Chapter 5
1324 Words
Nevaeh
The next morning, the stylist returned to touch up my look. Hair done in soft waves. Makeup light but expensive-looking. And the red dress?
It felt like power.
I stared at myself in the mirror and didn’t see Nevaeh, the broke bartender who lost her job and got kicked out of life’s comfort zone.
I saw someone else.
Someone trained.
Packaged.
Dangerously close to being molded into the role she signed up for.
Luca appeared in the hallway as I stepped out of my room.
He looked at me. Really looked at me but said nothing.
Typical. Not like I want him to tell me I looked pretty or anything but still…
We rode to the gala in silence. The car smelled like leather and ego.
“Luca”
“What?” I ask confused
“You'll call me Luca. I'm your fiancé so you are to call me Luca, and drop all formalities”
“Okay”
After that he didn't even do as much as look at me. He didn’t try to hold my hand.I didn’t expect him to.
He was just focused on his phone, doing whatever the f**k he does.
The car pulled up to the front of the Continental Hotel like it belonged there. I, on the other hand, was still trying to remember how to breathe. The driver opened the door, and the instant my heel touched the marble, it began:
Flashes. Lights. Shouting. Cameras. Chaos.
I stepped out of the black vehicle in the crimson dress Luca insisted I wore and Mirabel insisted would “kill quietly.” She wasn’t wrong. I looked like the kind of woman tabloids would fight over. dangerous, expensive, and untouchably poised.
Then Luca appeared beside me.
His hand found mine like it belonged there. Cold. Steady. No hesitation.
And just like that, the whispers turned into wildfire.
“Is that Luca Russo?”
“He never brings dates.”
“ Is she his girlfriend?”
“I see a ring”
“Is she his fiancee?”
“She’s stunning.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, lifted my chin, and let them stare.
Because they weren’t really looking at me.
They were looking at what I represented. mystery, status, a headline.
A symbol.
Inside, the ballroom was pure decadence.
High ceilings, soft golden lighting, live classical music humming from a corner quartet. The crowd shimmered with wealthy satin gowns, designer tuxedos, and champagne that probably cost more than my rent had ever been.
Luca walked like he was born to command rooms like this.
Me? I matched his pace, step for step, channeling every ounce of fake confidence I’d mastered as a bartender. Smile soft. Shoulders back. Eyes alert.
“You’re doing fine,” he leaned down and muttered near my ear.
“Try not to sound shocked,” I replied smoothly, not looking at him.
He gave no reaction. Typical.
Introductions blurred together.
“This is Nevaeh, my fiancée,” he said, again and again, his voice cool and measured.
Some people looked surprised. Others, curious. A few women smiled a little too tightly.
One elderly woman kissed both my cheeks and said, “He finally found someone with steel in her spine. Good.” I smile lightly at that.
Everyone wanted to know who I was, where I came from, how we met. I smiled. I deflected. I made things up in careful doses.
“Isn’t she divine?” one man whispered not-so-quietly to his wife. “Not his usual type.” Whatever the f**k that meant.
I excused myself around the halfway point, slipping out onto the terrace for air.
The cool breeze kissed my shoulders as I leaned against the stone railing, staring at the skyline. The wind curled through my hair, and I exhaled for what felt like the first time all night.
This wasn’t real.
None of it is.
Not the ring on my finger. Nor the looks of admiration, or the man with his hand on my back pretending to own me with tenderness.
But I’d faked harder things before.
And if all I had to do was smile and act like I belonged here, I’d nail it.
“You wear the dress better than the room,” a voice said behind me.
I turned and found a stranger watching me. Leaning against the wall
Tall. Bronze skin. Sharp features softened by a playful smirk. His tux fit like it had been custom-stitched to his DNA. He held a glass of champagne, one hand in his pocket, confidence oozing off him like aftershave.
I raised a brow. “Is that your opening line?”
“No,” he said. “That was just a compliment. Here comes the opening line.”
He stepped closer.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before, which either means, you’re very private… or very new.”
“Let’s go with mysterious," I replied.
He smiled. “Mystery suits you.”
I offered a hand, cautious. “Nevaeh.”
He took it gently, holding my eyes instead of my fingers. “Beautiful name. Heavenly.”
I forced a polite smile. “And you are?”
“Jace Monroe,” he said. “Investor. Donor. Occasional troublemaker.” with a sweet smile adorning his face
He was charming. No doubt. But something about him put me on edge. Not in a dangerous way just in the way that said he asked too many questions, smiled too easily, and listened too carefully.
“Are you here alone, Jace?” I asked.
“I go wherever there’s good wine and good conversation.”
“And which am I?”
His grin deepened. “That’s the fun part… I don’t know yet.”
Then Luca’s voice cut through the tension. “Nevaeh.”
I turned and there in all his glory stood Luca.
He was standing in the doorway, still as stone, his expression unreadable, but his eyes? Cold steel locked on Jace.
Jace casually released my hand, raising his champagne in a mock toast.
“Luca. Lovely event.”
Luca didn’t respond. His focus stayed on me.
“You wandered.”
“I needed air,” I said, moving toward him. “Didn’t know it came with conversation.”
Luca said nothing, only took my hand and led me back into the ballroom.
But I felt it.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly.
Back inside, I leaned close.
“Who was that?”
He didn’t answer.
I tried again. “Seriously. Do you two know each other?”
“No.”
One word. Too sharp. Too fast. And a lie. I could feel it but I didn’t press because I wasn’t here to dig. I was here to play a part and the part didn’t require him answering to me.
The rest of the night was a blur.
We posed for photos. We shook hands with people whose names I’d never remember. Luca spoke little, but his hand stayed on my lower back like a warning: Stay close. Don’t ask.
I complied.
Because I had no interest in peeling back his layers. I didn’t want to understand him. The less I knew, the easier it would be to walk away when this ended.
But when his arm curled around my waist a little too tightly…
When he leaned in just close enough that I could feel his breath at my temple…
A strange thought crept in.
He doesn’t fake things like other people do.
By the time we left the gala, my feet were aching, my smile was worn thin, and my head buzzed with the weight of everything unspoken.
The ride back was silent. Luca didn’t look at me once and I didn’t ask about the man on the balcony.
But I filed the name away.
Jace Monroe.
A crack in the facade.
And maybe, just maybe, a thread I could pull when the time was right.
- Writer
