Corporate showcase

*Lia*

I was trying to make Rubben jealous when we walked into the Carter Green showcase. My red dress was tight, and Daniel’s hand rested low on my back, right where the fabric dipped. He was claiming me for the cameras, for my mother, and for Rubben.

The hall was made of glass and gold. I could still hear my mother’s words from last night: _Smile, Lia. Show a united front. Investors are watching._

United. Mr. Carter was by the stage, shaking hands too quickly. Mom was smiling so hard I thought her face would crack. Rubben stood at the bar. He wasn’t drinking. He was watching Daniel’s hand as if it were a weapon.

Daniel leaned close to me. “You’re cold,” he whispered. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” I lied. “I’m just tired.” The truth was that I was tired of lying. I was tired of his hand on me. I was tired of the man at the bar who refused to look at me.

Mom pulled me into her circle of investors. “Everyone, this is Daniel,” I said. My voice sounded too bright. “My boyfriend.”

The word tasted bitter. I said it for Rubben. He didn’t move or blink, but his knuckles turned white around his glass of water.

Daniel smiled and extended his hand. “Dr. Daniel Reeves, City General. Lia has told me everything about you all.”

She hasn’t, I thought. She has told you nothing, because the only truth in my head has a name, and it isn’t yours.

“Wonderful,” Mom said, but her eyes darted to Rubben before returning to Daniel. “We’re so glad you could join us.”

The string quartet began to play. Mom nudged us toward the dance floor. “Dance,” she said. “Let them see young love.”

Young love. Daniel led me to the floor and placed his hand on my waist. His thumb began to move against my bare skin.

“Relax,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

You don’t, I thought. You never did. I looked past his shoulder at Rubben. He was still at the bar, still staring at Daniel’s thumb.

“Who is the guy at the bar?” Daniel asked. “The one who looks like he wants me dead.”

“That’s my stepbrother,” I said. “Rubben.” Saying his name hurt.

“He doesn’t seem to like me.”

“He doesn’t like anyone,” I said. That was another lie. He liked me once, before I became a line he couldn’t cross.

The song ended, and I stepped back. “I need some air.”

“One more dance,” Daniel said. His hand remained on my waist. “Please, Lia.”

“I can’t,” I said, and pulled away. I walked toward the terrace, needing to escape the cameras and the perfume and Daniel’s hands.

I didn’t make it.

A hand caught my wrist. Not Daniel’s.

Rubben.

He pulled me into the alcove behind a marble pillar, out of sight. His grip wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t gentle either. His eyes were black, and his jaw was tight.

“Take it off,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“His hand,” Rubben said, his voice low. “Take his hand off you, or I will.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I’m not telling you,” he said. “I’m warning you. He touches you like he owns you. He doesn’t.”

“And you do?” I whispered. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. For a second, I thought he would kiss me. For a second, I wanted him to. The noise of the party faded. It was just us, and the heat, and the three inches between us.

Then he let go of my wrist like I had burned him. “No,” he said. “I don’t. That’s the problem.”

He stepped back into the crowd and was gone.

I stood there, shaking, my wrist still warm from his hand. When I returned to the hall, Daniel was waiting with two glasses of champagne.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said. But I wasn’t looking at him. I was looking at the empty space by the bar where Rubben had been.

*Rubben*

She brought him here to watch me break. The red dress, his hand on her, the way every man in the room stared at her. Only one man was touching her, and it wasn’t me.

Daniel’s thumb moved against her skin. That skin was mine. I kept my hands in my pockets because if I took them out, they would be around his throat.

She said the word _boyfriend_ loudly and clearly. It was meant for me, and it felt like a knife between my ribs.

I didn’t react. I couldn’t. My father was ten feet away, and if I showed any emotion, she would become a problem for him to solve. So I stayed still and let her hurt me.

They danced, and she was stiff in his arms. That was good. She didn’t want him. But she was using him to punish me, to try to make me react.

His thumb kept moving on her back. That was mine.

The song ended, and she stepped away. He didn’t let go. “Please, Lia,” he said.

That was it. I took one step forward.

I couldn’t watch anymore. I watched her walk toward the terrace, her dress swaying, his eyes following her.

I followed her instead.

I caught her wrist before she reached the doors. The alcove was dark and private. I pulled her in with me.

“Take it off,” I told her.

She looked confused. “What?”

“His hand,” I said. “Take his hand off you, or I will.”

My voice sounded like a stranger’s. Rough. Possessive. Wrong.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she said. Her eyes were bright, angry.

“I’m not telling you. I’m warning you. He touches you like he owns you. He doesn’t.”

“And you do?” she whispered.

The question hit me in the chest. I looked at her mouth. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to pull her against me and erase his touch with mine. For one second, the world went quiet.

Then I remembered my mother. I remembered ten years old, blood, and Harlan’s voice: _Watch what happens when you touch what’s mine._

I dropped her wrist. “No,” I said. “I don’t. That’s the problem.”

I walked away before I could change my mind. Before I could do something that would get her killed.

When I got back to the bar, my father was waiting. He didn’t ask where I had been. He just handed me a glass of water.

“Good," he said.

It didn’t feel good. It felt like dying.

Across the room, Lia was back with Daniel. He handed her champagne. She took it, but she was looking at the empty space where I had stood.

This was going to destroy us. Both of us.