15.

The bridal shop was exactly what I expected, overly luxurious, filled with silk and lace and the strong scent of overpriced perfume that made my nose tickle. Women walked around sipping champagne while stylists fluttered over them, draping them in fabrics that probably cost more than my rent.

Mum was in her element.

“Oh, finally,” she said as I walked in. “Come, come, sit! I’m about to try on the next dress.”

I slumped into one of the plush chairs, exhaling as I pulled out my phone.

If she was serious about this whole bridal shower thing, she needed to do it right.

I pulled up a quick search:

When should a bridal shower be held?

Typically, bridal showers are held one to three months before the wedding.

I frowned. “Mum, when exactly is the wedding?”

She peeked out from behind the dressing room curtain. “Oh, darling, you know that! Next month.”

No I don't know that. Tsk. 

I stared at her with a blank expression. “Then why are you planning a bridal shower now?”

She waved a hand. “Because it’s fashionable.”

I groaned, rubbing my temple again. “Mum, showers happen months before the wedding. Not two weeks before. And do you even know what happens at one?”

She blinked at me. “Champagne?”

I sighed. “No, Mum. Gifts. Games. People celebrating you. Not just… showing off.”

She pouted slightly, stepping out in a new wedding dress that hugged her figure with diamond stones around the waist. “But I deserve to be shown off.”

I stared at her. She looked stunning, as always. Elegant. Regal. The kind of beauty that made men beg for her attention. No wonder she always got what she wanted.

She studied herself in the mirror, tilting her head. “Well?”

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted.

“I know it’s beautiful,” she said, tossing her hair. “The question is: do I look like a goddess?”

I smirked. “Always.”

She beamed. “That’s my girl.”

The bell at the front of the store chimed.

I didn’t look up. I was still scrolling through bridal shower suggestions when I heard her voice light up.

“Oh, Ryder, you sweet boy!”

My entire body froze.

No.

No way.

I turned my head slowly, my heart skipping a beat.

Ryder stood there, dressed in a crisp black button-up with the sleeves rolled up, veins peeking through his forearms. He held a small, elegant gift box in one hand and a separate bag in the other.

“Thought I’d drop these off,” he said, flashing that effortless smirk.

Mum practically gushed. “Oh, you didn’t have to!”

“Of course, I did,” he said smoothly, stepping forward. “You deserve it.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to one side of her cheek. Then the other.

“You look beautiful, Lorelei,” he said, his voice dripping with charm.

I was frozen.

Mum laughed, clearly adoring him. “You charmer,” she teased, playfully tapping his arm. “Oh! You’ve met Evelyn, right?”

Ryder turned his head slowly, locking eyes with me.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t breathe.

Jesus. Jesus!!!

Oh, earth, open up and swallow me now.

I gulped.

The smirk returned, slow and lazy. “Oh yeah,” he said, eyes glinting. “We’ve met.”

“Oh, that’s true!” Mum chirped, completely oblivious to the tension suffocating me. “I forgot you guys met at the dinner. This is so great.”

I forced a tight smile, gripping the armrest of my chair as Mum admired the gift box he had brought. “Ryder, darling, you’re just too thoughtful.”

“It’s nothing, Lorelei,” he said smoothly.

Lorelei. I’d never heard him say my mother’s name before. It rolled off his tongue like he’d known her for years.

She beamed, clearly charmed. “Oh, Evie, don’t be rude. Come say hi.”

I stiffened.

No, no, no.

Before I could react, a sales associate approached her, something about additional dress fittings, and just like that, she was distracted.

Which meant… I was alone with Ryder.

He didn’t move. He just stood there, looking at me with that cocky little tilt of his head.

I swallowed. “Aren’t you leaving?”

He grinned. “Oh, sweetheart, you want me gone so early?”

My stomach flipped at the pet name.

“Don’t call me that,” I muttered, standing up and crossing my arms.

His smirk deepened. “Would you prefer something else? Princess? Baby? Kitten?”

“Jesus Christ,” I hissed, glaring at him. “Why are you even here?”

He leaned lazily against one of the bridal shop’s white marble pillars, his hands in his pockets. “Dropping off some things for your mum. I knew she would be here and since I was close by, I thought why not. She’s surprisingly easy to like.”

My eyebrow twitched. “Unlike me? Because clearly you don't seem to just…like me.”

He grinned. “You’re different.”

I rolled my eyes. “You should be upset, you know. Your dad is marrying someone else, and Riley is losing her mind over it. Shouldn’t you be throwing a fit too?”

He chuckled, amused. “Riley has her reasons.”

“And you?”

“I don’t let things I can’t control bother me.”

I scoffed. “Right. Because you’re so emotionally stable.”

He stepped closer. “Oh? You’ve been studying me now, Evie?”

I clenched my jaw. “You wish.”

He leaned in, his voice low. “I don’t have to wish. I know you do.”

I stepped back, heat creeping up my neck. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He just smiled, watching me with that unreadable gaze. “Maybe.”

I exhaled, rubbing my temple. “You’re exhausting.”

“Likewise, sweetheart.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He cocked his head. “What’s this exactly?”

“This weird little thing you’re doing,” I said, gesturing between us.

He smirked, taking another step forward. I could feel the heat radiating off him. “I don’t know, Evie. I think you’re the one making this a thing.”

My mouth opened—then shut.

I hated how he did that.

“I should get back to my mum,” I muttered, turning away.

His fingers brushed my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. My breath hitched.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just past my ear. “I want to touch you so badly,” he murmured. “But I think I’ll leave the best for last.”

Every nerve in my body lit up.

I stayed frozen as he pulled back, his smirk widening at my expression.

Then, like it was nothing, he stepped back. “Bye, Evie.” He turned toward the front, calling over his shoulder, “Tell your mum I said bye.”

And just like that, he was gone.

I stood there, heart hammering in my chest, my legs weak.

I needed a drink.

A waiter passed by, a tray of champagne flutes balanced effortlessly on his hand. Without thinking, I grabbed one, bringing it to my lips as I exhaled sharply. The cool, bubbly liquid did nothing to calm the fire Ryder had left simmering under my skin.

I stared at the door he had just walked out of, my thoughts spiraling.

I hated him.

I hated how he got under my skin, how his words sat in my head long after he left. How my body reacted to him like he had some kind of gravitational pull.

How I wanted him and how I keep on thinking about that first night. Not just that, about all the nights I masturbated to the idea of him fucking me from behind and many other positions. 

And now he is right here, close by and I can't just give in. 

I groaned. 

I took another sip.

“Where’s Ryder?”

Mum’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I turned to see her walking toward me, her dress still draped perfectly over her figure.

“Gone,” I muttered, setting my empty glass on a nearby table.

She clicked her tongue. “Shame. He’s such a sweet boy.”

I choked. Sweet? Ryder? The same Ryder who whispered the filthiest things in my ear like he was testing my self-control?

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Sweet.”

Mum tilted her head, clearly seeing through my sarcasm but choosing to ignore it. “Anyway, enough about boys. We have dresses to choose.”

—

The next two hours were filled with silk, lace, and the kind of obnoxious enthusiasm that only bridal stores could create.

Mum was glowing through every fitting, twirling in front of the mirrors as consultants pinned and adjusted every possible detail.

I mostly just nodded and gave vague approvals, my mind still on him.

By the time we were in the car, heading home, my exhaustion had finally settled in.

Mum was flipping through her phone, probably texting about the wedding, when I finally spoke.

“Why doesn’t Ryder hate you?”

She glanced up, confused. “What?”

“Riley despises you,” I said, stretching my legs out. “You’d think Ryder would too. But he doesn’t.”

Mum sighed, locking her phone and settling back against the seat. “Because Riley and Ryder… are very different.”

“No shit,” I muttered.

She gave me a look before continuing. “Riley takes after her mother. Very emotional. She sees the world in black and white. Or maybe green because they are both bitter witches. Ryder, on the other hand… he’s learned to adapt.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

Mum hesitated, then exhaled. “Their mother wasn’t… the easiest person to live with.”

I turned fully toward her. “How bad are we talking?”

She drummed her nails against the leather seat, thinking. “She loved Riley. Adored her. Riley was her little princess, the perfect daughter. But Ryder? He was… a disappointment.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“Because he wasn’t hers in the same way Riley was.”

My chest tightened.

Mum continued. “Ryder was Alexander’s heir. The boy. The one who would carry on the Caldwell legacy. And for Serena, that meant he wasn’t just her son—he was Alexander’s son first. He belonged to the business, the legacy, the image. He wasn’t allowed to be just a boy. He had to be perfect.”

I stayed quiet, my mind piecing things together.

“She was harsh on him,” Mum admitted. “Strict. Controlling. And Alexander… well, he didn’t step in the way he should have. By the time he did, Ryder had already learned how to survive on his own.”

I swallowed. “So that’s why he’s… the way he is?”

Mum nodded. “He learned to be charming, likable. He can make people love him in seconds. But he doesn’t let anyone in. He keeps everyone at surface level. Even his relationship with me is just at surface level. He is nice and sweet but we don't go to the demons he keeps hidden.”

I exhaled, leaning back against the seat, my mind spinning.

He wasn’t just cocky. He wasn’t just sarcastic.

He was protecting himself.

A defensive mechanism.

“He’s trying to be…” I trailed off, the words coming to me slowly.

“…A perfect man.”

Mum didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to.

We both knew it was true.