"It is a big event, Abby," Dad sighs, adjusting his bowtie. "Maybe we should go back home—"

"Yeah, let's go home." I shrug.

Every shiny corner of this hotel reeks of class with crystal chandeliers, white stone statues, colorful flower arrangements, and hints of sandalwood in the air.

Frankly, I couldn't care less about the glam. I don't even want to be here, at the Rhode & Carter charity event tonight. If the dean hadn't begged me to accompany Dad, I'd be editing a couple of ads or even better—lying on my bed giving Rocky belly rubs. However, I'm on a mission tonight, and my job is to be Dad's antimissile, his very own bodyguard, who'll steer the conversation away the awkward compliments and personal questions... That is if we stay.

Well, I guess we won't.

I grab the long skirt of my black, satin dress and start walking away from the elevator.

"But the dean!" Dad runs after me and touches my arm before I reach the lobby. "The dean's expecting me inside, Abby."

"What do you want to do, Dad?" My arms fling open as I turn around. "I'm here for you. You decide what we're doing tonight. Do you want to go back home or stay here?"

Dad fixes his disheveled gray hair and stares over his shoulder toward the elevator hall. I can feel the battle in his head, but I can't make up his mind for him. We are here because he made the world a better place by curing an incurable disease. Dad's presence will raise awareness tonight and give hope to families who are waiting for treatment.

"We came all the way, didn't we?" he asks, finally lifting his shoulders.

"This doesn't mean that we have to stay."

Dad shoots me a shy smile, then loops my hand into his arm. "We'll stay for an hour, then head home."

Wow. Had I known that I could persuade Dad by simply agreeing with him instead of reasoning, I could have saved myself countless arguments.

I return his smile with a subtle grin, and lead him back to the elevators.

"You look beautiful," he says once the doors close.

"Thanks, Dad." I can't help but blush. It's rare to get a compliment from him. But I did put a lot of effort to look my best tonight. I went to the hair-dresser to have my hair tied in a high bun, then spent hours to accentuate my blue eyes. This black, satin dress with a deep opening in the back is brand new too.

I had spent the last month in sweatpants. It's only normal that I wanted to look hot for a change...

Okay, bullshit. I'm bullshiting.

Shoot me for it, but a part of me wants Roman to see what he can't have. I want him to understand that I'm the main woman, not a sloppy second. God, I hope I can keep it together, though. After all, Dad is the real reason I'm here tonight.

The doors chime open on the top floor, and I lead Dad toward the ballroom. My gaze immediately spots Roman among the crowd. He's standing by the archway, greeting a line of guests.

I lean on Dad's arm for a brief second.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Roman looks stunning in his tux. His skin has a healthy, bronze glow under the warm lights. His hair is cut short, freshly groomed. When he slightly turns his head toward the sound of my heels, a smirk crawls up on his lips. Then he darts a gaze my way.

My heart stops when our eyes meet. I calm my roaring soul with a gulp—but I have to gulp again when I notice the woman standing next to him. His fiancé. Tiffany.

Roman's been unfair by calling her insignificant. She seems to be the embodiment of elegance... But not with her figure because she isn't thin, nor does she have the face of an angel. It's the way she carries herself with a straight posture and a royal smile. Her blonde hair is tied into a tight bun; not a strand is out of place. The spark in her gray eyes gets colder every time she shakes a guest's hand. She examines them from head to toe once they walk past through the ballroom's doors, then turns to greet the next one.

I can't take my eyes off her as we near them. It's hard to keep a smile, even a fake one. Every muscle on my face cries in protest. The beast in my chest is wailing: 'Tiffany doesn't belong in this picture. She isn't supposed to stand next to Roman. I am.'

But the pictures in my head don't matter.

I follow Tiffany's gaze to Roman as she touches his arm and leans into his ear. She has flats under her ice-blue dress, but still, she's a few inches taller than him. Roman doesn't seem to hear what she's saying. His caramels are fixed on me. His jaw tightens more and more with each step that brings me closer to him. He pulls away from Tiffany's touch and stretches a hand to Dad when we're finally at the head of the line.

"It is an honor to have you here tonight, Dr. Shepherd. Thank you for coming," Roman says.

"Thank you for inviting me personally, Mr. Rhode." Dad glances at me to keep moving, but Roman doesn't let go of his hand.

"May I ask if you reconsidered giving a small speech?" he asks politely.

"Abby?" Dad's shaky whisper snaps me out of the trance Roman's presence has put me under.

I clear my throat and step up, giving Dad an assuring pat on the back. "Dean Pitri will be making the speech tonight."

"We know," Tiffany chirps with a hungry glow in her eyes. "But it'd mean so much if you could say a few words. Something simple, like thanking the Rhode and Carter families for organizing this event. It's good for PR."

I glare at her. Elegance my ass. Now I see why Roman called her insignificant. She only sees us as promotion material.

"You'll have to run your PR campaign elsewhere," I say. "Dr. Shepherd has dedicated his life to this research. He is here for a good cause."

"But it's mutual interest—" she persists.

I shake my head and cut her off. "Thank you, Miss Carter. And thank you, Roman, for having us. I doubt we'll stay long enough for speeches. Dad has to be back at the university early in the morning."

Tiffany balls her fists and forces a plastic smile.

Roman nods and takes my hand. His touch rocks my world. My knees start to tremble. My vision blurs. All I can see is ashes and flames around his torn edges.

"Thank you, for coming here tonight, Abigail." Roman's deep tone sends shivers down my spine. His thumb is caressing my knuckles. He runs his tongue over his lips, then raises my hand to his face. His breath lingers on my skin for a second, and I swear, I hear fire or something magical flickering in the air. The world holds its breath while I'm waiting for—dying for contact.

Roman lowers his head, and finally, lands a soft kiss at the base of my fingers. I'm hot all over and about to faint. Why am I so weak when it comes to him?

Roman pulls his face an inch away, tastes his lips then kisses my hand again, harder.

My chest rises, but air fails to fill my lungs. Heat rashes prickle up my neck and reach my cheeks.

"I'm glad I gave you perspective," Roman says against my skin, capturing my eyes. His dark soul is blazing, whipping those flaming fibers through his caramels to connect with me in that dark universe within us.

I pull my hand back, shut my eyes, and shake my head.

This isn't real. We aren't made of fibers, flames or stars. I can't spiral back, no matter how painful it is to stay away from him. He is with someone else, and she's standing next to Roman, clenching on his arm, openly eyeing me up and down.

I want to blame Tiffany for stealing what's mine. I want to hate her with my entire existence. But I can't. Because even though it feels like Tiffany is the third wheel, I'm the one who doesn't belong in her picture. I'm the one who fell in love with her fiancé, and the one who slept with him.

I'm the only one to blame.

But people can change, right? People grow. Acceptance is a crucial part of moving forward, and I want to believe that change is possible for me too.

Now, as I'm standing before Roman and Tiffany, trying hard not to burst into tears, I keep telling myself that I only need to get through tonight. I can deal with my guilty conscience later.

"I'm here for my dad," I blurt out, getting into Dad's arm. "Excuse us." Then, averting my gaze, I pull Dad in through the doors.

The fresh air inside the giant ballroom gives me a moment to breathe. My hand is ice cold, but Dad doesn't notice it. The lively atmosphere, people's chattering, and jazz tunes in the background slowly pull me back to earth from that unholy place I've just been to.

Letting out a sigh, I scan the crowd.

And then I see him. The knot in my chest finally loosens. A smile spreads across my face.

Nate is standing beside a column, talking to an elderly couple. When he notices me among the guests, his green eyes light up. He shakes the couple's hands, then starts making his way to us with his signature, crooked smile.