Amara's POV
I could not believe Trey would ruin my night so easily. It was like he lived for it, finding the exact words that could cut me deepest and throwing them at me with that cold, unshakable voice of his. Why did he love hurting me when I had done nothing to deserve it?
His words burned like fire, stripping me bare in front of everyone. Adrian will never be serious with you. Just like that, he reduced me to a fool. And maybe I was. Because the truth, the ugly and humiliating truth, was that I never wanted Adrian in the first place.
I wanted Trey.
Every smile I gave Adrian, every laugh I forced, every nod I offered were not for Adrian. They were shields, fragile little shields, meant to prove to myself and to Trey that I was moving on. That I could survive without him. That I could still feel wanted even if he despised me. But it was all a lie. My heart had never stopped beating for him, even when he turned it into his favorite target.
When he looked at me across the table, cool and detached, and told me Adrian would never take me seriously, I almost believed him. He had been Adrian's closest friend once. Of course Adrian would confide in him. Maybe Trey was right. Maybe I was just a distraction, a passing thrill. I should have thanked him for the warning, but instead the words gutted me.
So I did the only thing I could. I drowned it. Glass after glass, I tried to silence the ache. I never drank more than I could handle, but tonight I let it swallow me whole. The laughter around me blurred. The lights blurred. Even Tessa's teasing blurred. But not him. Never him. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy as chains, every time I shifted in my seat.
By the time it was time to leave, the world tilted when I tried to stand. My knees wobbled, the floor seemed to sway, and humiliation rushed through me hotter than the wine. Before I could fall, a strong hand gripped my arm, steady and certain.
Trey.
My breath caught as he slid an arm around me, pulling me against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My body betrayed me, melting into the heat of his chest even as my mind screamed that I should hate him. He smelled like cedar and clean smoke, dark and grounding, the scent I remembered from years ago when I still believed he was my safe place.
I wanted to push him away, but I could not. Not when his arm was the only thing keeping me upright. Not when my heart was pounding against my ribs so hard I thought he might hear it.
Then, to my shock, he lifted me. He simply scooped me into his arms as though I weighed nothing. The world spun, not from the alcohol this time, but from the feel of him so close, so careful. His hold was not cruel or mocking. It was gentle, steady, almost protective.
I clung to his shoulder, too dazed to argue, too drunk to fight. But my heart remembered everything.
He carried me outside, his stride sure, the night air rushing cool against my burning cheeks. I told myself it was the alcohol making me weak, making me aware of every inch of him pressed to me. But deep down, I knew better.
Even in my worst moment, Trey was the one I remembered. The one I could not escape.
When he set me down, it was not in the back seat like some helpless burden. He placed me in the passenger seat beside him. Beside him. Like I was his equal, his partner, not someone to be hidden away.
I was drunk. Dizzy. Barely aware.
But I remembered his scent. His nearness. The way his hand lingered for just a moment before he pulled back to start the engine.
And that was what haunted me most of all.
Adrian and Tessa somehow managed to squeeze into the back, their laughter spilling into the quiet of the SUV like bubbles escaping from a glass of champagne. I giggled too, for no real reason, my laughter light and foolish, the kind that comes when the world is spinning faster than you can keep up.
But even through the haze, I was painfully aware of Trey.
He leaned toward me, his presence filling the small space, and with slow precision he pulled the seatbelt across my body. His hands moved carefully, deliberately, like I was made of porcelain and might shatter at the slightest touch. The faint brush of his knuckles grazed my arm, and my breath caught.
I should have laughed again, made a joke, asked him why he suddenly cared. But I did not. I could not. Not when his nearness made the dizziness sharper, not when the warmth of him was doing something to me the alcohol never could.
The engine hummed to life, city lights blurring past the windows, and I sank deeper into the leather seat. The ride back only made me dizzier, my head swimming with wine and memories, with questions I did not have the courage to ask.
Then his hand was there again. Gently guiding me, steadying me as he adjusted the angle of the seat so I would not slump forward. His fingers brushed the side of my jaw as he tilted my head toward the window, easing me down until it rested comfortably against the leather. The touch was brief, but it sent sparks racing across my skin.
I wanted to protest, to remind him that I was not weak, that I did not need his care after everything he had done to hurt me. But the truth was, in that moment, I needed him.
So I closed my eyes.
I pretended to be asleep.
It was easier than letting him see the truth written across my face, how much I still craved his touch, how deeply his nearness undid me. Outside, the laughter from the back seat faded into a blur, the city rushing past in streaks of gold. But inside, it was only him. His scent. His presence. His silence.
And as the car moved steadily through the night, I let myself sink into the lie, just for a little while.
Because pretending to sleep was safer than admitting the way my heart still beat for him.
The car rolled to a stop in the driveway, headlights washing over the grand facade of the house. One of the maids hurried to Tessa's side, steadying her with a soft laugh, while the butler offered his arm to Adrian, who swayed slightly but managed a grin. Their laughter drifted into the night like fading music.
When a footman stepped toward me, I kept my eyes closed, too dizzy to move. Then I heard it. His voice.
"I'll carry Amara myself."
The command cut through the air, deep and absolute, and it jolted through me like a current. My heart slammed against my ribs, and before I could stop myself, my eyes fluttered open.
He was already leaning close, his gaze fixed on me. Not the cold, cutting stare I had grown used to. This one was different. Steady. Intense. His eyes held me as if I were something fragile, something breakable. My breath tangled in my throat, my body weak in ways that had nothing to do with the wine.
I waited, braced myself, for the cruel remark, the inevitable blade of words that always seemed to follow whenever I was near him. But none came.
Instead, Trey moved slowly and deliberately as he stepped out of the SUV and opened the door for me himself. The night air swept in, cool against my flushed cheeks, carrying the faint scent of rain and stone.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice unsteady. I lifted a trembling hand to the frame of the car, trying to summon the last shreds of my dignity. "And I'm sorry, but I can manage."
I tried to climb out on my own, desperate to prove I was not weak. My heels wobbled against the gravel, the ground tilting beneath me. For one suspended heartbeat, I thought I might hold myself upright. Then the dizziness surged, and the world tipped.
I stumbled.
Before I could fall, Trey was there again, grounding me with his hands, making my entire body come alive.
He was fast. His arm caught me with ease, as if he had been waiting for me to falter. His hand curved firmly around my waist, pulling me against him, anchoring me to the broad wall of his chest.
His scent surrounded me, familiar and devastating, unmistakably him. It was intoxicating, sinking into me until I could not tell where the dizziness of the wine ended and where Trey began. My fingers, traitorous and trembling, clutched at his jacket for balance. I hated the way my body leaned into him, as though it had never forgotten the shape of him.
Then, before I could even draw another breath, he lifted me again, sweeping me into his arms as though I were weightless. My pulse thundered in my ears, my defenses crumbling with every step he took. His nearness pressed in on all sides, his warmth sinking into my bones, his scent wrapping around me like a spell I could not break.
I wanted to protest, to push against his chest, to insist I did not need him. But my strength was gone, my pride too fragile, and all that remained was the unbearable truth. I was enjoying every second of it. Every second in his arms, held close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
"Amara," he said softly, his breath brushing the crown of my head. Just my name. No judgment. No blade. Just the sound of it in his voice, low, rough, almost reverent.
It unraveled me more than any cruel remark ever could. And because I was not sober, because I was really drunk, the words slipped out before I could stop them.
"Thank you for your help, Trey. I don't know why you pretended to be a good man in front of everyone when all you ever wanted was to insult me every chance you got."