The charity gala in December was unavoidable.
“It’s for the community center,” Elise said on the phone, her tone leaving no room for argument. “They do good work. You will be there.”
“We will,” Caleb promised. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
He hung up, rubbing his temple.
“Another party?” Tessa asked from the couch, where she was surrounded by homework—sketches and notes from Marla’s class.
“Yes,” he said. “Black‑tie. Speeches. Donors. Tiny appetizers that look pretty and taste like nothing.”
“So… like the last one,” she said.
“Basically,” he said. “Except this time… my ex might be there.”
Her pencil stopped mid‑line. “I’m sorry, your what.”
He winced. “I should’ve… mentioned.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That would have been… useful information.”
He sat beside her, not quite touching.
“We dated for… a year,” he said. “Off and on. Before you.”
“When,” she demanded. “Timeline.”
“Two years ago,” he said. “We broke up… for good… about five months before I met you.”
She mentally counted. “So reasonably removed,” she said. “Not… overlapping.”
“No,” he said quickly. “Absolutely not. It was… done. Very done.”
“And she is… who, exactly,” Tessa asked. “Name. Occupation. Zodiac sign.”
He sighed. “Her name is Blair. She’s in PR. Corporate side. Very… polished. Very… good at… showing things how they’re supposed to look.”
“Ouch,” Tessa said. “Loaded.”
He winced. “We… weren’t… right. She… liked the… lifestyle. The… events. The… optics. I… liked… the idea of… not being alone at those things. It wasn’t… love. Not really. More… convenience.”
“And she might be at this gala,” Tessa said slowly.
“Yes,” he said. “She works with the foundation sometimes. She might have… help set it up.”
Tessa stared at her sketch.
“Okay,” she said. “So we go. We look hot. We don’t… panic. We… act like normal ex and current girlfriend in romcoms.”
“You mean… we act like adults,” he said.
“That too,” she said. “What are you… worried about.”
He looked at her. “You,” he said simply.
“Me,” she said. “Why.”
“Because she’s… very good at… making people feel… lesser,” he said. “It’s… her armor. Her weapon. I don’t… want her… trying it on you.”
“I work retail,” Tessa said. “I’ve stared down Black Friday and bridal showers. I can handle one PR Barbie.”
He smiled reluctantly. “You’re more than capable. I know that. I just… also know… how this… world feels sometimes. How it… cuts.”
She softened. “We’ll… do it together,” she said. “Tag‑team. You… deflect corporate jabs. I… deflect personal ones. We… leave early and eat pizza in our fancy clothes.”
His eyes warmed. “Deal.”
***
The night of the gala, Detroit was all brittle cold and glittering lights.
The ballroom downtown had been draped in winter white—twinkling lights, frosted centerpieces, waiters in crisp shirts moving like a choreographed flock.
Tessa wore a navy gown this time—sleek and simple, with a low back and a slit that made Lana whistle when she’d sent a picture.
“You’re going to end him,” Lana had texted. “Make sure he signs over some assets first.”
Caleb’s reaction when she’d stepped out of her apartment had been… gratifying.
He’d gone still. Heart‑in‑throat still. Then said, hoarse, “You’re… lethal.”
“You’re… biased,” she’d replied, cheeks warm.
Now, in the crowded ballroom, she felt… exposed again. But in a different way than the article. Less like prey. More like… spectacle.
“You’re doing great,” Caleb murmured, hand at the small of her back as they navigated through donors and board members. “Deep breaths.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “I only want to crawl under the table a little.”
He chuckled.
Elise spotted them and waved them over. “You’re late,” she said. “Fashionably. I approve.”
“We got stuck behind a stalled snowplow,” Caleb said.
“Romantic,” Elise said dryly. She eyed Tessa. “That color suits you.”
“Thank you,” Tessa said. “You too.”
Elise wore deep burgundy, her silver hair a perfect contrast.
“Flattery,” Elise said. “I accept.”
The program began. Speeches. Videos about the community center’s work—after‑school programs, adult literacy, addiction support.
Tessa was genuinely moved. This, at least, was a part of his world she could get behind without reservation.
At intermission, as people milled about, getting more drinks and networking, she excused herself to the restroom.
On the way back, in the soft carpeted corridor, she nearly collided with a woman.
“Sorry,” Tessa said automatically.
“It’s fine,” the woman said. “I should’ve—”
She stopped. Eyes flicked over Tessa’s dress, her hair, her ring.
“You must be Tessa,” she said.
The voice was smooth. Cultured. Just this side of bored.
“Hi,” Tessa said warily. “And you are…”
“Blair,” she said, offering a hand. Manicured. Gold bangles. Tasteful diamond studs. “We… used to date.”
There it was.
Tessa shook her hand. “Right,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
Blair’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Those eyes were assessing. Clinical.
“I’ve heard… a lot about you,” Blair said. “In the last… few months.”
“I hope… some of it was true,” Tessa said lightly.
“Oh, absolutely,” Blair said. “The important bits. ‘She’s brave.’ ‘She’s stubborn.’ ‘She told Denby where to shove it.’”
Tessa blinked. “He said that.”
“He talks about you,” Blair said. “A lot.”
There was something in her tone. Not quite accusation. Not quite admiration. Somewhere in between.
“We’re engaged,” Tessa said. “It’d be weird if he didn’t.”
Blair’s mouth curved. “Engaged,” she repeated. “Yes. Such… a whirlwind.”
“It’s… been months,” Tessa said. “A whirlwind can last more than a weekend.”
“Of course,” Blair said. “I just… remember how… careful he was. Before. About… commitment. About… image. It’s… impressive. How fast he… let that go. For you.”
Tessa’s hackles rose. “People change,” she said.
“Yes,” Blair said. “Sometimes… for the better. Sometimes… for the headlines.”
There it was. The knife.
Tessa felt heat crawl up her neck. “We’re not… a campaign,” she said quietly.
Blair’s brows arched, pitying. “Sweetheart,” she said. “Everything is a campaign when you’re him.”
Anger flared. “You think you… know him,” Tessa said.
“I knew a version,” Blair said. “The one who checked with PR before posting a photo of his breakfast. The one who wore the right suit to the right charity brunch so the right donors would feel seen.”
“He still does that,” Tessa said. “But that’s not… all he is.”
Blair’s gaze sharpened. “You think you have the full picture,” she said. “After… what. Three months.”
“I know enough,” Tessa said.
“Do you know about the time he killed a project because the returns weren’t high enough, even though three small businesses went under because of it?” Blair asked. “Do you know how he chose between two staffers when they both needed time off for family emergencies? Do you know… how he sleeps when he has to sign the eviction paperwork?”
“Yes,” Tessa said, surprising herself with how steady she sounded. “Because he told me. All of that. Himself. Without you… narrating.”
Blair blinked. “He did.”
“We’ve… had a lot of… late‑night conversations,” Tessa said. “On his couch. In his car. In my apartment. He’s… not… hiding those parts from me. Or… pretending he’s… some… savior. He’s… struggling. Wrestling. Trying. Harder than I think he did… with you.”
Blair’s jaw tightened. “You think that’s because of you,” she said.
“Yes,” Tessa said simply.
Blair laughed, a short, disbelieving bark. “Oh honey,” she said. “You think you’re the first woman who wanted to fix him.”
“No,” Tessa said. “I think I’m the first woman who told him I *didn’t* want to. That I wanted him to fix himself. Or… not. And that I’d… walk away if he didn’t.”
Blair’s expression faltered. Just for a second.
“I loved him,” Blair said quietly. “In my way. I tried to… fit. Be… what the job needed. What his family wanted. It didn’t… work. He… chose this. Over me.”
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said softly. “That… sucks.”
Blair’s mouth twisted. “It does,” she agreed. “So forgive me if I’m… skeptical when I see him… monetizing his conscience now. With you on his arm.”
“He’s not… monetizing me,” Tessa said. “We’re… trying to… build something… that isn’t about… any of this.” She gestured at the glittering hallway, the soft lighting, the hush of wealth.
Blair looked at her for a long beat.
“You’re… very sure,” she said. “For someone who’s never… been here before.”
“I’ve been… poor,” Tessa said. “That’s… a different battlefield. I know what I’m… risking. I’m not… naive.”
Blair studied her. A hint of… something like respect flickered.
“Maybe you’re different,” she said. “Maybe you’ll… be the one to… make him… choose. For once.”
“I’m not… asking him to choose between me and… the company,” Tessa said. “That’s… a false choice. I’m asking him to… choose who he wants to be. In both.”
“And if you don’t like the answer?” Blair asked.
“Then I’ll leave,” Tessa said. “Even if it… hurts.”
Blair held her gaze for a moment longer.
“Be careful,” she said finally. “Love is… blinding. Especially when it comes wrapped in private jets and gala invites.”
“We drive a sedan and eat a lot of takeout,” Tessa said. “Not a lot of jets.”
Blair’s mouth twitched despite herself. “Enjoy your… takeout,” she said. “And when it gets… harder… remember this conversation.”
She walked away, heels soft on the carpet.
Tessa leaned against the wall for a second, steadying herself.
Her heart pounded. Her hands trembled.
She wanted to run back into the ballroom, find Caleb, bury her face in his chest, and ask him, *Am I seeing you? Really? Or am I… projecting?*
Instead, she pulled out her phone.
> Tessa: just met blair.
Three dots.
> Caleb: Oh God. Are you okay?
> Tessa: fine. she’s… sharp.
> Caleb: She always was.
> Tessa: we can talk later. just… warning you in case she says something.
> Caleb: I’m coming to find you.
> Tessa: you’re mid‑schmooze.
> Caleb: I’m mid‑Tessa‑is‑more‑important.
Her throat tightened.
> Tessa: I’m by the bathrooms. left hall.
He appeared less than a minute later, tie slightly askew, eyes scanning until they landed on her.
“You…” He took in her face. “What did she say.”
“Nothing… I didn’t know,” Tessa said. “And some things… I… needed… to hear.”
His brows knit. “Explain.”
“She loves you,” Tessa said. “Or… loved. In her way. She… got hurt. She… has opinions.”
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “You shouldn’t have had to—”
“No,” she cut in. “Don’t… apologize for her. Or for… your past. That’s… not… on you. Or… not only.”
He looked confused. “Then what…”
“She reminded me,” Tessa said carefully, “that… loving you… doesn’t… erase… the hard parts. The… compromises. The… ugliness. Of… this world.”
“I told you that,” he said. “Repeatedly.”
“I know,” she said. “But hearing it from… someone who lived it… was… different.”
He winced. “Did she… make you… doubt us.”
“She tried,” Tessa said, truthfully. “But… no. Actually. Weirdly. She made me… surer.”
His head snapped up. “What.”
“She painted a picture of you that’s… not pretty,” Tessa said. “Ambitious. Calculating. Capable of… choosing the bottom line over… people.”
“And you’re okay with that?” he asked, incredulous.
“I’m… not,” she said. “Completely. But… I knew that. Already. And… you’re… changing. Or trying to. And… I believe… you want to.”
His shoulders loosened a fraction.
“Blair thought… she knew you,” Tessa went on. “All of you. She… didn’t. Not… really. She saw… the part you let her. The… performer. The… CEO. She didn’t… push. Or maybe you didn’t… let her.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
“I’m not… better than her,” Tessa said. “Just… different. I’m… pushing. Hard. You’re… letting me. That… matters.”
He stared at her, something like wonder in his eyes.
“She said…” Tessa added, “that if I ever… doubt… I should… remember this conversation. So. I will.”
“What will you remember?” he asked softly.
“That… I knew,” she said. “Going in. That this was… messy. That you’re… flawed. That I am. That… love doesn’t fix… systems. But it… can… change… people. If they… let it.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re… incredibly… annoying.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
He stepped closer, heedless of the semi‑public corridor.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “I know we’ve… danced around… the degrees. The timelines. The maybes. But… I do. I love you. Stupidly. Completely. In ways that make… gala speeches… harder.”
Her breath caught. “You’re… about to go on stage.”
“Screw the stage,” he said. “You’re… my main event.”
She swallowed. “Don’t make me cry; Elise will kill us.”
He smiled, then sobered.
“Will you…” he asked, voice suddenly shy, “say it again. Sometime. When you’re not… cornered by my ex in a hallway.”
She smiled, heart thudding. “I will.”
“When,” he teased.
“Later,” she said. “When there’s… pizza. And no gowns.”
“Tease,” he muttered.
“You love it,” she said.
He cupped her elbow, gentle. “You okay to go back in?” he asked.
She glanced at the ballroom doors. “With you,” she said.
“Always,” he replied.
***