Page 13

HARPER

The bartender slides a gin and tonic across the polished bar toward me, and I catch it just before it slips past my fingers.

I wrap my hand around the cool glass, breathing in the crisp bite of the alcohol before taking a small sip.

My eyes sweep across the crowded ballroom, scanning for Millie, or Lucas, or Cooper—hell, for anyone I know.

It's not that I'm having a bad time. Not really. But there's a certain hum beneath my skin that I can't shake off tonight.

An uncomfortable awareness. I'm used to these kinds of events — the glittering dresses, the expensive suits, the careful orchestration of smiles and small talk.

I've spent the last few years ducking around rooms just like this, camera slung around my neck, invisible and moving, always with a purpose. Always with something to do.

Tonight, though... tonight I'm standing on the other side of the lens.

Exposed. Vulnerable. Visible. Not as the girl behind the camera, but as Harper, the person everyone's whispering about.

Who's she?

Why is she here with Millie Bennett?

Is it serious?

Their stares are like tiny, invisible pricks along my skin.

Some curious. Some malicious.

I swirl the gin in my glass, letting the ice clink against the sides to distract myself. I'm not used to being the story. I'm much more comfortable telling someone else's.

And maybe that's why I excused myself to the bathroom earlier.

Not because I needed anything — just a few breaths where I didn't have to be watched, assessed, calculated like I was another one of Millie's stats.

I spot her a moment later across the room — and my heart does this ridiculous little flip at the sight of her.

She's standing near a cluster of people, a champagne flute gripped too tightly in her hand, a strained smile frozen on her mouth.

Even from here, I can see the tension coiled in her body, the way her shoulders are set just a little too straight, the sharpness behind her eyes that doesn't quite match the polite laugh she's giving.

She's talking to some older man — grey hair, neatly trimmed beard, expensive watch flashing at his wrist — and something about the way he leans in toward her, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long, twists my stomach into an uncomfortable knot.

I'm learning things tonight. Things I hate. Like how in Millie's world — this world of fame and money and politics — there are men who look at her and see only the parts they want to own. A pretty face. A headline. A means to their end.

They don't see her. Not really. She's the best player in the world — better than half the NHL combined — and still, some people only want to shrink her down, clip her wings, make her easier to manage.

It makes me want to do something reckless. Like walk across the room and shove that man's drink into his smug face.

"There you are," a voice says, stopping me just a few feet short.

Lucas. He steps into my path, grinning like he's caught me sneaking somewhere I shouldn't be.

I force a smile, even though my eyes flick over his shoulder, searching instinctively for her.

Two ocean-blue eyes break away from the small crowd gathered around her and find me instantly, like she's been looking for me too.

It punches the air out of my lungs. God. She's beautiful.

Her black suit cuts sharp lines across her figure, the fabric hugging her just right, severe and soft all at once.

Her auburn hair falls down her back in soft, wild waves, and even from here I can tell she's uncomfortable — stiff shoulders, guarded posture, champagne glass dangling forgotten between two fingers.

Still, when she sees me, she smiles — a real one — small and crooked and hers — and nods like she's telling me without words that she's okay. But I don't miss the relief in her eyes either. The way they soften when she sees me. Like maybe I'm the thing tethering her to the ground tonight.

Lucas follows the direction of my stare, glancing back toward Millie with a little knowing smirk, and when he looks at me again, it's with something quieter under the teasing.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks, voice lower, more serious.

I blink, pulling my gaze away from Millie, anchoring it back to Lucas even though every cell in my body is tuned to her.

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully.

He studies me for a beat, like he's weighing something. Then he sighs and leans in a little closer, keeping his voice low enough that no one around us can hear.

"I mean... faking it while living together. Blurring lines like this," he says. "It gets messy, Harper. Messier than you think."

I frown. "I know what I'm doing."

Lucas doesn't smile. He just shakes his head, slow and a little sad.

"Millie's... she's sensitive. Even if she doesn't show it.

She feels everything too much. Loves too much.

Cares too much." He scratches the back of his neck.

"But the world doesn't let her be that. The world only sees what it wants to see — the captain, the tough one, the woman who doesn't mess up.

And now that she did, now that she's vulnerable, they're eating her alive. "

I swallow thickly, something hard and ugly settling in my chest.

Because I see it. I see it so clearly now. The weight she carries just to exist. The armor she's forced to wear just to breathe in rooms like this. And suddenly, it's not hard at all to imagine what that must feel like — bending yourself into a thousand different shapes just to survive.

Because I've been there, too.

Tone it down tonight, Harp. These guys don't like loud women.

These are my coworkers. Let me do the talking.

You look gorgeous, Harper. All you need to be tonight is pretty.

Isaiah's voice cuts through my mind like a blade, his old rules crawling back over my skin like smoke I thought I'd outrun. The rules of shrinking, softening, silencing myself. Of smiling even when it hurt.

Maybe I do understand Millie more than I thought. I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to smile at Lucas, even though it feels brittle.

"I'll be careful," I say.

He watches me for a second longer, then nods, like he's decided to let it go for now.

"Good," he says, clapping me lightly on the shoulder. "Because she's family to me, and I hate seeing her hurt."

He disappears into the crowd, leaving me with words in my mouth. I turn back toward Millie. She's still there. Still watching me. The moment our eyes lock again, it's like the rest of the world blurs out.

Our eyes lock across the crowded room and everything else blurs — the noise, the people, the clinking glasses and flashing cameras — all of it falls away until there's only her.

Only Millie. And this time, I don't hesitate. I don't let anything stop me. I walk toward her, each step fast and sure, like some invisible tether between us is reeling me in. Like I don't even have a choice anymore — I just have to get to her.

When I reach her, Millie shifts instinctively, angling her body toward me, like she's been holding her breath this whole time too.

Her fingers brush against the hem of my dress — the barest ghost of a touch — and it sends a shiver skimming up my spine.

"Excuse me," she says to the men still half-circling her, her voice polite but firm in that way she gets when she's done pretending to be small.

And then she grabs my hand — warm and steady — and pulls me with her, weaving through the crowd without looking back.

Her hand swallows mine easily, her fingers sure and certain around my own. I can feel her everywhere — the brush of her shoulder against mine, the steady pull of her presence, her scent, familiar and intoxicating, clinging to the air between us.

I don't think I'm breathing by the time she slows, finding a quieter alcove away from the thrumming heartbeat of the party. She turns to me, smiling softly, and just like that, the tension in my chest eases.

"Are you okay?" she asks, voice low and rough around the edges.

"I'm okay," I manage, breathless. "Are you okay? Did those men—?"

Millie shakes her head immediately, brushing the concern off like it's nothing, even though her jaw is still tight. "I'm okay now," she says simply.

And somehow, I believe her. Maybe because she's still holding my hand like she doesn't want to let go.

"Are you ready to go?" I ask after a moment.

Millie hesitates, watching me closely, searching for something in my face. "Do you want to stay?" she asks carefully.

"You said we were only staying an hour and a half," I remind her with a half-smile. "And I'm pretty sure that was... a long time ago."

"I know what I said," she says, smile tilting slightly. "But... if you're having a good time, we can stay a little longer."

I think about it. The clinking glasses, the cold stares, the low buzz of judgment that's seeped into every corner of this room. And then I think about her hand wrapped around mine, about the way her shoulders finally seem to be lowering now that we're away from it all.

"I..." I trail off, meeting her eyes. "I'm having a good time. Because of you. But I think I wanna head back."

Her mouth twitches like she's trying not to smile too widely. "Unless you want to stay?" I add quickly, not wanting to pull her away if she needs to be here.

Millie shakes her head without hesitation, the corner of her mouth lifting. "No. Let's go."

There's something weighty and warm in the way she says it, like maybe she's been waiting for an excuse to leave too.

"Do you think they got enough... uh, material of us?" I ask, my voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

Millie grins — that real, crinkly-eyed grin that still hits me right in the ribs — and without looking away, she lifts her hand.

Soft fingers push a loose strand of hair behind my ear, the pad of her thumb skimming the side of my throat so lightly that my whole body leans into it before I can stop myself. My breath catches.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, voice lazy, drugged by her nearness.

Her eyes trace my face, lingering like she's memorizing me. And then, almost imperceptibly, she nods her chin to the side.

"Acting," she murmurs.

Oh. People must be watching.

Her hands linger at the edge of my jaw, her thumb still brushing slow arcs across my skin, my entire body reacts at being touched so carefully, in ways I haven't in a while.

Millie straightens and, without a word, shrugs off her suit jacket, slipping it over my bare shoulders in one fluid motion. "Millie—" I start, my voice catching.

"Your dress had its moment," she says, voice low and teasing but her eyes are warm, careful. "Trust me. No one's kept their eyes off you all night. But you're shivering."

I'm not shivering because I'm cold.

I tug the lapels together anyway, wrapping myself in the jacket's heavy warmth — in her warmth — and the scent of her that clings to the fabric: cedarwood, clean laundry, something inherently Millie.

Without another word, she takes my hand again, squeezing gently, and together we make our way out of the building.

The night air hits us in a rush — crisp and cool against my cheeks — and we're quiet as we walk the short distance to her car.

Not awkward quiet. Comfortable quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like something blooming between two people rather than dying.

She unlocks the car and opens the door for me without thinking about it, and I slide into the passenger seat, heart still rattling against my ribs.

Millie gets in a second later, and for a moment, we just sit there — two figures in the dark, breathing the same air.

"You did good tonight," she says eventually, starting the engine.

"So did you," I say back, meaning it more than she probably realizes.

We drive in silence for a while, the city lights blurring past the windows. And somehow, her jacket still around my shoulders, the lingering ghost of her hand in mine, I don't feel tired or overwhelmed anymore.

────────── ????──────────

It doesn't take long for the world to figure out my name.

When I woke up this morning — head heavy, heart heavier — my face and, probably, my entire career were already plastered across every corner of the internet. People talking. Whispering. Shouting. Guessing. Millie Bennett's new girl.

Harper Lane.

I didn't dare open any of the apps. I just..

. glimpsed it. Saw my name flashing like a warning sign at every turn.

Now, as I walk through the rink, camera slung over my shoulder, pretending like everything's normal, I catch it again.

A TV hanging above the concession stand, muted, running a segment on us.

There's a panel of people sitting stiffly under bright lights, talking with too-bright smiles. Their mouths move, but the words don't reach me. Because all I can think is — what is there to know? My life isn't glamorous. It isn't scandalous. It's boring as hell, if I'm being honest.

I'm a photographer.

I've been cheated on.

I lost my home.

I'm scraping together the pieces of my life, one slow, aching day at a time. And now, somehow, I'm also Millie Bennett's new girlfriend. At least... that's the story the world has decided to tell.

The TV screen flashes to a photo —Millie and me, standing together on the red carpet last night.

Her hand wrapped securely around my waist. My hand clinging to her jacket like it's the only thing keeping me standing.

She's smiling — not at the cameras, not at the crowd — but at me.

And I'm smiling back, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

We look real. A beautiful, effortless, undeniable couple.

And that's what everyone's buying. Which means — technically — it worked.

It's dizzying. How fast it all happened.

How fast the world spun and caught us up in its grip.

Every outlet — from the trashiest gossip blogs to the most respected sports networks — has their take.

Even the team's official account posted a photo this morning.

Me laughing, leaning into Millie like I've belonged at her side my whole life.

I should feel good. Because this — this noise — it means the story is shifting. The interview, the anger, the backlash — they're slipping further away from the spotlight. But I don't feel good. Not exactly.

Because not everything out there is kind. Not everything is warm. Some of it is sharp and cold, barbed and ugly. The kind of words that stick under your skin and fester.

The usual things —

She's distracted.

She's not focused on hockey.

She's causing drama.

She's too much.

And though they're talking about Millie, I can't shake the feeling that I'm the reason they have anything to say at all. That just by standing beside her — smiling, pretending, existing — I'm giving them more weapons to use against her.

I tuck my camera tighter against my side, feeling small.

Insignificant. I know what her team wanted —They wanted a new story.

A new image to paste over the cracks in her reputation.

And I agreed to it. I said yes. But knowing all that doesn't stop the guilt from blooming heavy in my chest, bitter and unwelcome.

By the time I finally wrap up work, the sky outside has turned an ominous shade of gray — thick clouds stitched tightly across the horizon, heavy and ready to break open.

I pack up my gear slowly, dragging every movement out like it might buy me more time, even though my body is bone-deep exhausted.

It's only a ten-minute walk home. Normally, I'd order an Uber — especially with the storm threatening — but right now, I need the air.

Need the space.

Need to breathe in something that isn't stale rink walls and fluorescent lights and whispers about Millie Bennett's new girlfriend.

The streets are quiet as I walk, the world holding its breath with me.

The first droplets of rain start to fall just as I reach the door, cold and sharp against the back of my neck.

I slide my key card and step inside, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. It's quiet. The kind of quiet that feels intentional. Warm, not empty.

I kick off my sneakers and drop my bag by the door, stretching the tension from my neck.

When I glance toward the living room, I freeze.

There, nestled on the couch like a little princess surrounded by pillows, is a tiny blonde girl — sound asleep, one hand clutching the hem of a stuffed bunny. She's curled into herself, peaceful and soft, with the kind of trust only little kids have.

My brow furrows in confusion. That's... new. I pad toward the kitchen, drawn by the low clatter of dishes, the smell of something warm and familiar drifting through the air.

Millie stands at the stove, her back to me, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, stirring a pot like it's the most natural thing in the world. She's in black leggings and an oversized hoodie, her auburn hair twisted into a low, messy ponytail, strands falling loose to frame her face.

And somehow, even like this — especially like this — she looks perfect.

So perfectly herself it steals the breath right out of my lungs.

Like something real and solid in a world that's been nothing but spinning too fast lately.

Before I can say anything, she must sense me because she turns around — a wooden spoon still in hand — and when her eyes land on me, her whole face softens.

"Rory?" she says at first, blinking. Then she really sees me, and her smile stretches slow and easy.

"Oh. Harps. It's you. Hi." the sound of her voice — low, warm, just for me — makes something twist pleasantly in my chest. "You hungry?

" she asks, turning back to the stove. "My Aunt Lauren dropped off food, I'm just heating it up. "

I shift, a smile pulling at my lips despite the exhaustion. "Hey," I say, voice a little rough. "I, uh... yeah. Sure."

I set my camera bag on the kitchen island, trying to look casual even though my whole body feels wired with an energy I don't quite know what to do with.

I glance back toward the living room and nod toward the little girl sleeping on our couch.

"Mind explaining that?" I tease, eyebrows lifting.

"I thought you were supposed to be at practice. "

Millie chuckles, shaking her head as she gives the pot one last stir. God, even the way she moves — confident, loose, at ease — makes me want to just stand here and watch her.

"I was," she says, grabbing a plate from the cupboard.

"But Julian ended it early. He had a flight to Toronto he couldn't miss.

" She leans her hip against the counter like she's settling in for storytime.

"And that," she says, jerking her thumb toward the couch, "is my niece.

Lia. She's Rory's daughter. She's four."

"Oh," I breathe, letting the pieces slot together in my mind.

That explains the blonde waves, the angel face, the pillows fortress.

"Yeah," Millie grins, "Rory asked me to watch her for a few hours, she might be staying tonight. Something about a date with her wife or whatever." she shrugs, casual, but there's something fond in her voice when she talks about her sister.

"You babysit?" I ask, watching her with a half-smile I don't bother trying to hide.

She feigns a gasp, clutching her hand dramatically to her chest. "I'll have you know," she says, lifting her chin in mock dignity, "I'm everyone's favorite aunt."

The edges of my mouth twitch into a bigger smile, soft and real. "I don't doubt it," I murmur.

She turns slightly, glancing over at the little girl still fast asleep on the couch, cocooned in a nest of pillows like a tiny, precious secret. Something in the way Millie looks at her — protective, tender — makes my chest melt.

I clear my throat gently. "So, um..." I pick at the sleeve of my jacket, nerves prickling just under my skin. "How are you feeling?"

Millie stirs the pot on the stove, the spoon scraping gently against the bottom, before she wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and sits down across from me. She's close enough that I can smell the faint citrus of her soap, the hint of something warmer and uniquely her underneath it.

"I'm okay," she says after a moment, voice quieter now.

Her eyes, though, flick over my shoulder — to Lia, not to me.

Like it's safer to focus on something small, something innocent.

"I'm used to all of this," she adds, but there's a strain in her voice she can't hide.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice almost a whisper now.

"I'm really sorry I dragged you into all of this, Harper. "

My heart lurches, an ache blooming right in the center of my chest. I sit up a little straighter, blinking hard.

"You didn't drag me," I say, firmer than I intend. "I walked into this with my eyes open, Millie. Don't do that — don't shoulder all the blame like you're the only one who made this happen."

She holds my stare, and the kitchen feels suddenly too small, too full of everything unspoken between us.

Her blue eyes are so open, so raw for a second it almost hurts to look at her.

I see it all — the pride, the stubbornness, the exhaustion she's trying to hide, the vulnerability she never lets anyone else catch. It's all there, just for me.

She blinks first, looking down at her hands folded on the table, her thumb nervously brushing over the hem of her hoodie sleeve.

"I just..." she starts, voice tight. "I hate that people are using your name now."

I don't know what makes me do it — maybe the way she sounds, maybe the way she looks, like she's carrying the weight of the world on those strong shoulders — but I reach across the island and brush my fingers lightly over hers.

"I'm not scared of a few headlines," I say, voice low.

"And I'm not sorry for being with you in this. "

Millie's head lifts slowly, eyes locking onto mine with something hot and fierce flickering there — something almost dangerous if I let myself name it.

Before either of us can say anything else, Lia stirs on the couch, her tiny body shifting against the pillows.

The moment snaps, the tension melting away like smoke.

Millie is the first to move, standing up and walking over to check on her, her movements soft, careful. I watch her — the gentle way she tucks the blanket closer around the little girl, the way she brushes a strand of hair from her forehead.

Something inside me twists sharply. God, she's beautiful like this — not the magazine-cover Millie Bennett the world obsesses over, but the real one. The one who carries too much, who feels too deeply.

The one who's sitting across from me in leggings and an old hoodie, barefoot, hair messy, and still the most breathtaking thing I've ever seen.

A little whimper pulls me out of my trance.

Lia's tiny hands push at the blanket sleepily before she blinks open wide, ocean-blue eyes that are so much like Millie's it makes my chest hurt a little.

"Hi, princess," Millie whispers, her voice going softer in a way I didn't even know was possible. "You're okay."

Lia rubs her sleepy eyes with tiny fists, peeking uncertainly up at Millie. There's a beat — just long enough for my heart to squeeze — before she gives a slow, shy nod.

"Good girl," Millie murmurs, smoothing a hand down Lia's soft blonde hair, her voice gentle and low like she's trying not to scare her.

I stay frozen near the kitchen island, hands loosely wrapped around the edge, unsure whether I should come closer or keep my distance.

Her big blue eyes flick over to me.

She stares. Silent. Curious. Wary, the way kids are when they haven't decided yet if you're a friend or something to fear.

Slowly, I crouch down so I'm at her level, careful not to make any sudden moves. I offer her a soft smile, voice light and low.

"Hi, sweetheart," I say gently. "I'm Harper. I'm, uh—"

"Auntie Millie's wilfriend?" she interrupts, stumbling adorably over the word, her tiny voice piping up in the way toddlers do — all confidence and no filter. "Mommy said so,"

My eyes flick instinctively to Millie, catching the way her cheeks flush a soft, pretty pink. She bites the inside of her lip — and for a second, she's not Millie Bennett, the hockey star, the headline. She's just a girl caught off-guard, blushing in her own kitchen.

I bite my own bottom lip to hide a smile, leaving the moment wide open for Millie to handle. "Huh," Millie says, recovering with a little breathless laugh as she scoops Lia easily into her arms. "She said that, huh?"

"Mhm." Lia nods vigorously, then turns her solemn gaze back to me. "I'm Lia Wose Bennett Woussoo," she declares proudly, stumbling adorably over her name.

"That's a very beautiful name, Lia." I say, chuckling at how adorable she is.

She beams at me, shy and proud all at once, her tiny hands clinging to Millie's hoodie strings like anchors.

"Come on, bug," Millie says, giving Lia a little kiss on her forehead. "Let's get some dinner in you before you turn into a total gremlin."

Lia giggles against her shoulder, and Millie flashes me a look over her head — quick, charged, like an unspoken promise.

I stand slowly, feeling like my body's moving through thick water, still dizzy from what Lia called me.

Girlfriend. My face is still hot, but I follow them into the kitchen anyway, pretending everything is normal, pretending I'm not unraveling one slow tug at a time.

Millie moves around the kitchen with Lia perched on one hip, balancing a plate in her free hand with an ease that makes my heart trip over itself. She nudges the plate toward me with a grin.

"Think you can manage serving without burning yourself, Harps?"

I snort under my breath, accepting the plate. "Debatable. But for you, I'll risk it."

Lia giggles again, and Millie's answering smile is so tender it makes my throat ache.

We eat standing around the kitchen island, the three of us — plates propped on elbows, casual and messy and easy.

Lia's stories tumble out between bites — about her moms, about her favorite sparkly skates, about how her mom lets her eat pancakes for dinner sometimes.

I listen, laughing when I'm supposed to, offering little "oh wow"s and "no way"s like I'm part of this tiny universe she's spinning.

Every once in a while, I feel Millie's gaze on me. Not heavy. Not demanding. Just... there. Watching. Like she's trying to figure me out the same way I'm figuring her out — like maybe, just maybe, we're both holding our breath without knowing it.

After dinner, Millie scoops Lia into her arms again, cradling her against her chest. "She's about to crash," she says softly, glancing down at the little blonde head already drooping against her shoulder.

I nod, my heart too full to speak. I gather the plates silently, rinsing them in the sink while Millie disappears down the hallway with Lia.

When Millie returns, her hoodie sleeves shoved up to her elbows, she leans back against the doorway and just... watches me.

"Harper," the way she calls my name makes my body shiver.

"Hmm?"

Millie pushes off the doorframe, padding across the kitchen barefoot. She stops a few feet away, close enough that I can smell her shampoo — something clean and soft and undeniably her. "Thank you for yesterday and... today." she says quietly, her voice a little rough.

I look up at her, at the tiredness in her posture, the vulnerability she never lets the world see.

"For what?" I ask, just as quiet.

She lifts a shoulder, half a shrug, half a confession. "For... being there."

I could say something easy. Something safe. No problem. It was nothing. I don't mind.

Instead, I let the truth slip out in a whisper, soft and certain. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

Millie's eyes darken, something unnamed flickering there — something I know I feel mirrored in my own chest. But instead of stepping closer, instead of reaching out, she just gives me a small, almost shy smile.

"Night, Harps."

"Night, Millie."

And just like that, she turns and disappears down the hallway. Leaving me standing there — alone, breathless, and more terrified than ever of how much I'm already losing to her. How much of me she already holds in her hands without even realizing it.