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But when he offers me his hand—the same hand that shook in my hair while I worshipped him—my heart cracks a little more.

Because right now, I have to pretend that touching him doesn’t destroy me.

And he gets to pretend I never mattered at all.

Chapter twenty-six

Liam

Thecamerashituslike artillery fire.

Sharp bursts of light explode from every angle, turning the red carpet into a war zone of strobes and manufactured smiles. I’ve done this parade enough times to know how to hit the angles, where to look, when to fake the grin.

But tonight…tonight I’ve got Katarina beside me, and she’s about as warm as the fucking tundra.

Her heels click against the pavement like live rounds—sharp, mechanical, merciless. She’s here, sure, but it’s just flesh and bone. Whatever part of her used to lean into me is gone. I slide a hand to her waist—half for the cameras, half because I needto feel she hasn’t disappeared completely. She doesn’t pull away, but there’s no give. Just polished stone.

“Liam! Over here!”

“Katarina, this way!”

The vultures circle, desperate for the shot. Canyon Bay’s power couple. What they don’t see is that I’m bleeding out next to her, and she’s too pissed to notice.

I lean in, voice low. “You, okay?”

She nods like a robot. “Perfect.”

A lie so brittle it might crack if I breathe too hard.

The ballroom is a mess of power suits, plastic smiles, and ambition wrapped in designer labels. Classical music hums in the background, but all I hear is the echo of her heels walking away from me like I never mattered.

She hits the bar like it’s a bunker. One drink order, spine straight, eyes scanning for threats. She's not here to play. She's here to survive.

I down a whiskey neat in two pulls, hoping the burn cuts through the noise in my head.

“Liam Steele,” a voice purrs beside me. I turn to find a bottle-blonde in silver sequins and desperation. She’s familiar in theworst way—fake, over-accessorized, and too sure of her place in the room. “Samantha. From the stadium tour?”

Of course.

I nod, disinterested. “Right.”

“I was hoping I’d see you tonight.” She touches my arm. Overdone nails, cold fingers.

I step back. “Didn’t peg you for the hopeful type.”

She laughs, glancing toward the bar. “You came with the nutritionist?”

My jaw tightens. “Yeah.”

“Interesting choice.” Her tone drops just enough to make me want to knock over the bar.

“Meaning?”

“Oh, nothing bad. She just seems... sweet. Simple. Not who I’d expect next to a guy like you.”

I stare, silent. Waiting.

“I just thought you’d go for someone more polished. More... your league.”