THE GALA

Alexander's Pov 

The flash of cameras blinded me the second Cassandra tightened her grip on my arm. The valet barely had time to take my keys before she was tugging me forward, her nails digging in like claws hidden under diamonds.

“Smile,” she hissed under her breath, lips frozen in a perfect curve for the photographers.

I forced my jaw to relax, lips twitching into what probably passed for a grin. I’d been through enough galas, fundraisers, and charity dinners to know the drill. Walk the carpet. Smile like you’re grateful. Act like nothing’s broken.

But everything was.

Cassandra’s hand clung tighter. “Fix your tie,” she whispered, as though the cameras could hear her.

I tugged at the silk knot and leaned down. “Relax, Cass. They’re not photographing you for Vogue tonight.”

She stiffened. “They’re photographing us. As a couple. Which means you don’t get to slouch like some....”

Her voice cut off when we stepped through the ballroom doors. The sound hit me first — champagne glasses clinking, polite laughter, the hum of money filling the air. Then the lights: crystal chandeliers throwing gold across black tuxedos and gowns worth more than some people’s houses.

And then I saw her.

Olivia.

Across the room, by the long table stacked with silent auction prizes. Black dress simple, elegant, hugging her curves in a way that made my throat dry. Her hair was pinned back, a few strands falling loose to frame her face. She wasn’t smiling. She never played pretend well in rooms like this.

And still, she was the only real thing in here.

“Eyes forward,” Cassandra muttered, squeezing my arm. “Don’t look bored.”

I smirked, not moving my gaze. “Who says I’m bored?”

“Xander,” she snapped softly. “Don’t embarrass me.”

I finally tore my eyes from Olivia and let Cassandra parade me toward our table. A dozen executives rose to shake my hand, laugh too loud at my jokes, pat me on the back like I was their trained show dog. Cassandra loved it. She thrived on the attention. I endured it.

But my gaze kept sliding back across the room. To her. Always to her.

The first dance came sooner than I wanted. A string quartet struck up something slow and traditional. Cassandra tugged me toward the floor, smile glued in place for the benefit of the cameras perched at the edge.

“Try not to limp,” she murmured as she pressed against me.

I clenched my jaw. “Nice to know you care about my health.”

“I care about how you look,” she corrected.

Figures.

I led her into the rhythm, my knee protesting but holding. She plastered herself to me, all porcelain smile and perfume that made me want to sneeze. But the second I looked past her shoulder, the air shifted.

Olivia stood near the edge of the floor, drink in hand, watching. She tried to look away when our eyes met. Failed.

I grinned. For the first time all night, it felt real.

“Focus,” Cassandra said sharply. “People are watching.”

“I am focused.” My gaze stayed locked on Olivia. “Just not on what you think.”

Cassandra’s nails dug into my shoulder. “Xander.”

But Olivia turned, disappearing into the crowd, and I almost stepped out of rhythm trying to follow her with my eyes.

Dinner was worse. Cassandra held court at our table, laughing with sponsors, trading gossip like currency. I tuned most of it out, pretending to listen. My focus stretched across the room again, to the staff’s table tucked in the corner.

Olivia sat with other medical team members, posture straight, face unreadable. But every time she raised her glass, her eyes flicked to me, just for a second.

And every time, my blood ran hotter.

“You’re staring,” Cassandra hissed between smiles.

“At what?” I asked blandly.

“Her,” she snapped. “The team doctor. You’ve been staring at her all night.”

I smirked, leaning closer so only she could hear. “Jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “She’s hardly your type.”

I bit back a laugh. If only she knew.

I caught Olivia alone after dessert. She was walking the edge of the ballroom, heading toward the hallway leading to the coat check. I excused myself from Cassandra’s chatter with some line about the restroom and followed.

She stiffened when I caught up, heels clicking faster on the marble floor.

“Slow down, Doc,” I drawled, falling into step beside her. “What’s the rush?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she muttered, not looking at me.

“Why not? You are.”

“This is a professional event.”

I chuckled low. “That’s funny. Because nothing about the way you’ve been looking at me tonight has felt professional.”

Her head snapped toward me, eyes blazing. “I haven’t....”

“Yes, you have.” I cut her off smoothly, lowering my voice. “Every time you think no one’s watching.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickened her pace. I stepped in front of her, blocking the hallway.

“Move,” she hissed.

“Not until you admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit.”

“Bullshit.” My voice dropped, rougher now. “If I weren’t engaged, you’d already be mine.”

The words hung between us, heavy and electric. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

I stepped closer, close enough to see her pulse flutter in her throat. Close enough to smell the faint citrus of her perfume under the sterile gala air.

“You feel it too,” I whispered. “Don’t lie.”

Her breath caught. “Xander…”

I leaned in, inches from her mouth. “Say it.”

“Xander!”

Cassandra’s voice cracked through the hallway like ice water. We both jolted back. She stood at the corner, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

“There you are,” she said, her smile too polished, too cold. “People are asking for you.”

I straightened, masking everything behind a smirk. “Duty calls.”

Olivia slipped past me, her shoulders stiff, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

Cassandra looped her arm through mine, nails digging again. “What were you doing back here?”

I glanced once over my shoulder, watching Olivia’s figure vanish into the crowd.

“Nothing,” I lied smoothly. “Not yet.”