Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Zariah’s baby daddy

Zariah’s pov

“Mommy, you look like a princess.”

Michael’s voice was hushed, almost awed, as he leaned against the bedroom doorframe.

Zariah adjusted the silver clasp at the back of her gown, her reflection staring back at her from the mirror. The dress clung to her curves like it had been poured on, a deep midnight blue that shifted with light. Her curls had been swept up and pinned with diamonds. She looked beautiful.

She smiled at her son through the mirror. “Not a princess, baby. A queen.”

Michael smiled even wider, revealing the gap where his tooth had fallen out last week. “A queen with sore feet.”

Zariah laughed out loud, before it turned into a snort that made her cover her mouth. “You know me too well.”

Her chest ached as she bent to kiss his cheek.  “Aunt Grace will stay with you tonight, okay? Be good for her.” Aunt Grace was the babysitter, her P.A had recommended.

****

Zariah was barely out of her car when the paparazzi swarmed her.

“Zariah Fontanelle! Over here!!”

Zariah’s shawl slid down one shoulder, the silk of her gown catching light with each step. She held her chin high, pretending her knees weren’t trembling inside as she posed for pictures.

Inside the ballroom, the party was already in full swing. But she couldn’t help but be awed by the money in the decorations. It rivaled 2023’s Met Gala, and the fashion show in Paris, which she’d thrown.

At the far end of the room, Leonard Blackwell’s glass stopped halfway to his lips as her eyes landed on him. Zariah suddenly felt cold, and it was not because of the air conditioning.

He was taller than she remembered, and his chest had gotten broader, his hair marked sliced back neatly. He was still as handsome as ever, but more mature-looking.

Zariah’s stomach clenched. Her palms were damp already, but she forced her shoulders back and smiled curtly at him. Look at me, Leonard. You don’t know yet, but I’m the ghost you buried.

From near the staircase, Damian Blackwell watched her too, but she didn’t see him.

Leonard walked up to her. “I must say you look stunning, Miss…” He trailed off, waiting for her to suggest her name.

Zariah held out her hand instead. “Thank you, Mr Blackwell.” She turned away from him and made a beeline for somewhere to sit.

“Reckless,” a voice slurred beside her. She turned. A heavyset man, cheeks blotchy from drink, leaned too close. His breath stank of whisky.

“That gown,” he said, his eyes crawling over her body. “Looks like it was stitched onto your skin. Do you take… private clients?”

Her stomach knotted, and she imagined hurling the champagne into his face, but instead, she steadied her voice. “Excuse me?”

He leaned closer, lips greasy with drink. “I could make it worth your while.” His hand hovered at her waist, rather boldly.

Bile burned in her throat. She inhaled sharply, ready to spit fire, but another voice cut through.

“Step away.” Damian Blackwell stood there, dark suit fitted like steel, and hovering over the drunk man and her as well.

The drunk man faltered. “I was only…”

“Now.” Damien cut him off.

The man dropped his hand, muttered, and slunk off.

Zariah frowned. “I didn’t need your rescue,” she said, even though her hands were still trembling around her purse.

“I know.” Damian’s eyes remained on hers.

Her breath rushed out too fast, and Zariah rubbed her damp palm against her hip, trying to ground herself.

He adjusted his suit and cleared his throat. “Do you have a plus one, Miss? If you don't, I can volunteer.” He held out the nook of his elbow.

The perfect idea hit her. She nodded and smiled at Damian as she took his arm. She was here to make him notice her and to see the look on his face when he realizes who she is. But if she can make him jealous as well, that was a bonus. But before she could respond—-

“Quite the rescue, wasn’t it?”

Adrian Blackwell appeared in front of them, a grin bright enough to light the hall. Without asking, he caught her hand and pulled her toward the dance floor. She turned to glance at Damian, who was glaring at his brother.

“Wait,” she stumbled, her heel snagging on the carpet. She laughed nervously, almost tripping into him.

Adrian steadied her with one strong arm. “Careful. I’d hate to ruin that gown.” “Relax,” he said, spinning her under his arm. “You’ve got half the room watching you. Might as well give them a show.”

His hand slid lower on her back, and heat rushed through her despite herself, her body betraying what her mind screamed.  Don’t get distracted. Not by him. Adrian was funny and quite the charmer, and it was working on her.

“You’re bold,” Adrian murmured near her ear. “Wearing your own work here. Most women wouldn’t risk it.”

Zariah really looked at him then. How did he know her? “I beg your pardon?”

But Adrian only smiled, and dipped his head low enough to whisper… “It was nice meeting you, Zariah. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

The song ended. He bowed playfully, released her hand, and disappeared into the swirl of dancers. Zariah watched him go, holding her purse too tight. Adrian had left quite the impression and she didn’t know whether to be charmed or afraid.

Zariah made her way to the balcony. She needed air. A lot was happening. She only came here for Leonard, and she’d met his brothers too.

“So, the party is out here?” Leonard Blackwell stood in the doorway to the balcony. He stepped forward, his eyes locking onto hers. 

Zariah shrugged. “It's your party, you should know.” 

Leonard closed the distance between them slowly. “I know I want to go on a date with you.” He said so smoothly that she almost choked on her spit.

“Ever the smooth talker, aren’t you?” She replied. This man had not changed. He was still a hopeless flirt.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. You are…?”

Her knees threatened to give. For one wild second, she thought about lying, saving her name for another night. But the anger she felt was hotter. 

She leaned close, “Zariah Fontanelle.”

Leonard’s face was drained of color. His glass tilted, almost slipping from his fingers.  “You must be kidding me…” He cursed under his breath. His jaw tightened, eyes widening in recognition.

“Not so ugly, now am I?” She asked sweetly, with a fake smile plastered on her face.

And Zariah, as she turned away from him, for the first time in years felt the first sting of victory.