Kitty Hale had been head-over-heels for Victor Roman since she was nineteen. She could pinpoint the exact second it started, a charity polo match out in the Hamptons, three summers ago. She'd worn a white sundress, her hair just so, and when Victor strode past her on his way to the champagne tent, he'd flashed her a smile. Not the practiced, camera-ready one, but something softer. Something that almost felt real.
Or maybe she just wanted to believe it was.
Now, at twenty-two, Kitty was perched cross-legged on her bed in her family's Upper East Side townhouse, her phone pressed tight to her ear as Charlotte's familiar voice fizzed through the speaker.
"I'm telling you, Char, he's going to propose soon. I just know it."
Charlotte, sounding like someone who'd been dragged through this conversation one too many times, sighed. "Kitty, has he actually said anything? Anything about wanting a future with you?"
Kitty wound a bit of hair around her finger, eyes drifting to the framed photo on her nightstand—Victor at last year's Met Gala, all tuxedoed and laughing, caught by some society photographer. She'd printed it out and stuck it in a frame, like some lovesick teenager.
"He doesn't need to spell it out," Kitty insisted. "It's the way he looks at me at parties, the way he always carves out time to talk to me. At the Whitney benefit last month? He spent twenty minutes asking about my life. Twenty, Char."
"Babe, that's just called good manners."
"No, it's more than that. I swear." Kitty's voice went up a notch. "Even my mom says he's perfect for me. Old family, new money, the whole package. And he's brilliant. He turned his first million into a billion before he was thirty. He's going to do big things."
Charlotte's sigh was audible. "But has he actually asked you out? Like, for a real date?"
Kitty hesitated. "We've had coffee a couple times."
"Kitty, coffee isn't a date. Coffee is what you do with your tax guy."
"You don't get it. Victor's not like other guys. He's careful, he thinks things through. He doesn't just leap in." Kitty dropped back onto her pillows, staring at the ceiling. "But the way he looks at me, it's like I'm special. Like I'm worth waiting for."
"Or maybe you're just a nice girl from a good family who happens to be at the same events."
"Charlotte!"
"Someone has to give you a reality check. You've been mooning over him for three years. He's never actually made a move. Maybe he's just not interested, Kitty."
Kitty's chest clenched. "He is. He's just waiting for the right time. Guys like Victor, they plan everything. And when he's ready, I'll be there."
Charlotte was quiet for a beat. "Okay. I hope you're right. Really. But promise me you'll keep your options open? There are plenty of guys out there who'd be lucky to have you."
"I don't care about other guys. I want him."
They wrapped up the call and Kitty tossed her phone aside. She knew Charlotte meant well, but she just didn't get it. Not really. Charlotte had never had this kind of certainty, this bone-deep feeling that someone was meant for you.
Kitty picked up her phone again, scrolling through Instagram—past brunch snaps, engagement rings, and soft-filtered sunsets, until she landed on Victor's profile. He hardly ever posted, so each photo felt like a little treasure. The latest—two weeks old, showed him on a yacht somewhere sun-soaked, shirtless, grinning like he owned the whole ocean.
Her heart squeezed. He was ridiculous. He was perfect.
She flicked over to her own profile, flipping through her posts. Were they glamorous enough? Interesting enough? She'd spent ages curating them, charity balls, art exhibits, jogs in Central Park. The kind of life Victor might want to step into.
Suddenly her phone buzzed.
Page Six: New Article
Her pulse sped up. Page Six always had the best gossip. Maybe there'd be something about Victor, something she could use as an excuse to see him.
She tapped the notification.
The headline hit her first, all caps and screaming.
"Billionaire Beauty and the Golden Playboy?"
Kitty's breath caught.
There was a photo underneath. Victor, stupidly handsome in a tux, standing way too close to a woman in a blue dress. His hand hovered near her face. The look between them was electric.
Anna Kingsley.
Kitty's vision went fuzzy. She blinked, hands shaking as she read the caption.
Anna Kingsley, wife of Wall Street powerhouse Alexander Kingsley, caught in an intimate moment with notorious venture capitalist Victor Roman at the Met Museum gala. Sources say sparks were flying. Is Manhattan's most eligible bachelor finally off the market?
No. No, no, no.
Her fingers flew as she opened Twitter. The story was everywhere, dozens of retweets, thousands of comments.
"God, the chemistry in this photo…"
"Poor Alexander."
"Victor Roman finally settling down? I'm here for it."
"They'd be gorgeous together."
Every word felt like a slap.
On Instagram, Bianca Travers had already reposted the picture, complete with fire emojis and a caption that made Kitty's stomach lurch.
When you know, you know. #ManhattanRoyalty #ForbiddenLove
The comments were even worse.
Kitty's hands shook so badly she almost dropped her phone. Tears stung her eyes.
This couldn't be real. Victor was supposed to be hers. She'd been patient, she'd done everything right.
And now some married woman, some bored, beautiful socialite—was stealing him.
A knock sounded at her door.
"Go away," she croaked.
The door opened anyway. Ethan Hale stepped in, gentle as ever. Still in his running clothes, hair damp, face flushed from the cold.
"Your mom said you were upset."
Kitty swiped at her eyes, trying to look tough. "I'm fine."
Ethan sat on the edge of the bed. He'd been around forever, practically family, steady as sunrise.
But right now, she didn't want steady. She wanted Victor.
"Did you see it?" she asked, shoving her phone at him.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Yeah, I saw."
"How could he do this? With her? She's married, Ethan. She has a kid. She's supposed to be untouchable."
"Kitty—"
"I've been waiting for him. Three years. Going to all the right places, saying all the right things. And he doesn't even see me." Her voice broke. "Why doesn't he see me?"
Ethan looked at her like it hurt. He wiped away a tear with his thumb. "Because he's an idiot."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not. Victor Roman is a genius with money and an idiot with people. He's always been that way."
"You don't get it. I love him."
"Do you? Or do you just love the idea of him?"
Kitty stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, searching for words. "You've built him up in your head. But he's just a guy, Kitty. And he's showing you who he really is, going after a married woman, not caring who gets hurt."
"She's probably chasing him. Anna Kingsley's miserable and everyone knows it."
"Maybe. But Victor's making his own choices. He's choosing her, not you."
Kitty's lip quivered. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am. That's why I'm telling you the truth." Ethan leaned in, eyes soft. "You're holding onto someone who doesn't see you. And you deserve better."
"Stop."
"You deserve someone who can't wait to be with you. Someone who would do anything just to make you smile."
More tears. "You don't get it. I don't want 'someone.' I want him."
Ethan's face flickered with pain, but he masked it. "I know. But loving someone who doesn't love you back? That's a recipe for heartbreak."
"My heart's already broken," she whispered.
Ethan sat for a long moment, then stood.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "Victor Roman's a fool. If he had any sense, he'd know you're worth a thousand Anna Kingsleys."
He slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Kitty sat, surrounded by Victor's photos, her phone still glowing with pictures of him looking at someone else the way she'd always dreamed he'd look at her.
And for the first time in three years, a tiny voice in her head wondered—
Maybe Ethan was right. Maybe she was chasing someone who'd never see her at all.