Jade met Cole Blaine when she was sixteen years old.
Newly debuted, barely clinging to the fragile edges of fame, she had stepped into a glittering world of flashbulbs and velvet ropes with trembling feet. But she remembered that night not because of the cameras or the crowd, but because of him.
Cole.
Her brother Justin's friend. The calm one. The kind one. A freshly minted lawyer with sharp suits and sharper eyes, who didn't speak much but somehow always knew the right thing to say. He had this quiet gravity about him. He never chased the spotlight, but it bowed toward him anyway.
She remembered standing awkwardly in her first designer gown at a music awards night, the soft gold fabric hugging her like a second skin. Everyone else had been larger than life—loud laughs, louder egos—but Cole?
He just smiled at her. Like she was enough.
"You look lovely, Jade," he had said gently, his eyes lingering just long enough to make her heart hiccup, but not long enough to mean anything more. "Like something out of a painting."
It wasn't flirtation. Not even close. It was polite admiration. Safe. Distant.
But Jade was sixteen.
And sixteen was old enough to mistake kindness for affection. Old enough to tuck compliments into the folds of her diary like pressed flowers. Old enough to fall in love with a man who called her "kid" and ruffled her hair like she was just another little sister.
Old enough to hurt.
She loved him in silence. For years.
She smiled at his jokes. She watched him with soft eyes as he passed her the mashed potatoes at family dinners. She wrote a dozen songs she never released, quiet, aching things, about boys with strong hands and sad eyes who would never love her back.
And she watched.
She watched him hold Vivien's hand.
Watched him look at her the way Jade had always wished he'd look at her. Like Vivien was the only woman in the room.
She couldn't hate Vivien, not really. Vivien was beautiful and smart and perfectly poised. She wore the kind of confidence Jade had only ever borrowed.
But it still hurt.
Especially the night of her 19th birthday. She had sung her heart out onstage, champagne glass in hand, surrounded by people who claimed to love her but didn't know a thing about her. She had hoped, just a little, just enough to be dangerous, that Cole would come alone. That maybe he'd see her. Really see her.
But he came with Vivien. Of course he did.
And Jade, in her black dress and trembling heels, smiled anyway.
She didn't plan for what happened next.
It was a night wrapped in too many lights, too many drinks, too much loneliness. She hadn't meant to linger behind. Hadn't meant to follow him when he stepped out for air. Hadn't meant to speak the words that tumbled out between ragged breaths and rain-slicked pavement.
"Justin said, Vivien broke up with you," she whispered, mascara smudging beneath her eyes. "I just want to check if you're okay."
He didn't say anything right away.
But then it happened.
One mistake. One night. A moment she couldn't take back.
She didn't know who kissed who. Didn't remember if it was his hand or hers that pulled the other closer. All she knew was the heat of his mouth and the sound of her heart breaking as dawn bled through the curtains.
When he woke up, he said it was a mistake, as he was drunk.
And no one believed her when she said it hadn't been a trap. That she hadn't meant for it to happen. That she didn't seduce him. That she wasn't trying to steal him.
Not Justin. Not Vivien. Not even Cole.
He avoided her eyes after that. Called it a mistake. Said he was drunk. Said he didn't remember.
But she remembered.
Every second.
Because she hadn't wanted to ruin anything. She just wanted to be loved.
Even if it was only for one night.