We share a laugh at the absurdity of our new lives—polo matches and upper-class gatherings so far removed from our old reality. For a moment, the weight of my thoughts about Nate lifts, replaced by the simple joy of sharing this moment with Mom.

She kisses the top of my head before turning to leave.

"Your dad would be really proud of both you and Ollie. I know I am."

Her words follow her out the door, settling into my heart like a warm embrace.

I smooth the pale blue fabric of my dress one final time, studying my reflection. Marcus outdid himself—the cut hugs my curves perfectly, the neckline striking a delicate balance between daring and elegant. My hair falls in soft waves, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel beautiful without having to convince myself.

"You've got this," I whisper to my reflection, forcing a smile that almost reaches my eyes.

My phone buzzes, Camilla's text lighting up the screen with her characteristic enthusiasm.

Camilla:

We're out front!!!

I grab my bag and head for the door, but as I step into the hallway, I collide with a solid chest, one that sends electricity through my veins before I even look up. The scent hits me first—clean and woodsy with that hint of mint. My breath catches as his arms steady me. A slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face as his gaze sweeps over me, igniting heat beneath my skin.

"You're beautiful," he says, as if it’s not an observation but an undeniable truth.

My stomach flips, his words settling over me like a caress. I study him carefully, relieved to see no fresh cuts or bruises on his face. But then I notice his hands—knuckles raw and angry—and Mom's words echo in my mind about Nick dropping him off last night.

"Where were you last night?" I ask, keeping my voice soft despite the anxiety churning in my gut.

He shrugs, too casual. "Sorry, I should've called. Jay and I hung out, lost track of time."

"What'd you guys do?"

"Nothing exciting," he says, but his tone is measured, careful—a red flag I'm learning to recognize.

I narrow my eyes, sensing the wall going up, but a car horn blares outside, shattering the moment.

"I have to go," I say reluctantly, motioning toward the stairs. "Will I see you at the polo match?"

He snorts. "I'd rather stick a fork in my eye."

I laugh despite myself. "Figured as much."

"Besides," he continues, "I should probably practice."

"Practice?" I blink, caught off guard. "Wait—you're playing?"

He shrugs, downplaying it in the way he does when something matters too much. "It's just a couple of cover songs. Nick helped me out a lot this summer. It was his one ask⁠⁠—"

Before he can finish, I throw my arms around him.

"Nate! That's amazing!"