The Page Six story landed like a grenade in Anna's world.
By lunchtime, her phone was blowing up. Her publicist texted in frantic bursts. Her mother called, voice quivering with barely-contained panic. Even people Anna hadn't heard from since college were suddenly sliding into her DMs, pretending to be worried but really just fishing for gossip.
That photo—God, it was everywhere. All over Twitter, splashed across Instagram, clogging up every gossip blog and even making the rounds on legit news outlets. "Billionaire Beauty and the Golden Playboy", the headline was stamped on every screen in Manhattan, like a bad tattoo.
Anna sat curled up on the edge of the sofa, still wrapped in her silk robe, staring blankly at her laptop. She kept scrolling through the comments, even though each one cut a little deeper than the last.
"She's married and acting like a teenager? What a mess."
"Poor Alexander Kingsley. He deserves so much better."
"Victor Roman has his pick of women. Why chase after someone else's wife?"
"Honestly, they look amazing together. I am living for this drama."
She should have closed the tab, but she couldn't. This was her life now, picked apart by strangers, everyone with an opinion, everyone convinced they knew the truth.
Alexander had left before sunrise, not a word, not even a look. No angry fight, no slammed doors. Just that chilly, calculated silence that somehow hurt worse than if he'd screamed at her.
Her publicist had left three voicemails, each one reading off a carefully crafted statement. Anna couldn't bring herself to sign off on any of them. What was she supposed to say, anyway? That it was all just a big misunderstanding? That she and Victor were just friends?
She'd be lying, and she knew it.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Victor.
Stop reading the comments. None of them know you.
She hadn't answered any of his texts. There were so many, apologies, reassurances, begging her to talk. Every time, her chest tightened until she could barely breathe.
Before she could even think about replying, her phone rang. Alexander.
"Hello?"
"The Riverside Foundation dinner is tonight. Seven. Wear the burgundy Dior." His voice was clipped, all business. "And Anna?"
"Yes?"
"Smile. We're going to show everyone just how above it all we are."
He hung up before she could say a word.
Anna closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. Of course, the Riverside Foundation. The city's most important charity event, crawling with press and politicians. Every camera in New York would be there.
Victor would be there, too.
The Plaza's ballroom was a spectacle: old money on full display, crystal chandeliers throwing warm light over tables draped in silky ivory, the city's most powerful people gliding through the room like they owned it. Which, Anna couldn't help but think, most of them probably did.
She walked in on Alexander's arm, the burgundy Dior hugging her body just right, diamonds winking at her throat. She smiled for the sea of cameras, her face a perfect mask.
Inside, she was coming apart at the seams.
Alexander's grip on her was too tight, his smile perfectly rehearsed. They posed as the perfect couple, but behind his eyes, she saw nothing but ice.
"Remember," he murmured as they walked inside, "we're a united front. Don't let them sniff out a single crack."
"I know," Anna whispered.
"Good." He released her, straightening his sleeves. "I'm going to find the governor. Don't go wandering."
Like she was a pet he didn't trust off-leash.
He disappeared, and Anna was left to float among the crowd, acutely aware of every whisper, every glance flicked her way.
Bianca Travers brushed past in a slinky emerald dress, her smile edged with something sharp. "Anna, darling, you look absolutely radiant. Glowing, even, after everything."
Anna mustered a polite smile. "Thank you, Bianca."
"Oh, of course." Bianca leaned in, dropping her voice. "Between us, I think it's deliciously romantic. Very star-crossed. You and Victor, it's all very Gatsby."
"There's nothing romantic about being smeared in a tabloid," Anna replied, her voice cool as glass.
Bianca's smile didn't budge. "No, of course not. But if you're going to be caught in a scandal, Victor Roman is hardly the worst company. Wouldn't you agree?"
Before Anna could retort, Bianca slithered away, leaving the air behind her toxic.
Anna grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a gulp. She needed space. Air. Anything but this suffocating ballroom.
She slipped away along the edge of the room and ducked through a side door into one of the private lounges. The hush inside was a relief, just leather sofas, soft lamplight, and nobody looking at her.
She set her glass down and pressed her fingers to her temples. She just had to survive the night. Tomorrow, she'd figure out what came next.
"Running away, or just hiding?"
A voice behind her—deep, familiar. She froze.
Victor.
She turned. He stood in the doorway, tux jacket unbuttoned, bow tie hanging loose. He looked unfairly good, and the intensity in his eyes made her forget how to breathe.
"You shouldn't be here," she managed.
He shrugged. "Neither should you. But here we are."
"Victor, please. This is a mess already. If anyone sees us—"
"Let them," he said, moving closer. "I'm tired of pretending. Aren't you?"
Her pulse skipped. "You have no idea what you're asking."
"I'm not asking. I'm offering." He closed the distance, stopping just short of touching her. "A way out. Something real. You deserve more than the act you're putting on out there."
"My marriage isn't a performance."
He looked into her eyes. "Isn't it? I watched you out there, smiling for the cameras while your husband paraded you around. Is that really what you want, Anna?"
Her voice shook. "What I want doesn't matter."
"It's the only thing that matters."
She tried to step away, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. "You're asking me to risk everything. My reputation. My family. My son."
He softened. "I'm asking you to choose yourself for once. To stop living for everyone else."
"It's not that easy."
"It is. You just have to be brave."
She blinked away tears. "And when you get tired of this? When the scandal quiets down and you move on? Where does that leave me?"
He flinched, pain flickering across his face. "You think I'd do that? That this is just a game?"
"I don't know what this is. I barely know you."
"You know me better than anyone in that ballroom does." He reached for her wrist, fingertips gentle. "You see me, Anna. And I see you. The real you."
Her breath caught. His hand slid up her arm, slow, giving her time to pull away. She didn't.
"This is dangerous," she whispered.
He nodded. "I know." He traced her shoulder, then her neck, then his hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. "But don't tell me you don't feel this. Don't tell me your heart isn't pounding. Don't tell me you don't think about me when we're apart."
She couldn't say any of those things. They'd be lies.
"Victor…" Her voice was shaky.
He leaned in, their foreheads almost touching. "I can't get you out of my head. I think about you when I wake up, when I fall asleep, every second in between."
Her hands landed on his chest, unsure if she was about to shove him away or pull him closer. His heart thudded beneath her palms, as frantic as hers.
"We can't," she said, but even she didn't believe it.
"Then tell me to leave. Tell me to walk out, and I will. Just say the word."
She didn't.
Instead, he slid her hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, then her palm. The gentleness of it made her breath stutter.
"I'll wait for you," he said softly. "For as long as it takes. I mean it. I'm not walking away. Not from you."
Anna closed her eyes, every nerve on fire. His lips found her wrist, lingering at her pulse, and she felt him smile against her skin when he felt how fast her heart was beating.
"Say something," he whispered.
She opened her eyes. His gaze was hungry, but vulnerable, too.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"So am I." He lifted his hand to her face, and she covered it with her own. For a moment, she let herself feel everything—the longing, the fear, the crazy, impossible need.
"Victor, I—"
The door swung open.
Anna jerked away, her hand flying to her chest. Her heart stopped.
Alexander stood in the doorway, his face unreadable. His eyes moved from Anna to Victor, taking in the scene, the closed door, the closeness, Anna's flushed cheeks.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Alexander smiled.
It was the coldest, most terrifying smile Anna had ever seen.