Chapter 1
Noelle
Tonight is supposed to be perfect.
The kind of perfect you build in your head for years.
Pinterest boards. Subway daydreams. Practicing your smile in the bathroom mirror.
Instead, my Spanx are cutting me in half, and my almost-fiancé hasn’t looked up from his phone in twenty minutes.
I stand just inside the ballroom of the Donovan Hotel, trying not to look like I snuck in through the service entrance.
The place is ridiculous.
Crystal chandeliers wrapped in garlands.
A Christmas tree that practically touches the ceiling, dripping with gold ornaments.
Wreaths the size of car tires.
Champagne everywhere.
People who belong here glide across the marble. Women in gowns that probably need their own insurance policy. Men in suits that fit like sin.
And then there’s me.
I smooth a hand over my thrift-store dress and pretend I do not feel like an imposter.
“Noelle, stop fidgeting.” Jason doesn’t look up. He tucks his phone away with a sigh, like I’m already exhausting him. “You’re wrinkling the fabric.”
“I’m nervous,” I say, forcing a little laugh. “You said your boss might be here. I don’t exactly live in five-star ballrooms, Jase.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek. It’s quick. Light. Automatic.
“You look great,” he says, like he’s reading it off a teleprompter. “Just remember what we talked about, okay? Smile, keep the champagne in your right hand, don’t overshare. Let them see you’re stable.”
Stable.
Not smart. Not funny. Not the love of his life.
Stable.
A tiny voice inside my chest bristles. I shut it down. I have too much riding on tonight to start a fight.
“You’re the one who wanted them to meet me,” I remind him. “The famous girlfriend who makes you look like a responsible adult.”
“Exactly.” His eyes slide past me, already scanning the crowd. “If this goes well, Richard might bump me up to client manager on the Donovan account. That’s double commission. Promotions. More travel. More…”
“Money,” I say.
He grins. “See? You get it.”
I do get it.
Money means no more choosing between rent and Mom’s meds.
Money means maybe finally buying the tiny engagement ring I’ve had saved in a secret cart for months.
Money means a future that doesn’t feel like it’s held together with duct tape and prayer.
My fingers drift to the bare spot on my left hand.
Jason follows my gaze. The corner of his mouth quirks. “Patience. Big things are coming, remember?”
He said that last Christmas, too.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Right. Big things.”
A server floats past with a tray of champagne. Jason snags two glasses and hands one to me without really looking. I take a careful sip, so I don’t smear my lipstick.
“Okay,” he says, gaze zeroing in on a cluster of suits near the bar. “I’m going to go say hi, warm things up.”
“Shouldn’t I come with you?” I ask.
He’s already half turned away. “You’ll just be bored. Mingle. Eat. I’ll grab you when it’s time.”
When it’s time.
For what, exactly?
For him to introduce me as the woman he’s going to marry?
For him to stand beside me and say, this is Noelle, she’s my person?
Hope flares in my chest, bright and stupid.
I watch him disappear into the crowd. That easy laugh of his floats back to me. Other people turn toward him, drawn in. That used to make me proud.
Now it makes my stomach twist.
I do what he said, at first. I drift around the edges of conversations, nodding politely when people look my way like I might be staff. I nibble something on a tiny cracker and have no idea what I just ate. I send my mom a picture of the tree.
It’s gorgeous. Might finally be our year, I type.
I hit send before I can take it back.
Time slides. The jazz band moves to something slower. Couples step out onto the dance floor. The lights dim a little.
Jason still doesn’t come back.
Every time I catch a glimpse of him, he’s laughing with someone else. A group of men in suits. A blonde in a red dress with perfect hair. A server with a tray.
Never me.
Jealousy is not a good color on me. I wear it anyway.
After a while, I escape to the restroom. I check my lipstick, fix my eyeliner, rehearse my practiced smile in the mirror.
You are fine, I tell my reflection. Tonight is important. Don’t ruin it.
When I come back, Jason is gone from the place I last saw him.
I hover by the bar, feeling more and more like the extra chair at a crowded table that nobody needs. The bartender finally takes pity on me when I ask if he’s seen Jason.
“Checked coat, dark blue suit?” I say.
The guy nods toward a side hallway. “Saw him go that way. With some of the team.”
“Thanks.”
My heels click on marble as I follow the direction he pointed. The farther I walk down the hall, the quieter it gets. The music fades into a muffled pulse behind me. Soft wall sconces replace the chandeliers.
Closed doors line both sides.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid. Jason is probably in some kind of pre-meeting. A strategy thing. A grown-up business conversation that I’d yawn through.
Then I hear it.
A breathy laugh.
Low male chuckling.
The wet, unmistakable sound of mouths on mouths.
I stop outside a door that’s mostly shut. My heart slams against my ribs.
“Jason, stop,” a woman giggles. “Someone could see.”
“Relax,” Jason’s voice answers. It’s warm, amused. Familiar in a way that makes my skin go cold. “Everyone’s drunk. And my girlfriend is in there working on her third glass by now. She’s not exactly a threat.”
Girlfriend.
That’s me. I’m the girlfriend.
For a second, my body forgets how to move. My brain chants walk away walk away walk away.
My hand is already on the doorknob.
I push.
The office is lit by a single lamp on the desk. Jason is pressed against the wall, his tie yanked loose. One hand is braced over the blonde from the bar. His other hand is under her dress.
His mouth is on hers.
Her lipstick is smeared across his face.
He jerks away when the door swings open. “Noelle—”
The rest of it never gets out.
Something in me goes quiet. Not screaming. Not sobbing. Just…quiet.
The blonde squeaks and straightens up, tugging her dress down. “Oh my God. I, um, I should—”
She bolts past me, perfume stinging my nose. Then it’s just me and Jason and the echo of everything I thought we were.
“How long?” I ask.
My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s thin and flat and alien.
Jason drags a hand through his hair, smearing the lipstick more. His eyes won’t quite meet mine.
“Noelle, come on. Don’t be dramatic. It was just—”
“How long.”
He blows out a breath, frustrated. “A few months. It’s not serious.”
A laugh scrapes out of me, sharp and ugly. “Only a few months. Great. That makes this so much better.”
He steps toward me like he can smooth this over. Like this is a bump, not a cliff.
“Noelle, listen,” he says. “You know how stressed I’ve been. This job, the pressure… sometimes I just need release. You and I, we’re solid. You’re good for me. But you can be… a lot.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “A lot.”
“Clingy,” he says, winces. “You worry too much. Always going on about money, about the future, about rings. The energy is… intense. Guys need space, okay?”
There it is.
The floor gives out under me.
Everything I’ve done. Every late night. Every bill I juggled so he could focus on his dream. Every time I swallowed my anxiety because he needed me to be “chill” before a meeting.
“Clingy,” I repeat.
His jaw tightens. “That’s not what I meant. Look, it’s done, okay? We can talk about boundaries. You and I are still good for now.”
Good for now.
Like a trial plan. Like a subscription, he can cancel when something better comes along.
Something inside my chest snaps.
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
Relief flickers in his eyes, like he thinks I’m backing down. “Good. Let’s just forget this, go back out there, and—”
“I’m done, Jason.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I’m done,” I say again, clearer this time. “With this. With you. With being good for now.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I step back into the hallway. The air feels different out here. Colder. Clearer.
“Have a nice life,” I tell him.
“Noelle, be serious,” he snaps, following. “You’re not going to blow this up over one mistake. Think about what you’re throwing away. We’re about to move up. Together. You walk out now, what do you have?”
Me.
I have me.
Not much. But suddenly it feels like the only thing that’s actually mine.
“I guess I’ll find out,” I say.
Then I turn and walk.
He calls my name once, twice. I don’t stop.
By the time I hit the lobby, my vision is blurring. The giant tree swims. The lights smear into streaks of gold.
I don’t stop for my coat. Or my clutch. Or the little voice that says you are going to regret this.
I push through the revolving doors and stumble out into the night.
Cold slams into me. The kind that bites through thin fabric, straight to bone. Snow whirls under the streetlights, soft and pretty and completely at odds with the train wreck inside my chest.
My heel lands on something slick.
Ice.
My ankle twists. The world tilts.
Marble. Sky. Lights. Snow.
For one horrible second, I know I’m going to fall.
A hand closes around my arm, strong and warm, yanking me back from the edge.
I crash into a wall of expensive wool, hard muscle underneath. A deep voice curses quietly above me.
“Easy,” he says, steadying me. His fingers tighten on my elbow. “Got you.”
I look up.
Storm-grey eyes look back.
They’re sharp. Cool. Framed by lashes that are too perfect for a man. His jaw is all hard lines and angles. Snow dusts his dark hair like powdered sugar.
He looks like a winter advertisement for something I can’t afford. Watches. Whiskey. Regret.
“I’m fine,” I lie. My voice shakes. “Totally okay. Love almost breaking my neck in front of strangers. Very festive.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. Not quite a smile. Something smaller. More dangerous.
“Rough night?” he asks.
“You have no idea.”
His gaze drops for half a second, taking in the smeared mascara, the bare arms, the dress that suddenly feels too tight, too cheap, too everything.
His eyes flick back to mine. Darker now. More focused.
“Come back inside,” he says. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m angry,” I say. “And I don’t belong in there anymore.”
His brows knit. “Who decided that?”
The answer is obvious. Jason. His big-shot boss. Everyone in that glittering room.
I shrug, even though my throat burns. “It’s fine. I’ll just go home, find a vat of ice cream, maybe scream into a pillow.”
“The mascara,” he says quietly, tapping his own cheekbone where mine is streaked. “That doesn’t look fine.”
Mortification rushes over me.
I scrub at my face with the heel of my hand. “Great. Love that for me.”
The wind picks up. Snowflakes stick to my hair, my eyelashes. I shiver for real this time.
He notices. Of course he does.
“Come on,” he says. His tone softens, and that somehow feels more dangerous than the cool version. “At least let me buy you a drink that isn’t going to freeze your lungs.”
I should say no.
No to strange men who look like they come with NDAs.
No to any more mistakes tonight.
No to stepping back into the hotel I just fled like my dress was on fire.
But when I look through the glass at the ballroom, I see Jason’s silhouette, head tilted back in a laugh, like nothing happened. Like I never existed at all.
Recklessness rises in me like a tide.
“Just one,” I hear myself say.
His mouth curves, and this time it is a smile.
“One drink,” he agrees.
He holds the door open. Warmth spills out around us, scented with cinnamon, champagne, and expensive decisions.
I step back inside, into the lion’s den.
Into the orbit of the stranger who just caught me.
I don’t know it yet, but this is the moment my whole life tilts.
