. CHAPTER 3 — Champagne, Cameras, and Cowards
At the party, Preston performed love like a man auditioning for sainthood. He guided Claire through the room with one hand resting too firmly at her lower back. When guests asked about the wedding, he said, “Claire deserves the kind of life she never thought she could have,” and everyone sighed because rich people adored kindness when it came dressed as possession.
Claire wanted to laugh. She also wanted to scream.
Instead, she counted exits.
Main staircase. Garden doors. Service hallway. Wine room.
She had started counting exits two months earlier. It was a habit she hated because it proved some part of her already knew the truth. Women in danger developed little inventories of survival: which rooms had locks, which heels allowed running, which smiles bought ten more minutes of peace.
Preston leaned close as photographers gathered near the champagne tower. “My mother says your father may come.”
Claire’s throat tightened. “He wasn’t invited.”
“No,” Preston said, smiling at a senator’s wife. “But men like him enjoy attention. If he does anything embarrassing, I’ll handle it.”
“You don’t handle my father.”
His fingers pressed into her waist. Pain sparked beneath silk. “Tonight, I handle everyone.”
That was when Victoria Blackwood raised her glass.
She wore a dark red satin gown, emeralds at her throat, and the satisfied expression of a woman who believed money was a language God respected. “Friends,” she said, “tonight we welcome Claire into a family that values dignity, loyalty, and discretion.”
Discretion. Claire nearly choked on the word.
Victoria turned toward her. “My dear, come stand beside Preston.”
Claire moved. Every step felt borrowed.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Victoria asked the room. “So quiet. So grateful.”
A few people laughed softly, unsure whether it was a compliment or a command.
Then Victoria’s eyes narrowed at Claire’s cheek. For one dangerous second, Claire thought the makeup had cracked. Victoria stepped closer, lifted a manicured hand, and touched Claire’s jaw as if inspecting damaged merchandise.
“You’re shining,” Victoria whispered. “Go fix your face.”
Preston’s smile remained bright.
Claire turned toward the hallway, but her vision blurred. The room tilted. The bruise throbbed. She heard Gideon’s voice from a memory: When a room makes you feel small, sweetheart, look for the door or look for me.
May you like
She looked for the door.
And found him standing there.
