm, steady, entirely unaffected by the weight of my name, was something I’d never encountered before. Most people bent themselves into shapes to fit beside me. They studied my likes, laughed too hard at my jokes, and acted as though proximity to my life might somehow elevate theirs. They tried to charm, impress, and belong. But Grace? She hadn’t even flinched. No one had ever shown me such disinterest, and it was... unsettling.

It wasn’t just the indifference that haunted me; it was the ease in her presence. The way she moved through the crowd, untouched by the invisible games everyone else was playing. She held herself with a quiet authority that made it clear she wasn’t measuring her worth against mine, or anyone else’s. For someone like me, I live in a world where status is currency, where attention is oxygen. Her lack of interest was magnetic.

I kept replaying the moments from the party, like a scratched record stuck on one line. Her face, calm, composed, unreadable, flashed in my mind every time I closed my eyes. The way she looked at me when I extended my hand... it wasn’t disdain, but it wasn’t interest either. It was measured. Polite. Distant.

“Nice to meet you,” she’d said. No smile. No inflection. Just a flat, formal sentence dropped between us like a brick wall.

And then she turned and walked off, unhurried and unbothered, leaving me standing there, momentarily disoriented, as if the ground had shifted ever so slightly beneath my feet.

I wasn’t used to that. I wasn’t used to her or anyone getting under my skin.

But it gnawed at me. Quietly, persistently. A slow burn behind my ribs. And the more I tried to shake it off, the deeper it seemed to dig in. There was something about Grace that didn’t fit the script, and I couldn’t stop trying to figure out what it was.

She was immune.

Immune to the setting, the noise, the opulence. Immune to me. All the glitz and glamour, the wealth, the power, none of it seemed to mean anything to her. She wasn’t playing the game.

And I’ve spent my whole life learning that game. I knew all the rules. I knew how to charm, how to win people over, how to be the center of attention in any room I walked into.

But Grace? She didn’t lean. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t play.

And that’s what got to me. Not just her indifference, but the fact that I couldn’t find the edges of it. Was it intentional? Was she guarded? Or was she truly, utterly untouched by the glittering nonsense we all seemed to feed on?

Her words kept circling in my mind. “I’ll be in the back, away from all this.”

It wasn't a throwaway line. It was deliberate. A quiet rebellion against the entire scene. A declaration that she existed outside of it, maybe even above it. She wasn’t trying to fit into my world or anyone else’s, for that matter. She had her world, her own set of rules, and she was perfectly content living in it. The more I thought about it, the more fascinated I became.

I didn’t understand her. And for someone like me, used to understanding everything and everyone in the first five seconds, that was maddening. But it was also fascinating. I needed to know what made her that way. What she saw when she looked at a world that others fought to be part of, and simply chose to step aside from.

She didn’t want anything from me. No Favor. No connection. No recognition.

It wasn’t rejection. It was indifference. And somehow, that was even more powerful.

I wasn’t used to being ignored. And I wasn’t used to walking away from a challenge.

And Grace? She was a challenge dressed in quiet defiance.

If I was going to get to the bottom of it, I needed to understand more about who she was, what drove her, what she kept hidden behind that ever-composed exterior. That’s when Mia came to mind.

Mia had always been close to Grace. Best friends since they were kids, the kind of bond that doesn't need words. If anyone knew how to see past Grace’s armor, to the parts she didn’t show the world, it would be her.

We met a few days after the party. I framed it as a casual meet-up. But Mia wasn’t naïve, and I wasn’t nearly as subtle as I thought I was. She could read me, always had. She could spot when I was digging for something. Or, in this case, someone.

“So, tell me about Grace,” I said, leaning back in my chair at the bar, pretending to be at ease. I swirled the drink in my hand, trying to keep my tone light. Inside, though, my thoughts were anything but casual.

Mia raised a perfectly arched brow, lips quirking into a half-smile that told me she saw straight through the act. “Why the sudden interest in my best friend?” she asked, her voice teasing as she took a slow sip from her wine glass.

I shrugged, feigning indifference, though the act felt paper-thin. “Just curious,” I said, careful not to meet her eyes for too long. “You’ve mentioned her before. She seems... different.”

Mia laughed softly, that knowing kind of laugh only close friends can get away with. “Yeah, that’s Grace. She’s not your typical high-society girl, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She leaned in a little, as if lowering her voice would add weight to what came next. “She doesn’t care about any of this,” she gestured vaguely to the bar, the scene around us, the glittering nightlife we both knew so well. “The parties, the showy stuff, the status. She’s focused on something else.”

I leaned in too, drawn by the quiet intensity in her voice. “And what exactly is her ‘own thing’?”

Mia paused, her gaze drifting off for a beat like she was choosing her words carefully. Then, with a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she said, “Fashion.”

Just one word, but it changed everything. “She’s studying fashion design,” Mia continued, her voice softer now. “Not just studying, living it. It’s not about labels or trends for her. It’s about expression. Creation. It’s how she sees the world. But she doesn’t flaunt it. Don't talk about it unless you ask. Grace doesn’t need to be seen to matter. She never has.”

Something shifted in me at that. A quiet click, like a lock turning. Suddenly, her aloofness made sense. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She was busy building her world on her terms.

I found myself asking, “Where does she go when she’s not designing or working?”

Mia gave me a look, half warning, half curiosity. Then she smiled again, like she was letting me in on a little secret. “There’s a café near her school. Not fancy, just... quiet. She goes there to be alone, to breathe. It’s her little escape. No one knows about it.”

That was all I needed to hear.

“What’s it called?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though my mind was already forming a plan.

Mia narrowed her eyes, her expression sharpening. “You’re not planning to... I don’t know... stalk her, are you?”

I grinned. “Not exactly. I just want to see what she’s really like when she’s away from all this,” I said, gesturing to the high-society life I was so familiar with.

She gave a small laugh and raised her glass in a mock toast. “Good luck with that,” she said, still amused. “She doesn’t make it easy.”

She didn’t know yet how serious I was. This wasn’t just some idle curiosity anymore. Grace had gotten under my skin in a way I wasn’t used to. And I wasn’t ready to walk away from that.