9.

♡♡HAYDEN'S POV♡♡

I hated suits. They felt like straightjackets designed to choke whatever humanity was left inside you. Not that I had any humanity left. Still, I despised looking like my father. Appearing all corporate, drenched in counterfeit smiles.

And tonight, he insisted I wore this tuxedo—charcoal gray, tailored, pressed. I looked like every version of the son he wanted me to be. And none of the versions I actually was.

Jake was his favourite child. I could tell. We all could tell. Even my mother had joked about it once at a Christmas party when she was intoxicated.

It felt like a curse being the first son. Being my father's first son.

“Jake, could you pass me the wine,” I asked my little brother.

He glared at me. Normally, he’d hurl an insult before passing it, but this time he passed the wine quietly and even smiled while doing so.

“Here you go, big brother,” he said through clenched teeth.

It almost made me laugh. This was what family dinners were all about. Our parents always forced us to behave civilly toward one another and leave our animalistic behaviour at home where it belonged.

“Thank you, little brother,” I said, collecting the bottle of wine.

The rooftop garden buzzed beneath strings of warm lights. I could hear the soft murmur of waiters prepping across the roof, the metallic hum of champagne flutes, classical music curling through hidden speakers like perfume.

I wasn’t allowed to go downstairs until De Morven’s arrived. I wondered why, though. I guessed it was one big fake moment waiting to happen. A business deal or something like that.

I already imagined the meeting, the smiles, the posed photos for the press release no one would post but everyone would whisper about.

It was all theater.

I pulled out my phone again. No new texts. No “Stranger” on my screen. No Summer.

God, I didn’t want to be here.

“Hayden.”

My mom’s voice snapped me out of my spiral. She nudged toward the entrance, and I turned my head. The De Morven’s had arrived.

My parents stood up to welcome them. Jake and I stood too, pretending to be the gentlemen we weren’t.

“We apologize for coming in late,” said Mr. De Morven, hugging my father. “You know how family matters are. When you live with only women—wives and delays, daughters whining about their dresses and how they don’t fit anymore. It’s a good thing I’ve only got one daughter.”

They both laughed. His wife embraced my mom, all teeth and smiles. I almost rolled my eyes. They turned their attention to Jake and me after they finished with our parents.

Their eyes widened in awe. Mr. De Morven seized my hand in a fierce handshake before pulling me into an unexpected hug.

“Hayden?” he called. “I haven’t seen you since you were a boy.”

“He’s grown into a stunner,” Mrs. De Morven chimed in. “Diana calls it ‘babe magnet.’”

They all burst out laughing. I didn’t find it funny.

“Jake, my boy!” Mr. De Morven bellowed, pulling a grinning Jake into a hug. “We last saw him three years ago, right, hun?”

“Yes, darling,” Mrs. De Morven replied with a nod. “He’s as cute as ever.”

“Are you doing well, Jake?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That's my boy,” said Mr. De Morven.

I glanced back at my cell phone and something glimmering caught my eye at the edge of the rooftop: Diana De Morven.

She stepped out onto the rooftop like a scene cue. Silver dress, diamonds at her neck, blonde hair curled to perfection.

Wow!

“I thought she wasn’t coming,” Jake whispered to me as I pushed my phone back into my pocket. “I bet she almost didn’t. Two hundred bucks says she was fixing her makeup in the car.”

I scoffed. “I don’t make bets. I’m not Summer,” I said, taking my seat.

This comment took Jake by surprise. It startled even me. Summer’s name had slipped out of my tongue unconsciously. Making bets in moments like this was something she and Jake would do. Not me.

And as her name lingered in the air, a longing for her stirred in my heart. It was more pain than longing—pain I tried hard to hide.

“My! Diana,” my mom squeaked, like a teenager who just caught sight of her longtime girlfriend.

She hugged Diana as if she were about to squeeze life out of her. Diana’s parents watched in quiet wonder at the spectacle.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Dylan,” Diana said, voice syrupy sweet.

Her scent enveloped me as she sat down beside me. Our eyes met, and instantly she smiled. I forced myself to return her smile.

I remembered Diana vividly. She went to Eastvale Academy, a private boarding school in the Hamptons. I remember that because little Diana never shut up about it whenever her family came visiting.

“Hey, Diana,” Jake said. “It’s been a while. You look beautiful.”

Diana nodded curtly. “Thank you, Jake. You cleaned up nice. For once.”

Classic Diana. Jake's face twisted into a scowl. His cheeks flushed—just like Summer’s did the other day. I hadn’t realized I was smiling to myself as I thought of her, until my mom’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. Again.

“Hayden, Diana asked you a question,” my mom said.

All eyes at the table were on me. I swear I didn’t hear Diana when she spoke.

My lips curved into a fake smile as I turned to her. “My apologies. What did you ask?”

“How have you been doing?” she said, eyes glued to mine.

“I’m fine, Diana. How about you?”

“Can’t you tell just by looking at me?” She quipped, tilting her head slightly. “I’m doing great. As always.”

“Sure, you are. Still a snob?”

“Hayden!” My dad barked.

I looked at him and noticed the hidden anger behind his eyes. I hadn’t said anything wrong tonight. I hadn’t acted out of line either.

I thought everyone was well aware that Diana was a snob. It was just a polite question. What in God’s name did he want from me? To grovel at Diana’s feet? All hail the Queen?

“You look nice,” I commented without so much as a glance at her.

My mom laughed out loud, trying to ease the tension in the atmosphere. Just then, the chefs brought in our dinner. It was too much as usual. More than any of us would finish.

I sighed, pulled my phone from my pocket, and stole a glance at the screen under the table. Diana noticed.

She then asked in a hushed tone, “Are you expecting a call from your girlfriend?”

I looked up at her slowly. Her lips parted into a chilling grin.

She leaned in. Closer. “She’s not picking up, is she?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You always were a sucker for girls. Does your dad know?”