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Page 34 of Privilege

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dane

It’s all fun and games until Evelyn loses an eye.

I take a breath to calm myself, withdraw my arm from Cara because she doesn’t need the extra shit that’s about to run her over like a fucking tank, and cross my arms.

Evelyn barely acknowledges me, takes half a second to examine my outfit before she visibly sneers and turns away. Her pupils dilate as she zeroes in on Rich.

“What do you think you’re doing,” she hisses at him.

Rich stands up a little taller. “You told me attendance was mandatory, mother.” His tone is uncharacteristically sharp, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“Show some respect,” she says, voice low. “We don’t need your little whore of a girlfriend on parade like a prostitute. Do you know who is here tonight?”

I step forward involuntarily at the word ‘whore’ but Cara blocks my way with her arm. She shakes her head, those perfect red lips pressed together with fury. But I understand. This is between Rich and his mother.

“Don’t call her that,” Rich grits out.

“Pull yourself together, Richie. You’re making a scene.”

“What scene, mother?” he says, voice rising. “Attending a party with my girlfriend?”

Some people nearby stop, clearly eavesdropping, eager for the show. Step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Evelyn looks murderous.

“She’s a sex worker, Richie,” Evelyn spits. “You can’t be seen like this.” She waves her hand at both me and Cara .

I blink, hung up on ‘sex worker’. Cara looks equally confused.

“What are you talking about?” Rich asks, exasperated.

That’s when I notice Jamie hovering at the edge of the crowd, a wildly self-satisfied grin on her face.

What the fuck did she do to my girl?

She sashays forward and thrusts her phone in Rich’s face. I put my hands on Cara’s bare shoulders and lean forward to see. Tension flows out of her like an electromagnetic pulse.

There, on screen, is Cara with her top off, side by side with another girl in what looks like a tiny boudoir studio. They’re both fondling their breasts, tugging at their nipples, and the ding noises of patrons paying money for them to do more than that is going off like an alarm clock.

They giggle, turn to face each other, and start to kiss.

My brain breaks in half, melts, and dribbles out of my ears. Cara has an Only Fans?

“I thought you should know,” Jamie says to Rich, not an ounce of remorse in her tone.

Evelyn pokes his chest with her blood red nail, exactly like she did to me .

“This is not acceptable behaviour, Richie. I will not be grandmother to a van der Beer bastard baby of a porn star.”

Nobody moves. It’s the perfect tableau, the five of us swagged up like it’s 1929, and perfectly in character is Evelyn, concerned about reputation.

Someone snorts, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s Cara.

Rich glances at her, the freeze that always drowns him in the moment broken by her unexpected laughter. Her shoulders are shaking with it.

“I’m not a porn star,” she says.

“Are you joking?” Evelyn spits. She’s seething mad.

“You’re such a fucking prude. It’s 2025. Get over yourself, Evelyn. Nobody cares about this shit. Not anyone that matters, anyway.”

Jamie looks like she’s been hit in the face with a basketball. Evelyn might commit murder. Rich, by the looks of things, might drop to his knees right here and propose.

Cara walks away like this conversation means less to her than a pleasantry with the valet host, and pride surges in my veins. She doesn’t belong here, but she certainly could if she wanted to. Damn.

She drifts over to the bar where she orders a dirty martini, plucks the toothpick with the olive from the rim, and sucks it from the stick. Then, like a total fucking boss, she raises the glass to Jamie and Evelyn in a toast, before she downs the entire thing.

If Rich doesn’t fucking propose, I will.

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