“You asked once why they call me the runaway bride,” Maya said. “I think you should know the truth.”
Leo stood beside his car with the passenger door open, one hand resting lightly on the frame. The fundraiser glowed behind them through tall windows, all gold light, white flowers, and polite applause. Inside, Ashford was still performing generosity. Outside, rain silvered the pavement and turned the evening cold.
For once, Leo did not answer quickly.
He looked at Maya as if he understood that whatever she was about to give him was not a confession, not exactly. More like evidence. Something sealed for years and brought out only because the lie had become louder than the truth.
“All right,” he said.
Maya waited for him to ask where she wanted to go. He did not. He simply stepped aside
