Scarlett’s POV
The drive was quiet.
The kind of silence filled with meaning, not tension. He held my hand the entire time, fingers laced with mine like a silent tether. He didn’t let go even when we arrived, even when the valet opened his door and cameras started flashing nearby. His grip just tightened, gently, as if he could feel the flicker of doubt beginning to stir in me.
“You’re not alone,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “Not tonight. Not ever again.”
I nodded, holding on tighter.
The entrance to the venue was all glass and gold, buzzing with polite laughter and the clink of champagne flutes. I caught glimpses of art collectors, foundation patrons, faces I hadn’t seen in years. Most of them barely gave me more than a glance, until they saw Jasper.
Until they saw us.
Then
