The boutique's soft lights gave the dresses a soft glow as Logan led me down the racks like he was a general walking along his army. His long fingers skimmed delicate fabrics that cost even more than the monthly rent in his luxurious guest villa.
"This one," he said at last, pulling out a deep-green low-cut dress with a thin silk belt outlining the waist. "I think it will work well with your complexion."
I froze, my eyes frantically running over the stunning garment in his hands. It was truly beautiful, and I would cry if I were to ever wear such a thing, but there was no way I could afford it. "Logan, it's stunning, but––"
"It's a gift," he cut me off, leaving no room for argument. "Tonight is not just a meaningless party to mingle and drown yourself in free booze. The Grant annual banquet will have everyone important in our city. Everyone who's anyone will be there."
My throat tightened, palms already covered in a thin film of sweat. After yesterday's fight at the Crane mansion, the idea of facing Sam and his lover in public made my stomach twist into painful knots.
"I didn't mean to intimidate you," Logan said, smiling a little. "You'll be fine. You're coming with me, after all."
I nodded, feeling a little better at that reminder. Then, I finally accepted the dress and followed the store assistant to try it on.
The changing room was even bigger than my bathroom at home. I slid into the dress and hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. She looked tall, confident, strong. She was radiant and pretty. Logan was absolutely right – this color was perfect for my skin tone.
I looked bright. Alive.
When I stepped out, Logan's eyes instantly grew wider. He rose to his feet and walked around me, studying my new look.
"Much better than I expected," he said, brushing my loose hair away from my shoulders, making me feel overly exposed. His hand brushed the side of my neck, and my whole body reacted with a strange electric outburst.
I was covered in goosebumps.
"Will I fit in?" I asked, clearing my throat. I was desperate to shift his attention away from my appearance.
He met my eyes with his. "No," he said bluntly. "But you won't embarrass me either."
I laughed at his honesty. "Fair enough."
***
That night, the Grant family manor rose before us, limestone glowing under spotlights. Valets grabbed keys while photographers shot pictures of the arriving elite.
"Remember," Logan said as the car stopped at the main entrance, "you're not only attending. We're hosting this together."
"We're what?" I asked, utterly confused. We had never discussed anything like that before!
Logan didn't answer. He stepped out as cameras flashed for the most promising heir of the Grant family. Then, just as I was about to step out myself, he opened the door for me and offered me his hand.
Goddess, why does my heart crumble every time he does something nice for me?
The banquet room was the epitome of power and wealth – crystal chandeliers, marble floors, waiters with trays of champagne roaming around as if there was no end to them.
"Mr. Grant," a gray-haired man approached, offering Logan his hand for a handshake, "your family has outdone themselves. The manor is exquisite."
"Thank you, Mayor Gleason," Logan said with a polite smile. "This is Amelie Gilmore, my personal guest tonight."
The mayor took my hand in his and planted a light kiss on it. "Any friend of the Grants is welcome."
For an hour, Logan moved through the room with ease, switching from one handshake to another. In private, he gave small, kind smiles. In public, he was cool and commanding.
"You're doing surprisingly well," he whispered to me at one point, giving me an encouraging nod. "Stand tall. You are with me. You belong here."
A sharp voice cut through the hum like a thunderbolt through the still air. "Well, if it isn't the Riverstone's former doormat."
My blood ran cold. Sam stood close by in a blood-red gown. A tall woman with flowing, wavy hair stood at his side, her arms wrapped around his bicep.
"Samuel," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I see you got an invitation after all."
"Of course," he snapped, frowning. "I don't need charity to come to events like this."
His companion smirked. "Miranda Johnes," she said, "I believe we've met."
"Wow, you don't even remember jumping out of my husband's bed and slapping me in the face?" I asked, each word a barb in her direction.
Miranda's eyes narrowed into dark slits, but she didn't say anything as Sam turned to Logan and offered him his hand. "Mr. Grant, pleasure to see you again. I've been meaning to talk to you about the pending business proposal––"
"I'm not discussing business tonight," Logan said, colder than I'd ever heard. He slipped his hand into mine, fingers interlaced in full view. "I'm here to enjoy the evening with Amelie."
Sam's mouth nearly fell to the floor. Miranda stepped forward. "Mr. Grant, perhaps we could—"
"Miss Johnes," Logan said, cutting her off, "I know who you are. Your family means nothing to me."
Even I was stunned by how blunt he was. Miranda's face darkened, but Logan didn't back down.
"If you'll excuse us, I have guests to greet," he then said, turning to me with a softer look. "Amelie, I need to speak with my uncle. Will you be all right for a few minutes?"
I nodded and squeezed his hand once before letting go.
As soon as he disappeared into the crowd, Sam's fake smile snapped back into something cruel.
"What game are you playing here?" he hissed. "Did you think showing up with that stuck-up bastard would make me jealous?"
My hands clenched. "Don't talk about him like that."
"Look at you, defending him already," Sam sneered. "He is just using you. He'll dump you when he's done with... whatever he sees there."
"The difference," I said, calm but firm, "is that Logan is a straightforward person. If he were using me, I would have known. He is not a jackass who would stoop so low as to drag me around until someone better comes along."
Miranda loomed over me, her eyes glistening with a beastly glow. "Tell that man to watch himself," she said quietly. "The Johnes don't take insults lightly. If he falls into my hands, he'll regret speaking so harshly to me."
Something inside me snapped. Anger I had kept buried for years – anger at the Cranes, at the never-ending humiliation – suddenly rose like a tide.
I stepped forward until we were almost nose to nose. "Listen carefully," I said, voice low and unexpectedly dangerous. "One has to be either stupid or immortal to threaten people like Logan Grant. And as I recall, you bleed when you get punched. So be careful, Miss Johnes. You're not immortal."