Evangeline

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"Exclusive," the headline reads, "Inside Jude Henry and Evangeline Ryder's whirlwind romance."

I massage my temples, trying to ward off the hangover from hell while scrolling through one of the hundreds of articles about the kiss. "According to close insiders, the pair have been getting cozy for months, with Jude Henry supporting Evangeline in the lead up to her father's explosive tax evasion trial, which has been scheduled for the end of this month."

There are several more articles just like it, each with their own take on how long Jude and I have been together, ranging from rumors of marriage to speculations about pregnancy sparked by an unflattering angle of me in my dress last night.

I push aside the croissant I'd been snacking on and type my father's name into a search engine. While the first few results are about his trial date, the rest of them are focused on me and Jude. Lilith's Crisis Management team strikes again.

I should feel relieved that we've managed to draw some of the focus off my father so close to his trial, but as I scroll through more pictures of Jude and me, I start to feel sick, remembering the taste of cigarette on my tongue from his kiss. I'm used to my mother and Lilith scheming ways to protect my reputation, but this time, with Jude, felt different.

I felt cheap.

Luckily, that's about all I remember from last night. The rest is hazy after that final glass of champagne, but somehow, Gabe got me home safely and into my bed, for which I'm both thankful and horrified. What if I made a fool of myself?

Remembering there's a way to find out, I open the security app on my phone and review the footage from last night. It shows Gabe carrying me bridal-style out of the car and into the house, all the way up the stairs, with my arms around his neck and my face nestled against his side.

I swallow hard as he disappears into my bedroom, one of the few places without cameras, but I don't need the footage. I remember now, the memories fragmented, sharp-edged yet soft. He laid me on the bed, took off my shoes, and tucked me in tightly, as someone might do if they genuinely cared, and then I drifted off to sleep.

A strange warmth shoots through my stomach, different from the fire I've felt between my thighs before. It's his job to ensure my safety, I remind myself, but deep down, a tiny part of me wishes it weren't. That he wanted to.

Of course he didn't want to. He probably thinks I'm a manipulative bitch, and maybe he's right. If I were a better person, I'd tell my mother I wasn't going through with this anymore, that my morals weren't worth jeopardizing to protect us from a scandal, but I'm not.

I set down my phone, close my eyes briefly, then head to the gym to release my frustrations on the treadmill. I'm drained, not just from the workout, but because thoughts of my stalker keep me up every night, and the past few weeks have been relentless.

Still, I keep running, pushing through the discomfort. The image of me looking pregnant in the headlines is etched firmly in my mind. No matter how hard I try to ignore what people say, those words find a way of branding themselves on my skin, mine to carry forever.

Kat comes over around ten to help me get ready for today's latest appearance: a charity fundraiser. It's the only big event we can fit in before my father's trial starts, and it's crucial for making a strong impression. Star-studded and exclusive, Lilith insists it's important for networking and showing the public my charitable side before the chaos starts.

"You didn't look fat," Kat assures me as I finish telling her about last night, adjusting my Red Light Therapy mask. "You looked absolutely amazing. But that kiss..." She pauses to fasten the clip at the side of my face, scrunching her nose. "That looked sloppy. Was it sloppy?"

"Yeah," I say, shivering as I recall Jude's hand slipping to my ass. Part of me hoped I'd feel something for him, even just a small spark, to convince myself it wasn't purely for publicity. But there was nothing. No spark, no butterflies, no desire to rip his clothes off and have him throw me onto a bed. In fact, the only person I can imagine doing that is the one person I can't have. "The whole night felt awkward and uncomfortable, and that was before he tried to get me to take some ecstasy. Something tells me he's never going to want to talk to me again."

"Back up. Ecstasy?" She pulls back slightly to switch on the mask, casting a bright red glow over my face and eyes. "God, we haven't done that in forever. Did you take it?"

"Of course not," I say, scooping the hairbrush off the vanity and handing it over to her. I turn back around to face myself in the mirror, letting her run the brush through my long hair. "Gabe came along and saved me at the last second. It was like he knew I was in trouble without me even having to do anything."

Kat gives me what I call "the look," the one she gives when she thinks she knows something about me that I don't, like who I like or don't like.

"Don't give me that look," I say. "He's just my bodyguard, that's all."

"Stu's your bodyguard too," she says, "but I never see you get flustered or talk about him like this."

I shoot her a narrowed look, cautioning her that she's on thin ice. "Let's talk about you and Alexandra instead," I say pointedly. "You've been spending an awful lot of time together recently. I'm starting to feel like I no longer have a PA."

Kat flashes a devilish smile. Alexandra is the beautiful woman she met at The White Arrow, and the pair have been hooking up ever since. I swear, I have no idea how she moves so fast with people she barely knows. That could never be me.

"She gives the best head I've ever had."

I pick up a pillow and throw it at her, caught off guard. "I did not need to know that."

"What?" she says, grinning. "I'm sorry, but she did. Think of the best head you've ever had and then times that by like 100."

My cheeks warm more than usual under my mask. While Kat and I have talked about sex many times before, it's not like we've ever gone into specific detail about what the other has done, which is why she's so surprised when I say, "I've never done that."

Her face falls as if I've just delivered devastating news. "Not even with Kael?" she asks. "You were with him longer than anyone else."

I shrug, relieved when the red light turns off and I can remove the mask from my face, giving me a moment of distraction.

"We just didn't do stuff like that," I say, standing up. "He didn't want to, and I respected that."

She starts using my brush to brush her own hair, clearly still in shock. "Eva, that is horrifying... Do you think Gabe is the type?"

The doorbell rings, and I swear, I've never been so relieved to see my hair and makeup team. I do not need to be thinking about Gabe right now.

I spend the rest of the morning being tweezed and polished until I'm finally helped into my dress. It's stunning—custom-made, an olive green, long floaty dress that strikes the perfect balance between summery and sexy for a daytime fundraiser. The plunging neckline at the front contrasts with the delicate lace detailing at the back, revealing most of my back.

After helping me pick from a selection of heels, Kat retreats upstairs to work in the office. I think my mother and the team have her running ragged right now, but I'm grateful she's there to deal with it all on my behalf.

By the time I make it downstairs, Stu is waiting for me in the kitchen. He stands when I enter, grinning at me like a proud father sending his daughter off to prom. Not that I'd know much about that. My father was busy cheating with a hooker the night of my prom, and my mom was busy knocking down hotel room doors to catch him. I left in the limo with my then-boyfriend, Axel, and returned at three in the morning to find the house still empty.

"You look beautiful, Eva," he says, pulling me into a protective hug, "though that split is a bit daring."

I pull back, appreciating him playing up the fatherly role today; I need it. "Where's Gabe?"

Stu frowns at the patio. "He's out there, doing who knows what. Never keeps me informed."

Stu's distrust is not unexpected, considering his cautious nature. As a private contractor, he doesn't have the backing of a big company like GSS and relies on Gabe to keep him updated, only he doesn't, because I made him promise to keep this stalker business a secret.

I focus on Gabe, who's leaning on the railing and staring down at the mountainside. I know what he's doing. He's thinking about the night of the break-in, calculating how they could have accessed the balcony and how quickly it would have taken them. For some reason, seeing him in protective mode makes my heart flip.

"Alright, I'm going to do a last sweep of the house before we leave," Stu says, disappearing into the hallway.

Gabe enters from outside and takes the stool across from mine in the kitchen. He doesn't say anything at first, just stares at me for several seconds, probably recalling my antics from last night. With a slight twitch of his mouth, he asks, "Hangover?"

"No," I say, pretending to check my phone, "I can handle my liquor." Another lie, but every time Gabe has to rescue me, it feels like he's chipping away at my independence.

"It didn't seem that way to me." His eyebrow raises. "If I recall, you needed my help."

"If I recall, it seemed like you just wanted an excuse to touch me."

His eyes flash. "No excuses needed, Piccola."

Stu's heavy footsteps on the marble floor startles me. He enters the room, eyeing both of us suspiciously as I step back from Gabe, realizing we're standing closer than we should be. "Car's here."

Gabe leisurely pushes himself off the counter and walks past Stu, who watches him leave. I follow, my heart still pounding the way it always does when Gabe's around me.

Show time.

***

Cameras flash as the car stops outside the event. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the onslaught of questions I'm about to face.

Beside me, Gabe scans the area outside the window while Stu does the same from the front. They've already assessed the hotel entrance, measured the distance needed to get there, and identified a nearby alley as a backup plan.

Gabe's eyes darken as he gives me a once-over. "You don't want to be here."

It's not a question. Somehow, he's becoming attuned to reading my every expression, and I hate that he thinks he knows me so well. Meanwhile, I hardly know him at all.

I pull out my compact, fixing an imaginary flaw on my cheek before running my finger over my lipgloss. "No, but I have to. Skipping this fundraiser isn't an option."

"You can donate whether you're here or not."

"It's not about donating." I risk a glance at him in the mirror. "This is an exclusive event that I can't afford to pass up. Too many important people will be there."

"I thought this was about charity." Gabe's voice is flat in my ear. He looks mad, but it's more than that. He's disappointed. And if I'm being honest with myself, that hurts me more than anything.

"It is," I say, snapping my compact shut and tucking it into my purse. I don't like his tone. "It's also about networking. Plus, it's good for the press to see me involved in community efforts." I'm repeating my mother and Lilith almost verbatim, but coming from my own mouth, I realize how callous and calculating it sounds.

"I should have known," Gabe says, his voice low with disdain. He looks over now, his face so close that I can feel his hot breath bouncing off my skin. My heart flips; it's sickening how I can still want him even during the times I hate him most. "Anything to control the narrative, right?"

His eyes are so dark, they send a chill down my spine. I can read every cutting thought on his expression—the disdain for me and my choices—and I can't blame him. I'm not angry at him for being wrong about me; I'm angry because he's right.

"You have no right to judge me." My voice is low, making sure Stu won't overhear and step in. If he knew Gabe had upset me, he'd be giving Gabe an earful right now. "Your family secrets aren't about to be exposed in a courtroom, scrutinized by the whole world. You might not agree with how we handle things, but we have to do whatever we can now to minimize the fallout."

"Listen to yourself," Gabe says. "Your mother and her team have you running all over the place without giving a second thought to what you want."

"It doesn't matter if this is what I want," I say, glaring at him. "This is about protecting the people I love from another one of my father's scandals."

"Yeah?" He leans forward, his voice somehow hard and like liquid. "Let me ask you something, Principessa. While you're busy protecting everyone else, who's protecting you?"

You, I think before immediately regretting it. Gabe isn't here to protect me, not really. He's here for a paycheck, and I'll be damned if I let myself forget it.

"Hotel security is clearing the immediate area," Stu suddenly says from the front, looking over his shoulder. "Get ready."

Outside, hotel security push back the crowd of paparazzi. There are more of them now, especially after my date with Jude and the leak of the trial date. The countdown has started, and with the day my father steps into court approaching, everyone is waiting for all the juicy secrets. How we act now, how the media perceives us, will determine how far we fall from grace.

Gabe steps out first, offering me his hand. Ignoring it, I swing my legs around, careful not to flash my underwear, and let Stu help me onto the street. The photographers swarm, shouting questions. Behind them, a press pit is filled with reporters and cameramen from various news outlets.

Stu takes the lead, clearing a path while Gabe holds me close, his fingers lightly brushing my bare back through my strappy dress. Despite our argument, I lean into his side, trusting his instincts.

The paps push and shove as we head toward the entrance, barely restrained by the hotel's security as Gabe guides through the narrow gap between them. It's a glimpse of what awaits us when the trial begins—a storm of chaos. Paparazzi, the public, stalkers—they're closing in from all sides, suffocating me.

I smile as a few of the older paparazzi leer at me, asking me to pose. It's nothing new, the same way they've looked at me since I developed breasts at fourteen, only now it's more overt.

Gabe stares at them with an expression that could burn down buildings. While one or two of them tone it down, the rest know he can't do anything without risking a massive lawsuit.

"Evangeline," a reporter calls out, "you look beautiful. Who are you wearing tonight?"

"Thank you, Dolce and Gabbana," I say, grateful for an easy question.

"Have you spoken to your father, Evangeline? Do you have anything to comment about the situation?"

Gabe is about to shut him down when I put an arm out, smiling at the reporter who asked the question. "This is a difficult time for my family, and we're supporting each other as best we can," I say. "I have spoken to my father, and we're hopeful for a fair outcome. I appreciate everyone's understanding and respect for our privacy as we navigate through this." Then I follow Gabe and Stu into the hotel lobby, where the hotel security lead us up in an elevator to the rooftop.

The doors slide open. We emerge onto the rooftop pool overlooking all of LA. Gabe's eyes scan the sparkling water, the hundreds of guests in designer dresses, the ice sculptures, and the fairy lights woven through the foliage. For a moment, I see this place through his eyes, and I'm unsettled by what I find. The only sign that tonight is a charity event is a single, tasteful stand with a handful of influencers taking selfies next to it.

I make a beeline for a glass of champagne on a waiter's tray. I'm about to take a sip when Gabe appears behind me. "Don't eat or drink anything you didn't see being made," he warns, "and don't drink too much. I don't feel like babying you tonight." Then he heads to the sidelines with the other security.

I feel a pang of irritation as I lower my glass. Gabe's caring demeanor from last night certainly didn't last long, but why would it? I keep forgetting he dislikes me, and I'm supposed to feel the same.

Sighing, I glance across the rooftop and spot Jude chatting with a Hollywood executive by the balcony. Despite not wanting to face him after our disastrous date, I know I need to smooth things over.

I walk over, surprised when he casually puts an arm around my shoulder and grins. Is this an act because he saw how well received our kiss was? Or does he genuinely like me despite my drunken antics? It's hard to tell these days.

"There's my girl," he says, his breath heavy with alcohol. "How are you feeling after last night? I was worried."

I allow him to kiss my cheek, not buying it for a second. If he was worried, he'd have messaged. "Better now that I'm with you."

He grins before we turn to the group, engaging in small talk about food, restaurants, and the Maldives, avoiding the real reason for being here. Gabe is right––we're not exactly saints.

Distracted by my phone's beep, I pull it from my clutch and stare at the screen, already knowing what the message will be before I've read it. My legs grow weak as I scan the message.

That green dress would look better on the floor.