The Hero Was Never Mine

Chapter 3

The first rule of surviving a romance novel was simple.

Never attend a charity gala when you knew the evening was supposed to ruin your life.

Unfortunately, Quinn Hearst had never been particularly good at following the rules written for her.

At six thirty in the evening, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her Manhattan penthouse, staring at the woman looking back at her.

The black evening gown was exquisite. It hugged Quinn's figure before falling into a graceful, floor-length silhouette, its neckline adorned with delicate silver embroidery. Her dark hair had been swept into an elegant chignon, leaving a few soft strands framing her face. A pair of diamond earrings glittered beneath the warm light.

She looked like a woman who had never been told no.

She also looked like a woman who would soon become the center of the biggest scandal in Manhattan.

Tiffany Yang—once the most celebrated romance novelist in the country, now trapped inside the body of the villainess she had created—sighed.

"Well," she murmured to her reflection, "at least the villainess has good taste."

Behind her, Hannah Brooks stood holding a tablet and a small black clutch.

"Miss Hearst?"

"Yes?"

"Your car will be downstairs in five minutes. The driver has already been instructed to take the private entrance."

Quinn turned.

"Why the private entrance?"

Hannah blinked. "Because there will be reporters outside the hotel."

"Of course there will."

"Your appearance at the gala is expected to draw attention, especially after yesterday's headlines."

Quinn closed her eyes.

Yesterday's headlines.

QUINN HEARST REFUSES TO GIVE UP ON SEBASTIAN VANDERBILT.

THE BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS WHO WILL DO ANYTHING FOR LOVE.

WILL THE HEARST BEAUTY FINALLY WIN THE HEART OF MANHATTAN'S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR?

Tiffany had written those headlines into her original novel herself.

Not word for word, perhaps, but the spirit was unmistakable. In The Crown of Thorns, Quinn Hearst was a wealthy, spoiled heiress who believed money could buy affection. She had spent years chasing Sebastian Vanderbilt, a powerful businessman who had already given his heart to another woman.

That woman was Astrid Watson.

Beautiful. Compassionate. Modest despite her privileged upbringing.

The perfect heroine.

And Quinn ?

The obstacle.

The woman readers loved to hate.

In the original story, the charity gala marked the beginning of her spectacular downfall. Quinn would arrive wearing a silver gown, approach Sebastian in front of dozens of influential guests, and demand to know why he had ignored her calls. When Astrid tried to intervene, Quinn would accuse her of stealing Sebastian's affection.

The confrontation would be recorded.

The video would go viral.

Within hours, Quinn would become the most despised woman in Manhattan.

And that was only the beginning.

The scandal would damage Hearst Group's reputation, weaken the family's charitable foundation, and give Eric Winthrop the perfect opportunity to manipulate the company's finances. Quinn increasingly desperate attempts to win Sebastian back would eventually destroy whatever remained of her public image.

Three months later, she would lose nearly everything.

Six months later, she would die.

Tiffany had written that ending years ago.

At the time, she had considered it dramatic.

Now she considered it a serious threat to her continued existence.

"Miss Hearst?"

Hannah's voice brought her back to the present.

Quinn opened her eyes.

"Yes, Hannah?"

"You seem distracted."

"I'm thinking about how much I dislike charity galas."

Hannah gave her a sympathetic smile. "You used to love them."

"I used to love many things that I now find questionable."

"Such as?"

"Expensive champagne, people who talk about themselves in the third person, and men who think being emotionally unavailable is a personality."

Hannah stared at her.

Then, to Quinn surprise, she laughed.

It was a small laugh, quickly covered by a hand, but it was genuine.

Quinn smiled.

She liked that sound.

In the original manuscript, Hannah Brooks had been little more than a background character. She was Quinn's loyal assistant, the woman who remained by her side even after the world turned against her.

Tiffany had never given Hannah much of a personality beyond her devotion to her employer.

Now, standing in front of her, Tiffany realized how unfair that had been.

Hannah was young, intelligent, and observant. She had a quiet sense of humor and the kind of patience required to work for someone notoriously difficult.

And judging by the way she was looking at Quinn , she had also noticed that her employer was no longer behaving like herself.

"Something wrong?" Quinn asked.

Hannah hesitated.

"May I be honest?"

"Please. Honesty is becoming my favorite thing."

"You seem different lately."

Quinn's smile faltered.

"Different how?"

Hannah considered her words carefully.

"You haven't asked me about Mr. Vanderbilt's schedule even once today."

Quinn almost laughed.

"Is that so unusual?"

"You asked me three times yesterday."

"Yesterday was a different day."

"And you didn't ask whether Miss Watson would attend tonight."

Quinn looked away.

That was a problem.

She needed to be careful. She could change Quinn behavior, but she couldn't afford to make the people around her suspicious enough to investigate why.

"I've been thinking," she said.

"About Mr. Vanderbilt?"

"About myself."

Hannah's expression softened.

"Oh."

Quinn turned back toward the mirror and adjusted one of her earrings.

"I think I've spent too much time worrying about what other people think of me. It's exhausting."

Hannah said nothing.

"So, starting tonight, I'm going to try something new."

"What is that?"

"Not caring so much."

Hannah's eyebrows rose.

Quinn smiled sweetly.

"Don't look so frightened. I'm not planning to set anything on fire."

"I wasn't thinking that, Miss Hearst."

"You were absolutely thinking that."

A reluctant smile tugged at Hannah's lips.

Quinn picked up her clutch.

"Come on. Let's go to the gala."

Then she paused.

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"If anyone asks whether I'm attending because of Sebastian, tell them the truth."

Hannah frowned. "And what is the truth?"

Quinn walked toward the door.

"That I have better things to do than organize my life around a man."

For the first time since waking up in this world, she almost believed it.

Almost.

The Grand Aurelia Hotel glittered beneath the Manhattan skyline.

Its enormous ballroom had been transformed into a sea of gold and white, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and arrangements of white roses decorating the tables. A string quartet played near the entrance, while waiters moved between guests carrying silver trays of champagne.

The annual Watson Children's Foundation Gala was one of the most prestigious charity events in the city.

Politicians attended.

Business magnates attended.

Celebrities attended.

And, naturally, journalists attended.

Because rich people donating money was apparently not interesting enough unless someone was wearing an expensive dress or having a public breakdown.

Quinn stepped out of the car and immediately heard the cameras.

"Miss Hearst ! Over here!"

"Miss Hearst , is it true that you and Sebastian Vanderbilt are working together?"

"Are you hoping to announce your engagement tonight?"

"Miss Hearst , how do you feel about Mr. Vanderbilt's relationship with Astrid Watson?"

Quinn kept walking.

The flashes followed her.

She could almost hear the collective disappointment of the reporters when she refused to react.

In the original novel, Quinn would have stopped. She would have smiled too brightly and said something designed to remind everyone that she and Sebastian had known each other for years.

She would have given them a headline.

Tonight, she gave them nothing.

She entered the hotel with Hannah beside her, her expression calm and her steps measured.

"That was impressive," Hannah whispered.

"What was?"

"You didn't even look at them."

"They were asking questions, not performing surgery. I wasn't obligated to assist."

Hannah pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh.

They passed through the entrance and into the ballroom.

For one glorious moment, Quinn was able to appreciate the beauty of the place without thinking about her impending doom.

Then she saw him.

Sebastian stood near the center of the ballroom, speaking to a group of businessmen.

He wore a black tuxedo that looked as though it had been tailored specifically to make the rest of the male population reconsider their life choices. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his expression was composed, almost indifferent, as he listened to one of the men speaking.

He was handsome.

Annoyingly handsome.

The sort of handsome that made readers forgive fictional men for crimes that would have earned ordinary people restraining orders.

Quinn hated that she understood the appeal.

Sebastian turned his head.

Their eyes met across the ballroom.

For a moment, he looked surprised.

Then he excused himself from the conversation and began walking toward her.

Quinn's heart did something inconvenient.

It skipped.

Just once.

She immediately blamed the dress.

Sebastian stopped in front of her.

"Quinn."

"Sebastian"

His gaze moved briefly over her face, as if searching for something.

"You look different tonight."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't necessarily a compliment."

"Then you should work on your delivery."

His eyebrows rose.

A beat of silence passed between them.

Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth lifted.

"You're in a good mood."

"I'm at a charity gala. There are children who need help, money that needs raising, and a ballroom full of people who have spent far too much on their clothes. What's not to enjoy?"

Sebastian glanced at her dress.

"Your clothes seem reasonably priced."

She looked down at herself in mock horror.

"How embarrassing. I must remember to fire my stylist."

"I didn't say it was inexpensive."

"Good. I would hate for you to think I've fallen into financial hardship."

Something changed in his expression at that.

It was subtle, but she noticed it.

Yesterday, she had told him that she intended to review the financial arrangements between their companies. She had insisted on transparency and independent audits, refusing to sign an agreement simply because it benefited him.

He had agreed.

And now, apparently, he was wondering what had happened to the woman who once seemed determined to make him the center of her universe.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Perfectly well."

"You're not angry with me?"

Quinn blinked.

"Should I be?"

"Last week, you were upset that I couldn't attend your dinner."

She searched her memory.

Right.

The original Quinn had arranged an elaborate dinner at a private restaurant, convinced Sebastian would finally agree to spend an evening with her. He had canceled because of a business emergency involving Vanderbilt International.

She had responded by sending him an angry string of messages.

One of them had included the words, You will regret treating me this way.

Quinn silently cursed her predecessor.

"I was disappointed," she admitted. "But I understand that you have responsibilities."

Sebastian studied her.

"That's all?"

"What else would there be?"

"You sent me fourteen messages."

"An unfortunate event for which I apologize on behalf of my previous self."

His gaze sharpened.

"Your previous self?"

Quinn froze.

For half a second, the ballroom seemed to grow quieter.

She forced a light laugh.

"I mean, my previous attitude. I've decided that sending fourteen messages to a man who is clearly busy is a humiliating waste of time."

Sebastian regarded her with an expression she couldn't quite interpret.

"And what do you intend to do with that time instead?"

"Read a book. Take a vacation. Learn to cook."

"You don't cook?"

"I can order food very efficiently."

"That's not cooking."

"Neither is your habit of eating lunch in meetings, but I don't criticize your lifestyle."

Sebastian laughed.

Actually laughed.

It was brief, low, and startlingly warm.

Quinn stared at him for a moment.

She had written Sebastian as a man who rarely laughed in public. In her original manuscript, his smiles were reserved almost exclusively for Astrid. They were supposed to be proof of the special connection between the hero and heroine.

Yet here he was, laughing at something Quinn had said.

It should have meant nothing.

It meant absolutely nothing.

She was not going to think about it.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," she said, recovering her composure. "But I should greet the hosts."

"Of course."

He didn't move.

Neither did she.

Finally, Sebastian tilted his head.

"Are you avoiding me?"

Quinn almost choked.

"What?"

"You've barely looked at me since I approached."

"I've been looking directly at you."

"Not the way you used to."

There it was.

The question she had been expecting.

Not Why aren't you trying to win me over?

Not What happened to you?

But something more unsettling.

Why have you stopped looking at me as if I am the only person in the room?

Quinn tightened her fingers around her clutch.

"Perhaps I finally realized you're not the only person in the room."

Sebastian went still.

For a second, she thought she had offended him.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly, and a strange, thoughtful expression crossed his face.

"Perhaps," he said.

She offered him a polite smile.

"Enjoy the gala, Sebastian ."

And before he could respond, she turned and walked away.

She did not look back.

Not once.

She was immensely proud of herself.

She was also acutely aware of the fact that Sebastian had watched her leave.

Astrid arrived twenty minutes later.

Quinn recognized her immediately.

Of course she did.

She had created her.

Astrid was everything the original Quinn was not. Her champagne-colored gown was elegant without being ostentatious, her dark blond hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her smile seemed to put everyone at ease.

She was beautiful in a way that didn't demand attention but somehow received it anyway.

The heroine of The Crown of Thorns had been designed to be loved.

And, standing there in the ballroom, Quinn could understand why.

Astrid greeted the foundation's board members with genuine warmth. She thanked the volunteers, spoke with the children invited to the event, and listened attentively to an elderly donor who seemed delighted to tell her the same story twice.

She wasn't pretending to be kind.

That was the worst part.

If Astrid had been cruel, selfish, or secretly manipulative, Quinn could have found a reason to dislike her.

Instead, she seemed to be a genuinely good person.

Quinn sighed.

"You're staring," Hannah whispered beside her.

"I'm observing."

"Miss Watson?"

"Yes."

Hannah glanced toward Astrid .

"She's lovely, isn't she?"

"Very."

"You don't sound upset."

"Should I be?"

Hannah looked at her carefully.

"Before, you didn't like her very much."

Quinn lowered her voice.

"Before, I was an idiot."

"Miss Hearst!"

"What? It's a perfectly reasonable assessment."

Hannah pressed her lips together.

Quinn watched Astrid accept a bouquet from one of the children. The girl holding it said something that made Astrid kneel so she could hear better.

The gesture was small.

Unremarkable.

And entirely sincere.

Quinn felt an unexpected pang of guilt.

She had created Astrid to be loved by the hero, but she had also written Quinn to hate her for it. She had given one woman every opportunity to be happy and the other every reason to become bitter.

She had made Quinn jealousy inevitable, then punished her for it.

What a terrible thing to do to a character.

What a terrible thing to do to a woman.

"Miss Hearst?"

Quinn blinked.

Astrid was approaching them.

Up close, she was even more striking.

"Good evening," Astrid said warmly. "I'm glad you could make it."

Quinn offered her hand.

"Good evening, Miss Watson. Thank you for organizing such a wonderful event."

Astrid appeared momentarily surprised.

Then she smiled and shook her hand.

"That's kind of you to say. We have a lot of people to thank for tonight."

"I'm sure. The foundation's work is admirable."

"Thank you."

A small silence followed.

Quinn could practically hear the invisible audience of readers waiting for her to say something cruel.

In the original story, this was where she would have complimented Astrid's dress with a thinly veiled insult. Something about the color being appropriate for someone who wanted to appear innocent.

Quinn had written the line herself.

She remembered it perfectly.

She also remembered the way Astrid's smile had faltered after hearing it.

No.

Not tonight.

"I hope the fundraising goes well," Quinn said. "If you need additional support for the children's literacy program, my foundation would be happy to discuss a partnership."

Astrid's eyes widened slightly.

"Really?"

"Of course. We already support several educational initiatives, and I think there's room for collaboration."

"That would be wonderful."

"I'll ask my team to contact yours next week."

Astrid looked genuinely pleased.

"Thank you, Quinn . I appreciate that."

Quinn smiled.

For a moment, something warm settled in her chest.

It was a small thing. A conversation. An offer to help.

But it was the first time since entering this world that she had done something that wasn't motivated by fear of her own ending.

Perhaps she could change more than her fate.

Perhaps she could change the kind of person Quinn had been.

"Excuse me," Astrid said as someone called her name. "I need to check on the program, but I hope you enjoy the evening."

"You too."

Astrid walked away.

Hannah turned toward Quinn with an expression of astonishment.

"You offered to work with Miss Watson."

"I did."

"You were polite to her."

"I was."

"You even smiled."

Quinn gave her assistant a pointed look.

"Would you like me to write a formal apology to the entire ballroom for my excellent manners?"

Hannah laughed.

"No, Miss Hearst."

"Good. Because I have no intention of apologizing for becoming a decent human being."

She took a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter.

Across the ballroom, Sebastian was watching them.

When Quinn caught his gaze, he didn't look away.

Instead, he raised his glass slightly.

She stared at him for a moment.

Then she raised hers in return.

A simple acknowledgment.

Nothing more.

She turned back to Hannah.

But she couldn't help wondering why Sebastian had looked at her as though she had just done something extraordinary.

The first hour of the gala passed without incident.

This, Quinn decided, was a beautiful thing.

She spoke with several donors, listened to a presentation about the foundation's programs, and promised to review a proposal for a new children's library in Queens.

She also discovered that the Hearst Foundation had a substantial budget for educational programs that had been poorly managed in recent years.

In other words, Quinn had inherited a philanthropic organization with enough money to do meaningful work and enough questionable bookkeeping to give her several sleepless nights.

At least she had something useful to do.

She was reviewing a brochure about the library project when a familiar voice interrupted her.

"Miss Hearst."

Quinn looked up.

Eric Winthrop stood before her.

He was in his early forties, impeccably dressed, with silver beginning to show at his temples. He had the kind of polished smile that made people feel they were being personally welcomed into an exclusive club.

In the original novel, Eric was a trusted business associate of the Hearst family.

He was also a liar.

A very successful liar.

He had spent years diverting company funds through a network of shell companies, using Quinn's reputation for impulsive spending to conceal his activities. When the financial discrepancies were finally discovered, he would make sure the evidence pointed toward her.

By the time anyone realized the truth, Eric would have already positioned himself as the reasonable executive trying to save the company from its reckless heiress.

Quinn felt her stomach tighten.

Of all the people she wanted to avoid tonight, Richard was near the top of the list.

Unfortunately, she couldn't avoid him forever.

"Mr. Winthrop," she greeted him. "Good evening."

His smile widened.

"You look wonderful. I was beginning to wonder whether you would attend."

"Why wouldn't I?"

He gave a small shrug.

"After the attention you've received lately, I thought you might prefer to avoid the public."

There it was.

The subtle insult.

The implication that her presence was a liability.

Quinn smiled politely.

"I find that doing good work is an excellent reason to leave the house."

"Of course. Of course."

Eric's gaze drifted toward the brochure in her hand.

"Planning to make another donation?"

"I'm considering a partnership."

"Very generous of you."

"Thank you."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"Though I hope you're being careful. The foundation has had a rather demanding quarter, and I would hate for you to commit funds without understanding the company's current financial position."

Quinn's fingers tightened around the brochure.

In the original manuscript, Eric had used almost those exact words before the scandal.

He had encouraged her to make decisions without fully understanding the numbers, then later claimed she had been reckless.

She had written him as a clever antagonist.

She had not expected to feel the urge to throw a glass of sparkling water at his face.

"That's very thoughtful of you," she said.

"I only have the family's best interests at heart."

"Naturally."

"I've prepared a summary of the foundation's financial position. I'll send it to you tomorrow."

"Actually, I'd prefer the complete records."

Eric's smile did not disappear.

But it changed.

Only slightly.

"The complete records?"

"Yes. Transaction ledgers, vendor contracts, payment authorizations, and the supporting documents for any transfers involving our external partners."

For the first time, Eric looked genuinely uncertain.

"That's quite a lot of documentation."

"I imagine it is."

"Is there a particular reason for this request?"

Quinn tilted her head.

"Transparency?"

His smile returned, more carefully this time.

"Of course. I admire your renewed interest in the foundation."

"Good. Then I trust you'll have no difficulty providing the records."

"Certainly."

"Wonderful."

She offered him a pleasant smile.

"Tomorrow would be ideal."

Eric studied her for a moment.

"You're very different lately, Quinn."

The words were almost identical to Sebastian's earlier comment.

Quinn was beginning to dislike that observation.

"Perhaps people simply don't notice the things that matter until they change," she replied.

Eric's expression grew thoughtful.

Then he nodded.

"Indeed."

He excused himself a moment later.

Quinn watched him disappear into the crowd.

Her pulse was beating faster than she liked.

She had made her first move against him.

It was small, but it mattered.

The financial records could expose the fraud long before it became the scandal that destroyed her. If she could prove the irregularities and stop the money from disappearing, she could protect the foundation and perhaps the Hearst Group itself.

More importantly, she could prevent the sequence of events that would lead to her death.

"Miss Hearst ?"

Hannah had returned with two glasses of water.

"Are you all right?"

Quinn accepted one.

"Perfectly."

"That was Mr. Winthrop, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Did he say something unpleasant?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

Hannah looked toward the direction Eric had gone.

"He's been acting strangely around the office lately."

Quinn turned to her.

"Strangely how?"

"He keeps asking about your schedule and whether you'll be reviewing the foundation's accounts. I thought it was ordinary business, but now I'm not so sure."

Quinn's attention sharpened.

"Has he asked you for any documents?"

"Several times. Mostly things related to the foundation's donations and the Hearst Group's charitable partnerships."

"Did you give them to him?"

"Of course. He's a senior executive."

Quinn considered that.

"From now on, please keep a record of every request he makes. Don't refuse anything that's properly authorized, but make sure we have copies of all the documents he receives."

Hannah nodded slowly.

"Do you suspect him of something?"

Quinn hesitated.

How could she explain that she had written this man's crimes years ago and had only recently realized he intended to commit them in real life?

"I suspect that no one should be trusted with important financial records without proper oversight," she said.

It wasn't a lie.

Not exactly.

Hannah seemed to accept the answer.

"I'll take care of it."

"Thank you."

Quinn looked down at the brochure in her hand.

A children's library.

A financial investigation.

A future that didn't have to end in tragedy.

Perhaps this new life would not be so terrible after all.

***********

At eight o'clock, the gala's host took the stage.

The conversations gradually quieted as guests turned toward the podium.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the host began. "Thank you for joining us for this year's Watson Children's Foundation Gala."

Quinn stood near the side of the ballroom, listening as the host spoke about literacy, access to education, and the importance of investing in the next generation.

The words were familiar.

She had written a similar speech for Astrid in the novel.

In the original version, Quinn had interrupted the program halfway through.

She remembered the scene in painful detail.

Astrid would stand at the podium and thank Sebastian for his support. Sebastian would smile at her, and Quinn —already irritated by the attention they were receiving—would approach them.

She would accuse Astrid of using charity work to get closer to Sebastian .

Then she would throw a glass of wine.

The glass would miss Astrid and shatter against the floor.

Someone would record the confrontation.

The video would become a symbol of Quinn's arrogance.

Tiffany had written the scene to establish the villainess as irredeemable.

She had also written it because, at the time, she believed the story needed a dramatic turning point.

Now she wanted to travel back in time and confiscate her own keyboard.

A round of applause interrupted her thoughts.

Astrid had stepped onto the stage.

She looked composed as she thanked the donors and volunteers who had helped organize the event.

"Tonight is about more than raising money," she said. "It's about giving children the opportunity to imagine a future that might otherwise seem impossible."

Quinn felt something twist in her chest.

Imagine a future that might otherwise seem impossible.

How ironic.

She had spent years imagining futures for fictional characters.

Yet now that she had been given a second chance at her own life, she had been so focused on avoiding death that she had barely considered what she wanted to live for.

Astrid continued speaking.

"Every child deserves to be heard. Every child deserves the chance to learn, to create, and to discover who they want to become."

Quinn clapped when the speech ended.

She meant it.

Then the host announced the evening's major donors.

Several names were read aloud, including Sebastian's.

The ballroom applauded as he stepped forward to offer a few brief remarks.

He was polished and confident, speaking about the responsibility of businesses to support their communities.

Quinn listened without much interest.

At least, that was what she told herself.

In reality, she was watching the way he spoke to the audience.

He wasn't arrogant.

He didn't make the speech about himself.

And when a young volunteer accidentally knocked a stack of papers off the edge of the stage, Sebastian stopped mid-sentence to help her gather them.

The gesture lasted only a few seconds.

But it was enough to make Quinn remember something she had written about him years ago.

In the manuscript, Sebastian had been a man who hid his kindness beneath layers of restraint. He had been raised to believe that emotions were liabilities and vulnerability was a weakness. He had learned to protect himself by keeping people at a distance.

Quinn had known that when she created him.

She had even given him a tragic childhood to explain his behavior.

But she had never considered how exhausting it might be to live that way.

Adrian finished his speech to enthusiastic applause.

As he stepped down from the stage, his gaze found Quinn again.

She immediately looked away.

No.

She would not do this.

She would not start noticing the good things about him.

She would not turn a simple act of kindness into evidence that she understood his soul.

She was a novelist. She knew how dangerous it was to romanticize a man simply because he had a few redeeming qualities.

Especially a man who was supposed to fall in love with someone else.

She had already written that story.

She had no intention of living through it.

To be continued.....