Chapter 3

EVE

I stood in front of the mirror, holding up the fifth dress of the night, and let out a frustrated groan loud enough to scare the perfume bottles off my vanity.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, tossing the silky navy slip onto the growing pile on my bed. It joined three other dresses and one very tragic jumpsuit that should probably be set on fire.

I'd been at this for an hour, and for what? It wasn't like this dinner was for me. It was for Courtney and that fiancé of hers who looked like he'd walked out of a forbidden fantasies catalog.

And there it was, the real problem.

Roman.

I groaned again, sinking onto the edge of the bed and pressing my palms into my face like I could physically scrub the thought of him out of my brain.

"This is insane, Eve," I whispered into my hands. "He's Courtney's fiancé. You're not supposed to care what you look like."

But apparently my brain didn't get the memo, because every time I blinked, I saw him. That stupid sharp jaw. Those dark, unreadable eyes. The way his mouth curved like he knew too much, like he could ruin me if he wanted to.

I stood back up and reached for another dress. My fingers landed on the wine-red lace gown hanging at the far end of my closet, the one I'd been avoiding because… well.

It was dangerous.

It was the kind of dress you wore when you wanted someone to notice you, and Roman was the last person I should ever want noticing me.

I hesitated, fingers brushing over the delicate lace, and whispered, "It's harmless, right? Just… look good. That's all."

I slipped it on anyway.

The gown hugged me like it was made for me, clinging in all the right places, draping where it needed to. The deep color made my skin glow, and for the first time all evening, I didn't hate what I saw. I leaned closer to the mirror, grabbing my eyeliner, steadying my hand.

"Not for him," I told my reflection, carefully dragging the line. "This is for me. Totally for me."

My reflection didn't buy it.

By the time I was done, my smoky eyes were smudged to perfection, my lipstick was a soft nude gloss, and I'd spritzed just enough of my favorite perfume to leave a trail without suffocating anyone.

I slipped into my black YSL heels, the ones I'd saved for "special occasions," and decided this counted, even if my chest felt tight with nerves I refused to name.

I was halfway down the stairs when I heard her voice.

"You're late."

My mother didn't even bother looking up from her phone when she said it, but the sharpness in her tone landed like a slap anyway. That was her thing… casual cruelty dressed in designer heels.

"I'm two minutes late," I muttered, adjusting the strap of my wine-red dress as I descended the last few steps. "Pretty sure no one's going to report me to the Dinner Police."

That finally got her to look up. Perfectly arched brows. Flawless lipstick. Not a single blonde-highlighted strand out of place.

She was, as usual, the human embodiment of a Vogue spread, polished and untouchable. Meanwhile, I had spent the last forty-five minutes deciding if my dress was "effortlessly elegant" or "trying too hard," and now I was leaning toward changing again.

She gave me one of those mom-scans, head to toe, slow and judgmental, and hummed like she wasn't impressed. "We're already late because of you, Eve. Try not to make a scene tonight. For once."

I plastered on my sweetest smile, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't worry, I wasn't planning on setting the restaurant on fire. But now that you've put it in my head…"

Her sigh was loud enough to echo down the hallway. "God give me strength."

I bit back a grin. "You'll need it."

The ride to the restaurant started in silence, the air thick with unsaid things.

She stared out the tinted window, probably rehearsing her perfect, polite smiles for Courtney's fiancé.

I, meanwhile, did what any self-respecting daughter would do when trapped in a car with her mother: I scrolled through my phone.

Specifically, Roman Hayes's profile.

I didn't even mean to click on it. Okay… maybe I did.

The man was a riddle wrapped in a billion-dollar suit. Twenty-six years old. CEO of his own hotel empire. Made his first million before most people figured out how to boil pasta. A billionaire at twenty-three. No scandals. No interviews. No social media, unless you counted the sterile LinkedIn page that looked like it had been designed by a tax attorney.

The mystery was infuriating. Addictive.

I zoomed in on one of his rare candid photos… him at some investor conference, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, black suit tailored like sin, expression unreadable.

How does someone that beautiful exist and still manage to look like he's two seconds away from firing the entire planet?

"What are you smiling at?"

I jumped, locking my phone like I'd just been caught watching something… well, exactly what I'd been watching. "Nothing," I said quickly, shoving the phone into my lap.

Her gaze flicked toward me, cool and unimpressed. "You know, the last time you smiled at your phone like that, it ended up on a gossip blog."

Heat crawled up my neck, burning my ears. "Wow, thanks for the reminder. Love that we keep a running playlist of my Greatest Hits of Public Humiliation."

"You put yourself there, Eve," she said flatly, turning back to the window. "I won't tolerate you embarrassing this family again. Not tonight."

And there it was, the jab disguised as motherly concern.

I clenched my jaw, forcing a slow breath in through my nose. I had two options: stay silent… or poke the bear. Guess which one I picked.

"You know," I said casually, scrolling just to have something to do, "it's funny how you only care about being embarrassed when it involves me. Not when Dad's screwing his assistant. Not when Courtney throws tantrums in five-star restaurants. Not when…"

"Watch it." Her tone is sharp and cold.

I turned my head and met her stare, refusing to back down. "What? Too close to home?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, the kind she only got when she was seconds away from snapping. "Your father's… mistakes are none of your concern."

"Mistakes?" I laughed. "Is that what we're calling sleeping with someone half his age now? Cute. Should I start using that? 'Sorry, Mom, I made a mistake when I accidentally…'"

"Eve! This is exactly what I mean. You have no filter. No control. You're impulsive, you're reckless, and one day, it's going to ruin you."

Her words stung, sharper than I wanted to admit. "Well," I said, "at least I come by it honestly."

Her head snapped toward me, but I refused to meet her glare this time. I tilted my phone, pretending I had better things to do than fight with her, which, okay, I didn't. But she didn't need to know that.

The rest of the ride was quiet, the tension so thick it felt like static in the air. She tapped her nails against her phone screen, each click deliberate and pointed, like she was choosing not to speak just to make me stew in the silence.

I stared out the window, letting the city blur into streaks of gold and white, my chest tight from the argument I pretended not to care about.

I told myself her words didn't land. That I wasn't still twelve years old, trying and failing spectacularly to make her proud.

But my grip on my phone told a different story.

I scrolled back to Roman Hayes's profile, not because I needed to but because it was easier than thinking about her. Easier than thinking about my father. Easier than remembering every rumor, every headline, every mistake I couldn't take back.

At least Roman was safe. Distant. Untouchable. I could admire him without the risk of disappointing him.

"Put that away before we get there," my mom said suddenly. "And for God's sake, Eve, try not to make tonight about you."

"Don't worry," I said dryly, sliding my phone into my bag. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The car slowed, turning into the glittering driveway of the restaurant. My chest tightened, something sharp curling low in my stomach.

I exhaled slowly, bracing myself.

"Ready?" my mom asked, not looking at me, fingers already fixing an invisible strand of hair.

"Not even a little," I muttered, forcing a smile anyway as the driver opened the door and the humid night air spilled in.