Chapter 11

The soft click of her apartment door echoed louder than it should have.

Vera stepped inside, toeing off her heels without bothering to turn on the lights. Moonlight spilled through the floor to ceiling windows, casting long silver streaks across the wooden floors. The silence that met her was familiar, comforting even, but tonight, it didn’t bring the usual relief.

She dropped her clutch on the console table by the door and shrugged off her coat, letting it fall haphazardly over the back of the couch. The damp patch from the champagne stain clung to her skin, cold and unpleasant.

She peeled the dress off and traded it for one of Asher’s oversized button down shirt, left behind during their first meeting.

She stood still for a moment in the quiet, staring at her reflection in the window. Her eyes were tired. Not from the party. Not even from Sarah’s confrontation. But from the weight she carried. The one she didn’t show anyone.

Her fingers itched to text someone, Talia maybe. But her best friend would see right through her usual sarcasm and evasiveness. And Vera didn’t want to talk about tonight. She didn’t want to hear herself say things out loud she hadn’t even admitted to herself yet.

Like how Sarah’s words had gotten under her skin.

Like how Asher’s touch no longer felt like a performance.

Or worst of all, how Lucas still lived in a space inside her heart that she couldn’t seem to evict, no matter how much hurt he’d handed her.

She padded into the kitchen, filled a glass of water, and leaned against the counter. The air was quiet, too quiet. And in the silence, her thoughts started crawling out of the shadows.

She remembered the exact look on Lucas’s face tonight. The flicker of regret. The tightening of his jaw. The way he couldn’t meet her eyes when Camilla stepped in between them.

You made your choice, she told herself. And he made his.

But no amount of self reminders could erase the ache in her chest.

She should feel triumphant, maybe. Sarah was rattled. Asher had left the event with her. Every headline tomorrow would whisper about the mysterious woman on his arm. Vera Sinclair had been seen, noticed, talked about. She’d played her role to perfection.

And yet… none of it mattered.

Because the moment she’d looked at Lucas, every win had turned to ash in her mouth.

She gripped the edge of the counter tighter.

Why did she still care?

Why did some stubborn, bleeding part of her still look for answers in a man who had never fought for her?

Because you’re human, the voice in her head whispered. Because you loved him. Maybe you still do.

She let out a shaky breath and wandered into the living room. Her phone buzzed on the couch, and she picked it up without looking.

Asher: “Let me know if you need anything.”

She stared at the message. No emojis. No punctuation. Just him.

For a second, she wanted to reply. Something snarky, something to deflect. But her thumbs hovered and then retreated.

Instead, she tossed the phone onto the coffee table and curled into the corner of the couch, wrapping a throw blanket around her legs. Her body was tired, but her mind was on fire, memories and conversations colliding.

Camilla’s gaze.

Sarah’s threat.

Asher’s voice, low and careful.

You’re not just a stand in.

Did he mean it? Or was he just saying what she needed to hear to keep the illusion alive?

She remembered the first time she’d seen Asher Donovan in the flesh. Years ago. That run in at the gallery. The air between them had crackled with tension even then. He’d been arrogant, smug, all sharp cheekbones and unreadable eyes. And she’d hated him on sight, for his indifference, for the way he made her feel small and reckless all at once.

But now?

Now, she didn’t know what to feel around him.

When he looked at her tonight, really looked at her, there had been something in his eyes she hadn’t expected. Not strategy. Not calculation. Just… something that felt too raw to name.

She pulled the blanket tighter around her.

Vera didn’t believe in fairy tales. She didn’t believe in happily ever afters wrapped in tuxedos and whispered declarations. She had built herself from grit and fire and heartbreak. She didn’t need saving.

But damn it… sometimes, she was tired of holding up the whole world alone.

Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, to the quiet emptiness that waited there.

Tomorrow would bring headlines and whispers. Camilla would tighten her grip on Lucas. Sarah would strike back. And Asher?

Asher would either become more dangerous, or more impossible to resist.

Asher didn’t speak as the driver pulled back into the street, the weight in his chest had already settled. Heavy. Solid. Inescapable.

He leaned back in his seat, one arm propped along the window, fingers tapping against the leather like a slow, unsettled metronome.

She didn’t say much during the drive. Just polite nods, clipped responses, her voice low and distant. Her silence wasn’t the usual wall she put up. No, this one was softer, wearier. Like she was holding herself together by sheer will.

And he hated it.

Because you put her there.

The realization burned more than he liked to admit.

He told himself, again and again, that this was just a deal. A performance for the press. A beautifully strategic illusion to keep his family off his back and Sarah Langford in her place. Vera had agreed to it. Willingly.

And yet… every time he saw her put on that cold mask in public, every time he saw her shrink herself to fit this role they’d both crafted, it grated at something deep in him.

She wasn’t meant to shrink.