[Editing]

True to his word, Wallace arrived at my house that Saturday afternoon to pick me up for our date.

The low rumble of tires on gravel reached my ears before I saw the sleek, black car pulling up the winding driveway. 

With a slow breath, I stepped outside, settling my polished mask of politeness over every part of me. As I approached, a man in a sharp black suit stepped forward, nodding and opening the back door with practiced precision. 

"Miss Hart," he greeted, his tone clipped yet courteous.

"Thank you," I replied softly, letting a delicate smile curve my lips. As I slipped toward the open door, I spotted Wallace inside, already seated with a casual arrogance that was somehow infuriating and... well, undeniably striking. His glare met me head-on, his jaw ticking slightly as he watched my every move.

Well, someone's clearly still disgusted.

I gave him one of my best polite smiles, the kind that could both soothe and shield. But Wallace's gaze was cold and didn't smiled back. Instead, Wallace pointedly turned his head to the side, dismissing me without a word.

Lovely.

I bit back the urge to roll my eyes, taking in his posture instead. He leaned back against the plush leather seat, one foot stretched forward, arms draped casually across the backrest. He was manspreading, something that normally irritates me to no end. But for some reason, the sight made my thoughts stumble, just a bit. There was an energy to him, an undeniable strength that lingered in the air, and it struck me in a way I refused to acknowledge.

No. Stop it. He's not hot. He's infuriating, and the last thing I need was to get distracted by how good he looked when he's being his usual, brooding self.

I climbed into the car, keeping my face blank, turning my gaze toward the window, where the familiar shapes of the estate began to blur as we drove. Beside me, Wallace didn't so much as glance in my direction, his face turned to the opposite window, leaving the atmosphere icy and taut.

Fine. If he wanted cold and distant, I could match him step for step. This wasn't a real date anyway but an obligation, one of many in my life's carefully curated script. And between us, I'm the one who knew how to play the part.

The car slid to a halt outside the charity event venue, and I straightened, pushing all thoughts of Wallace's irritating presence to the back of my mind.

This day wasn't about him. It was about control. And I was going to make sure everything goes according to plan.

The charity event was set up at a sprawling community center surrounded by children darting around, their laughter ringing out against the understated, elegant banners that decorated the walls. Wallace's parents stood just inside the entrance, his father already angling himself toward the cameras, his face set in that crafted smile politicians mastered. High-profile guests mingled by the donation tables, already evaluating each other as much as the event itself.

I leaned closer to Wallace, my voice low. "Remember, we're here for charity."

He let out a soft scoff but didn't respond, his mouth pressed into a thin line. His reluctance was obvious, but his parents had made it clear that he was here for appearances.

When we approached his parents, Thomas' face shifted to a warm, practiced smile. 

"Ah, Desiree, so glad you could make it." 

I returned the polite smile as I leaned in to kiss Margaret on the cheek.

"Happy to help, Thomas," I replied, "My mother sends her apologies for not attending in person."

Thomas dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand, his attention quickly shifting to Wallace, his warm tone turning frosty. 

"And Wallace, couldn't you have dressed more formally?" His gaze flicked over Wallace's outfit with a subtle disapproval.

Wallace's lips twitched in a barely suppressed sneer, his gaze already sweeping the room as if searching for an exit.

But his father's attention soon drifted as more guests arrived, a group of formally dressed people tugging him away.

When Thomas and Margaret left, I nudged Wallace, keeping my voice low and clipped. "Shall we?"

"Sure," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Let's go pretend to fucking care."

I shot him a warning look, but he barely noticed, already retreating into his sullen silence. The dissonance between his body's presence and his spirit's absence was frustratingly palpable. Still, we made our way to the designated table, where our role in the event would begin.

The hours passed in a blur of interactions. As I helped hand out the donated goods of food, toys, and fresh clothes to children and their parents, I greeted each person with practiced ease, slipping effortlessly between compliments and lighthearted banter. The mask I wore was flawless, gliding through my mother's lessons as easily as breathing. Wallace, to my surprise, was quiet, watching with a faint frown as I worked the room.

"You're quite good at this," he murmured eventually, his tone almost begrudging.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, seeing a trace of something softer beneath his guarded expression. 

"It's called influence," I said quietly. "You might want to learn it."

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation passing over his face, but I turned my attention back to the next child waiting for a toy.

The event continued, each child who approached tugging at something buried deep within me. I watched Wallace transform as well, his usual brooding expression softening as a small boy tugged his hand, inviting him into a game of tag. The tension in his shoulders eased, and the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips as he played along, even laughing at the children's antics. It was a rare, disarming sight.

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Later, as the donation line wound down, I excused myself to the restroom to freshen up. The quiet of the restroom was short-lived as the sound of a heated argument echoed through the tiled walls, drawing my attention. I froze as Margaret's tearful voice filled the room, her words breaking against the hard silence.

"You promised, Thomas," she said, her voice thick with betrayal. "After everything. After I forgave you..."

Thomas's reply was cold, dismissive. "Now is not the time. You're going to ruin everything."

"I loved you and stayed faithful to you—when! When did you start sleeping with that woman?!"

"Margaret! Enough with this!"

Margaret's response was a choked sob, but before they could continue, I flushed the toilet, letting the sound interrupt the tense exchange. Stepping out, I caught their startled expressions. Thomas's face hardened, but he quickly regained his composure, offering a dismissive nod.

"Desiree, would you mind helping Margaret freshen up? I'll be outside."

Once he left, I took a step closer to Margaret, who was wiping away tears then offered her a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes, her smile trembling as she tried to steady herself. We exchanged a few words, but her fragile gratitude clung to me, even as I left the restroom and headed toward the auditorium, where the children prepared a series of small performances.

When I returned, the energy in the room had shifted to an expectant hush. Families settled into their seats as the stage lights dimmed. A young girl, no older than seven, stood frozen at the edge of the stage, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her fear. Adults tried to coax her forward, but her legs refused to budge.

Her fear was evident, and I recognized it instantly. Those wide eyes froze under a blinding spotlight. 

My mind flashed back to the sting of my mother's sharp words when I was just six, standing paralyzed on a stage, her cold eyes glaring at me from the audience.

Without realizing it, I was moving, closing the distance between us. I knelt beside the little girl and offered her a gentle smile. 

"Hey... it's okay. What's your name?"

She looked at me, hesitant. "Angela," she whispered.

"Angela?" I said softly. "That's a lovely name. I bet you'd be wonderful on that stage. I'd really like to hear your voice. Would you let me?"

She gave a small nod, though her eyes still held a hint of worry.

I pointed over to Wallace, standing nearby. "See that big brother over there?" I whispered playfully. "He's so bad at singing, even the frogs plug their ears!"

Angela giggled, a little of her fear slipping away. 

Then I leaned in, my voice low and secretive. "You know, he really wanted to sing better, but he thinks he's way too terrible. And now, he only has a little time left before he gives up completely."

Angela's eyes widened, glancing over at Wallace. "Oh no, really?" she whispered, concerned.

I nodded, keeping a straight face. "I was hoping someone brave might help him, show him it's not too late to try. Do you think you could?"

With a determined look, Angela grabbed my hand and marched over to Wallace, her earlier fear forgotten. Angela's small hand tightened around mine as we approached Wallace.

I saw his brows knit in confusion before he leaned down, raising an eyebrow as if to say, What did you get me into?

"Come on, big brother!" Angela exclaimed, tugging him insistently toward the stage.

Wallace shot me a look, somewhere between exasperation and amusement, but I just gave him a little shrug. He rolled his eyes but didn't pull away as Angela led him up the stage steps, leaving me standing just near it.

Around us, murmurs rippled through the audience, heads turning as they realized Wallace, the son of the same politician who thought of the charity, was about to step into the spotlight with a small girl at his side.

Angela looked up at him, her big eyes gleaming. "Do you know how to sing The Rainbow Song? My teacher sings it every morning."

Wallace bent down, his expression softening as he nodded.

"Of course," he said gently. Then he added, "You'll lead, alright? I'll be here with you." His voice was low, and calming, and the girl's cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and nerves.

The crowd settled back into their seats, anticipating what would happen next. The dim lighting cast a warm glow across the stage, illuminating Angela's small, earnest face and Wallace's tall, relaxed figure beside her. I took a step back, watching from the wings, my heart thumping with a strange warmth.

Angela began, her voice wavering as she sang the first line, "I see a rainbow in the sky. I see a rainbow way up high..."

She stumbled over the words, her gaze darting up to Wallace in panic, but he was already there, picking up the song's melody in a rich, smooth baritone.

"I see a rainbow, look with me. How many colors can you see?"

The effect was instantaneous. His voice, deep yet warm, filled the space, clear as a bell and carrying an unexpected power that drew every ear in the audience. The little girl's mouth fell open, and her eyes widened as she looked up at Wallace in awe.

For a moment, she forgot her lines completely, just staring at Wallace as he continued, "I see red, orange, yellow, green. I see blue and indigo."

He glanced down at her, giving an encouraging nod, and her face broke into a beaming smile. "And I see violet. The colors of the rainbow."

Emboldened, she joined in again, their voices blending into the simple, cheerful children's song.

"Rainbow, rainbow, rainbow, rainbow. Rainbow, rainbow, rainbow, rainbow."

He held himself back ever so slightly, letting his voice soften just enough to let Angela's voice shine, letting her take the lead whenever she found her footing. He occasionally looked down at her, nodding with exaggerated enthusiasm that earned giggles from the audience, coaxing her voice out of its timid shell.

The crowd was transfixed. Some of the younger children in the audience were already clapping along, drawn in by the warm harmony of their voices. But the adults, too, were captivated, whispers spreading through the room as they marveled at Wallace's unexpected talent.

From the corner of the room, however, I caught Thomas's stony expression of a forced politeness masking his true feelings. His barely concealed disdain for his son's performance spoke volumes, like an invisible barrier standing between Wallace and his dream.

Angela looked up at Wallace, her initial shock now transformed into admiration, and she sang with renewed confidence. The last line of the song was shared between them, their voices lifting together, "I see a rainbow, look with me. How many colors can you see?"

As the final note hung in the air, Angela's eyes sparkled with pride, and Wallace gave her a small, approving smile before they both took a bow. The crowd erupted into applause, a wave of warmth and admiration flooding the room.

At that moment, as I watched him from the shadows, the heaviness in my heart lifted, just a little. As he held Angela's hand in triumph, their faces beaming as they basked in the laughter and applause.

He caught my eye in the wings, giving me a playful, mock-scolding look, as if to say, Look what you made me do.

But the glimmer of genuine amusement that shone in his eyes made my heart feel a little lighter.

After all the performances, Angela's family approached me. Her little brother—a small, freckle-faced boy with a shock of unruly curls—stepped forward, shyly clutching something in his hands. He grinned up at me, his smile wide and unfiltered. Gently, he extended a hand, revealing a crumpled cookie shaped like a paw.

"Miss, this is for you," he whispered, his voice soft but bursting with pride.

I looked down at its clumsy, paw-shaped outline pressed into the dough and something cracked inside me but I forced myself to kneel, steadying my shaking hands enough to take the fragile gift from him.

"Thank you, sweetheart," I managed, my voice barely a murmur, barely steady.

The boy beamed, his face brightening before he skipped away, full of an innocence that left me feeling raw. I tried to hold onto that warmth, but as I looked down the cookie in my hands again, a dull ache flared, blooming into a churning pressure in my chest as memories of Coco and that stray cat surged up, unbidden and relentless. The urge to gasp, to take a full, grounding breath, clawed at my throat.

I forced myself to swallow, to hold my face steady, aware of the crowd around me. My pulse quickened, the world around me starting to blur at the edges. I steadied my hands as best I could, willing myself to keep the mask up, to keep breathing evenly. Just a few more minutes. I could hold it together for just a few more minutes.

Angela's mother approached, her eyes filled with warmth and gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Hart. Angela has always been so shy, but today, she was brave because of you."

I nodded, managing a polite smile. The smile felt strained, stretched too thin over the growing pressure building inside. Every heartbeat thundered in my ears, and each second felt like a tether pulling me further from solid ground.

Just keep it together. Just a few more minutes.

When the crowd shifted its focus as Wallace's father stepped up to begin his speech, I seized the moment, slipping away quietly from the crowd, finding refuge behind a small hedge at the side of the building.

With no one around, I finally let my mask drop. But almost immediately, it felt like a trap closing in on me. My chest tightened as if a vice had clamped down, squeezing out any semblance of calm. The weight of memories pressed against me like the fog that blanketed the grounds thick and suffocating. Coco's pawprints, those dark, curious eyes, flickered in my mind, and suddenly, I couldn't breathe.

Each inhale was shallow, the air barely scraping past my throat as I struggled to fill my lungs. My heart was pounding, rapid and relentless like it was trying to escape my chest. Nausea churned in my stomach, and an uncomfortable heat began creeping up my neck and down my arms. The world around me wavered, the hedge, and the grass, all blurring as spots of color and darkness danced in my vision. My hands trembled, uselessly clutching at my dress as though I could somehow steady myself, but even my fingers tingled, going numb.

A cold sweat broke out along my forehead, and a rushing, static sound filled my ears, muffling every distant noise, every voice, and everything but the desperate rhythm of my pulse. My skin felt tight, too hot, and too cold all at once, as if my body was misfiring in a dozen directions, each trying to pull me under.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, desperate to contain the panic clawing its way up, but it was futile. A strangled sound escaped me as the fear rose, seizing control. I was drowning in it, spiraling deeper, trapped in my own mind, and unable to stop.

"Desiree?"

The voice shattered my spiraling thoughts. I spun around, instinctively trying to hide my face. But Wallace had already seen. 

He stepped closer, his gaze softening with something I didn't want to recognize. His eyes fell to something on the ground. I followed his gaze, my stomach sinking when I saw the crumpled paw-shaped cookie lying in the grass, forgotten in my haste. He bent down, his expression unreadable as he picked it up, brushing off the dirt. 

For a brief second, I braced myself for his scorn, a cutting remark. But instead, he tucked the cookie into his back pocket, out of my sight, and looked at me.

"Desiree," he says gently, steadying me with both hands on my shoulders. "Breathe. Focus on me."

My vision blurred further, but his voice was like a tether, grounding me as I clung to his gaze. He gave me a faint, encouraging nod, and then, unexpectedly, he began to sing in a low, steady voice.

"When the night has come," he murmured, his tone gentle, soothing. "And the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we'll see."

Each word drew me a little further from the edges of my mind, and I found myself focusing on the melody, on the quiet strength in his voice. His hands remained firm on my shoulders, his eyes never leaving mine, steady and unyielding.

"Just as long as you stand... stand by me," he continued, his voice wrapping around me like warmth on a bitter night.

He coaxed me to join in, nodding as he led the song. "Now, focus on the words and sing along, okay?" His tone was gentle but insistent like he wouldn't let me slip away.

As he kept singing, "If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall..." he nudged me gently, urging me to repeat the lines. 

I struggled, the words tangling in my throat, but somehow, I managed to whisper, "I won't cry. I won't cry, no, I won't shed a tear..."

A faint smile touched his lips as I stumbled through the tune, his warmth unwavering. "Just as long as you stand... stand by me."

When I hit a particularly off note, he winced dramatically. "Jesus, you're so out of tune." he teased, and a glint of amusement flickered in his eyes.

"You... jerk," I mumbled, the irritation breaking through my haze just enough to bring me back to myself, to feel the solid ground under my feet again.

"Keep going," he said unfazed by my glare, his smirk broadening as he nudged me back into the song. "So darlin', darlin', stand by me. Oh, stand by me."

I kept singing, barely holding back an eye-roll, but as we reached the last lines, the calm settled in, grounding me fully.

"Whenever you're in trouble, won't you stand by me? Oh, stand by me. Oh, stand, stand by me, stand by me..."

Finally, we fell silent as the melody faded. For a moment, we just stood there, the peace lingering in the space between us.

I felt something close to peace, though I still glared at him for good measure.

...

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