I don't remember saying yes to the gala.
I only remember the white dress Livia picked for me — silk, open-back, delicate like it could fall off if I breathed too sharply. I remember the heat of Killian's hand at the small of my back as we stepped into the velvet chaos of the Aurelia Conservatory, a black-tie trap disguised as charity.
And I remember thinking: Just smile.
Because that's what Thorne daughters do when everything's burning.
We smile.
My heels click against the marble as we glide toward the chaos of chandeliers and champagne flutes. Killian says something into his comm, and for a moment, I pretend I'm not scanning the crowd for him. I pretend Jackson's face won't be the one I see behind my eyelids when I try to sleep.
But it's a lie. And I'm so damn tired of lying.
"Eyes up," Killian murmurs beside me, too close, too sharp. "That's Senator Vale's wife, and she's already clocked your neckline."
I smile. Plastic. Controlled. My neckline could cause a diplomatic incident, but I keep walking.
Then I see her.
Alyssa.
Standing near the champagne tower in a red silk dress cut to the bone — laughing like betrayal tastes like strawberries and sin. I feel my stomach twist. My best friend since boarding school. My sister in everything but blood.
She sees me.
Waves.
Like nothing's wrong.
I'm about to walk toward her when I hear it.
His laugh.
Jackson.
That low, rich, smug sound I used to mistake for love.
I freeze.
He's there. With her.
His hand brushes her waist.
She doesn't move away.
She leans in.
I don't blink. I can't.
Because then she does it.
She kisses him.
Slow. Public. On the mouth.
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
Cameras flash. A wave of heat rises in my chest.
Killian's hand shoots out, grabs my wrist like he felt the exact moment my heart cracked. "Phoebe. Don't."
Too late.
I move forward.
Not walking. Storming.
A reporter steps in my path. I shove past him. People notice now. They always do when a Thorne loses composure. I reach the edge of the crowd and lock eyes with Alyssa as she pulls away from Jackson, lips still glossy from the kiss she stole right out of my past.
She has the nerve to smile.
"Phoebe!" she says like she's surprised. Like we weren't in bed crying over this man two months ago when he dumped me through a text between power lunches.
I don't stop.
Killian grabs my elbow. "Not here. Cameras."
"I don't care."
"Yes, you do."
My eyes don't leave hers. "Let go."
But he doesn't. Not until I turn back to him, venom in my throat. "I said — let go."
His jaw clenches, but his grip loosens. "Fine. Just don't say I didn't try."
I step into their perfect little photo op and look at Jackson first. He has the audacity to look surprised. Like he didn't know I'd come. Like he didn't plan this.
"Alyssa," I say calmly. "Did you lose your memory or just your spine?"
She blinks. "Phoebe, you're overreacting."
"Really?" I tilt my head. "Because from here, it looks like you're sucking face with the man who ruined me."
Jackson scoffs. "Jesus, dramatic much? It was a kiss. We're all adults."
"Oh, is that what we are now?" I laugh. "Because if you were an adult, Jackson, you would've told me before she did."
Alyssa steps forward. "I didn't plan it—"
I cut her off. "You planned the dress. You planned the lipstick. You planned the angle."
The crowd is listening now. Phones out. Flashes catching every raised eyebrow and whispered gasp.
Jackson smirks. "You always did love being center stage."
"And you always did love being inside someone you could control."
That shuts him up.
Alyssa stares at me, face pale now.
"You said you loved me," I whisper, low enough only she can hear. "You swore you'd never pick him. You cried when he broke me."
She opens her mouth. I don't let her speak.
"Hope he's worth it."
Then I turn.
But it's too late.
Because the damage is already viral.
Killian is at my side before I take three steps. I don't know where we're going, just that I have to get out. I can't breathe in here. The perfume. The power. The pity.
He opens a side door and pulls me into a stairwell, slamming it behind us. The echo bounces off cement and steel. I'm shaking.
Not crying. Not yet.
Just… shaking.
"Don't speak," I say.
He doesn't.
Instead, he leans back against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like I might explode.
And he's right.
Because the moment I speak, I do.
"I loved her." My voice cracks. "More than I ever loved him."
He doesn't flinch. Just waits.
"I told her everything. Every time he lied. Every time he disappeared. She knew what he did to me."
"And she did it anyway," Killian says.
That's when I break.
I slide down the wall, dress pooling like smoke around my knees. My shoulders shake. I hate crying. Hate how vulnerable it makes me feel. But Killian doesn't move. He just stays there. Letting me fall apart without reaching for me.
Because he knows.
Touching me now would undo everything.
The silence grows long. Finally, I whisper, "Why do people do that?"
"What?"
"Turn into monsters when no one's watching."
Killian looks at me for a long time. Then he says something I'll never forget.
"They're always monsters, Phoebe. You just weren't looking."
We sit there for a while. Long enough for the sounds of the gala to fade. Long enough for my ribs to stop shaking.
When I finally stand, he's already at the door.
I nod once. "Take me home."
But as he opens the door, his phone buzzes. One glance at the screen, and his entire body changes.
"Gideon?" I ask.
He doesn't answer.
"Killian. What is it?"
He turns to me slowly. Eyes darker than I've ever seen them.
"Your father just issued a statement."
I blink. "About the kiss?"
He shakes his head.
"No. About your engagement."
My heart stops.
"What engagement?"
Killian stares at me.
Then he hands me his phone.
And I see it.
"Jonathan Thorne confirms daughter Phoebe's engagement to Killian Blackwood, ex-military turned elite bodyguard. Thorne family merges with Blackwood Security Holdings in historic power alliance. Wedding expected before end of quarter."
I can't breathe.
"Tell me this is a joke," I whisper.
Killian's jaw is locked.
"I found out five minutes before you."
Silence.
And then—
"You're telling me my father just—married me off to my bodyguard?"
Killian's voice is cold. "He's consolidating control. You're the leverage."
I laugh, sharp and unhinged. "This isn't leverage. This is a funeral."
He doesn't disagree.
And that's what terrifies me most.
Because I can survive betrayal.
I can survive humiliation.
But this?
This is war.
And the man I'm at war with…
…is now the man I have to marry.