Mistletoe Miracle

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Serenity owned the night, with Evan moving through the crowd like a proud anchor by her side. She didn't just meet people; she dazzled them, pairing her radiant charm with a sharp, incisive intellect that left even the most seasoned executives leaning in. To the elite gathered in the room, she appeared every bit the high-society fixture—none could have guessed that, just a few days ago, she had been clearing coffee cups in a cramped downtown Manhattan diner.

Her performance was flawless. Whenever the conversation veered toward the intricacies of the corporate world, Serenity responded with a vibrant blend of wit and expertise that commanded the room. Before long, she and Evan were the undisputed center of gravity. However, not every gaze was filled with admiration. Across the ballroom, a few onlookers watched with cold, calculating eyes—none more piercing than those of Evan’s best friend, Leo.

Leo watched the pair, his jaw tight as he weighed the necessity of an intervention. He needed to pull Evan back from the ledge before "the imposter" became his reality. The arrangement had been simple enough: a paid performance to satisfy a grandmother’s demands and secure a massive inheritance. Yet, even from across the room, Leo recognized the shift in Evan’s gaze. It was no longer the look of a man executing a deal; it was the look of a man falling for his own con.

Ironically, the qualities Evan was falling for were the only things about Serenity that were real. Her beauty and quick-fire wit weren't part of the costume—they were her essence. She was merely renting her soul to the corporate world for a ten-thousand-dollar fee, and while she was focused on the money, Evan was clearly losing sight of the exit strategy.

The adrenaline that had carried Serenity through the last three hours was finally beginning to ebb, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake. Every step in her four-inch stilettos felt like walking on jagged glass, though she kept her smile fixed and her posture regal.

Evan must have sensed the subtle tension in her shoulders or the way her weight shifted ever so slightly, seeking a moment of reprieve. Without a word, he placed a steadying hand on the small of her back and leaned in, his voice a low murmur against her ear.

"I think we’ve shaken enough hands for one night," he whispered. "Let's find some air."

He navigated her away from the center of the ballroom, parrying a few final attempts at conversation with a polite nod and a firm, "Excuse us." He led her toward a secluded alcove at the edge of the terrace, where a pair of velvet-cushioned chairs sat tucked behind a sprawling monstera plant.

The moment they were out of the direct line of sight, Serenity sank into the chair with a soft, involuntary groan of Duy.

"Oh, thank God," she exhaled, her poise momentarily fracturing as she reached down to gingerly unbuckle the thin straps at her ankles. "I think my feet have officially gone on strike. I’m pretty sure I have no feeling left in my toes."

Evan dropped into the seat beside her, watching her with an expression that sat somewhere between guilt and genuine admiration. "You were incredible out there. I almost forgot you were 'on the clock.'"

Serenity looked up, a playful but tired glint in her eyes as she kicked the heels aside. "For ten thousand dollars, I’d walk on hot coals, Evan. But these heels? They might actually be worse."

She leaned back, the cool night air hitting her skin, feeling the heavy mask of the "perfect socialite" slip just enough to breathe. For a second, the gala, the grandmother, and the looming threat of Leo’s stare felt miles away.

Evan leaned back, his eyes fixed on Serenity as she finally let the mask slip. He watched the tension drain from her face, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated bliss as she surrendered to the chair. With a soft sigh of triumph, she flicked her ankles, letting the four-inch stilettos clatter to the floor.

The relief was instantaneous. She wiggled her cramped toes against the cool marble; the sensation of blood returning to her feet felt like a small miracle. It had been years—maybe a lifetime—since she’d been forced to stand for this long in anything other than the cushioned, nonslip sneakers she wore at the diner. Those shoes were for survival; these were for a silent war she was winning one conversation at a time.

Evan didn't look away. There was something dangerously intimate about seeing her like this—barefoot and breathless in a dress that cost more than her annual rent.

"Better?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

"Much," she murmured, closing her eyes for a brief second. "I think my soul just re-entered my body. You have no idea what those things do to a person's center of gravity."

"I can imagine," Evan replied, though his expression suggested he was imagining something else entirely. He reached out as if to touch her hand, but stopped himself, the ghost of their contract hanging in the air between them. "You didn't just survive them, Serenity. You made it look like you were born in them."

She let out a dry, tired laugh. "That’s the secret, isn't it? The more it hurts, the more you have to smile."

The silence between them stretched out, but for the first time all night, it wasn't a performance. It was heavy with the shared secret of their ruse and the quiet hum of the gala echoing in the distance.

Outside the alcove, the city was bracing for the holidays. A biting wind swept across the terrace, carrying the crisp, metallic scent of a New York winter. With the temperature hovering in the mid-40s, the silk of Serenity’s gown offered no protection against the chill. As the adrenaline of the evening fully faded, the cold began to settle into her skin. She shivered involuntarily, her hands coming up to massage her upper arms, trying to rub some warmth back into her chilled limbs.

Evan noticed. He had been watching her—the way her breathing had slowed, the way she looked so much more like herself without the towering heels. Seeing her huddle into herself broke the spell of his own thoughts.

"You're freezing," he noted, his voice laced with a sudden, unscripted concern.

"It's just the price of fashion, right?" she joked, though her teeth gave a tiny, betraying chatter. "Waitresses get cardigans. 'Corporate girlfriends' get backless silk."

Without a second thought, Evan reached for the buttons of his tailored suit jacket.

Evan began to slide the charcoal wool from his shoulders, but Serenity held up a hand, shaking her head. "No, Evan, really. I’m fine. You’ll be the one shivering, and then I’ll have to explain to your grandmother why her golden boy has pneumonia."

He paused, the jacket halfway off, and leveled her with a look of stubborn resolve. "It wasn’t a request, Serenity."

"I have a reputation to uphold," she countered, though another shiver betrayed her, racing down her spine. "The 'perfect girlfriend' is supposed to be resilient, isn't she?"

Evan didn't bite. He finished pulling the jacket off and leaned forward, draping the heavy, silk-lined fabric over her shoulders. The warmth was immediate, smelling of expensive sandalwood and the lingering heat of his body. It felt like a physical weight pulling her back down to earth.

"Look, I know what the paperwork says," he said, his voice low as he tucked the lapels closer to her chin, his fingers hovering just inches from her skin. "But the contract doesn’t require me to let you freeze to death on my watch. Believe it or not, I’m still a gentleman deep down—even if I am currently paying you to lie to my entire family."

Serenity tucked her chin into the collar, the scent of him wrapping around her. "A gentleman with a very complicated business strategy," she murmured, offering him a small, genuine smile that didn't feel like part of the act.

"Exactly," Evan replied, his gaze lingering on her face a second too long. "Let's call it a 'fringe benefit' of the job."

For a moment, the transaction between them felt dangerously like a real conversation. But the heavy thud of a closing door nearby signaled that their sanctuary was no longer private.