Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Wade

Whispers slithered around me like serpents in the opulent ballroom, their hisses impossible to ignore no matter how much I wished to shut them out.

“Wade James.”

“Billionaire bachelor.”

“Toast of the town.”

More like prisoner of the town, if you asked me.

I kept a sardonic smile plastered on my face, nodding politely at the parade of women bold enough to bat their lashes in my direction. Leaning against a marble pillar cloaked in shadows, I fought the urge to gag on the cloying mix of perfumes and colognes that hung heavy in the stifling air. The heat from too many bodies pressed together, combined with the flickering flames of countless candles, intensified the suffocating scent. It felt like drowning in an overstuffed potpourri sachet.

Twirling a flute of sour champagne between two fingers, I did my best impression of a brooding Bront? hero—Heathcliff had nothing on me tonight. Who would’ve thought that stuffy tuxedos and hollow societal gestures could drain the life out of a man? When I was young and dumb, I believed these events were the height of sophistication. Now, each soirée felt more tedious than the last—a relentless parade of pretense and superficiality.

Just as I contemplated making a stealthy exit, a saccharine voice sliced through the pretentious chatter like a well-aimed dagger.

“Wade, darling!” The syrupy sweetness of her tone made my stomach lurch. “I haven’t seen you at one of these ever-so-fabulous events in ages!”

I schooled my features into a polite mask before turning to face her. Trina Baxter—the epitome of everything irksome about high society. Draped in diamonds that could fund a small country, she fluttered false lashes that could’ve doubled as helicopter blades and pouted glossy lips in an exaggerated moue. Trina was a fixture at these gatherings, always zeroing in on whichever billionaire looked the most available—or the most bored.

“Trina,” I managed, forcing a tight smile.

“I heard you’re still single,” she purred, sidling closer. Her manicured fingers brushed against my sleeve like a persistent spider weaving its web. “You know, Daddy just acquired a new yacht. Perhaps we could have dinner onboard sometime? We’d have all the privacy in the world.” Her gaze slid suggestively down my torso, lingering without a hint of subtlety.

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Oh joy. An evening trapped on a floating prison with Trina was exactly what I needed.

“I’ve been... busy,” I replied, taking a discreet step back to reclaim my personal space. “But it sounds... lovely.”

“Oh, darling, I know how busy you are.” She let out a throaty laugh, her hand trailing up my arm again, each touch sending a prickling irritation down my spine. “You must get so lonely, though, with all those cold boardrooms and endless numbers. You need someone to help you... relax.”

I mustered a cool, noncommittal smile, mentally calculating the quickest route to the nearest exit. The more she talked, the more hollow her words rang. Everything about Trina screamed wealth, status, and ambition—but none of the qualities I actually respected. To her, I was just a potential power match, a stepping stone in her climb up the social ladder.

And this— this —was precisely why these events made my skin crawl. No depth. No genuine connections. Just transactions masquerading as relationships.

“That’s very kind of you,” I murmured, my voice barely masking the disinterest simmering beneath the surface. “Perhaps another time.”

As I plotted my exit, the unmistakable staccato of designer heels approached—my internal alarm signaling the arrival of my sister, Amy. Adjusting my grimace into something resembling a polite smile, I braced myself just as her perfectly manicured nails latched onto my arm.

Thank God.

“Wade! Where have you been hiding?” she exclaimed, her tone exasperated yet laced with that practiced socialite charm. Before I could respond, she tugged me away from Trina, who glared daggers at the back of Amy’s impeccably coiffed head. “Come along. Priscilla has been simply dying to dance with you.” Amy’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “And you do realize her father is interested in that merger, don’t you?”

I suppressed a groan as another wave of weariness washed over me. “Yes, I’m quite aware of Priscilla’s... interests. They seem significantly more financial than romantic.”

Amy’s polished smile faltered ever so slightly. “Honestly, Wade. Must you be so melodramatic? Priscilla is a perfectly lovely woman, and—let’s face it—you aren’t getting any younger.”

I raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Older,” she corrected with a huff. “You know Dad expects a grandchild someday soon?—“

“Before he joins the invisible choir. Yes, I know,” I finished for her, my tone edged with sarcasm.

She sighed dramatically, shooting me a withering look. I tilted my head, studying her with a mix of affection and exasperation. Beneath her relentless meddling, I knew she cared. She might bulldoze my sandcastles without a second thought, but it was all in the name of family—however misguided her methods.

“I’ll consider myself duly warned,” I said, raising my glass of subpar champagne in a mock toast. A wry smile played on my lips.

Her perfectly lined lips thinned. “You’re impossible,” she declared, crossing her arms over her designer gown. She looked poised to launch into another lecture, but I held up a hand.

“Seriously, Amy. If it’s that important to you, perhaps you should marry Priscilla.” Sarcasm dripped from my words as I met her gaze evenly. I’d faced down boardrooms full of cutthroat executives; my sister was a walk in the park by comparison. She knew when I was reaching my limit.

True to form, she threw her hands up with an indignant huff. “Fine! Be stubborn,” she snapped before spinning on her stilettos and marching off, leaving a cloud of Chanel No. 5 in her wake.

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, the relief marred by a familiar pang of irritation. I should’ve known better than to attend tonight. But if I hadn’t shown my face, Amy would’ve had a full-blown meltdown—for Mom’s sake, of course. Not that her schemes surprised me, but a man could hope for an evening free from matchmaking.

Ha. Wishful thinking.

Draining the last of the awful champagne, I placed the empty flute on a passing server’s tray. As the orchestra swelled and laughter bubbled around me, I made an abrupt decision.

I’m done here.

Pulling out my phone, I sent a quick text before weaving through the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits. The night air hit me like a refreshing slap as I stepped outside, leaving behind the cacophony of the gala.

My driver, the ever-faithful Rodney Stibbins, waited like a guardian angel with my car idling at the curb—a blissful sanctuary on wheels.

“Evening, Mr. James,” he said with a nod, opening the door for me.

“Let’s get out of here, Rodney,” I murmured, sliding into the cool leather seat.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

As we pulled away from the grand hotel, the city lights blurred past like streaks of neon, mirroring the restless thoughts swirling in my mind. I loosened my tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of my tuxedo shirt, inhaling deeply. The lingering scent of stale champagne and pretentiousness began to fade, replaced by the subtle aroma of leather and freedom.

I’d had enough of these high-society circuses. Each event was another performance, another mask to wear, and I was growing weary of the charade. The feelings only grew worse every damn year. I made appearances to placate my family, but enough was enough. I was too old to keep dancing to Dad’s tune. Thankfully, I’d built my own fortune. I wasn’t reliant on the family empire, which meant I didn’t have to play the puppet.

He could make Amy the overseer of James Industries. She’d be happy to marry whoever she was instructed to, like a good little soldier.

It wasn’t that I was opposed to marriage, exactly. I just refused to tie myself to someone with whom I shared nothing beyond a hefty bank account balance. Marriage should be a relationship, not a merger. Call me a romantic—or a fool—but I wanted to actually like the woman I’d spend the rest of my life with.

Rodney navigated through the thinning traffic with practiced ease, the cityscape gradually giving way to the open highway. I cracked the window, welcoming the crisp night air tinged with the faint scent of the ocean. The rhythmic hum of the tires on asphalt was a soothing counterpoint to the chaos I’d left behind.

Thirty minutes later, we pulled up to my beach house in Seashell Cove—a sanctuary of solitude and simplicity I’d retreated to more times than I could count. Here, I could shed the trappings of expectation and just be.

“Will you need anything else tonight, sir?” Rodney asked as he opened the door.

“No, but thank you,” I replied, giving him a grateful nod. “Get some rest.”

“Very good, sir.”

As he drove away, I stood for a moment, absorbing the tranquil melody of waves caressing the shore. The moon cast a silvery glow over the rolling sea, stars winking in a velvet sky. The rhythmic crash of the surf was a balm to my frayed nerves.

Inside, I shed the suffocating layers of high society for a well-worn pair of athletic shorts and a comfortable T-shirt. Grabbing a bottle of aged bourbon from the cabinet, I poured a generous measure into a glass, savoring the warm, oaky aroma that promised solace.

Barefoot, I wandered onto the deck overlooking the beach. The wooden planks were cool beneath my feet, grounding me as I leaned against the railing. The ocean stretched out before me—a vast, untamed expanse that made the night’s earlier theatrics seem insignificant.

Lifting the glass to my lips, I took a slow sip, letting the bourbon’s smoky heat spread through my veins. The tension in my shoulders began to ease, the rhythmic lullaby of the waves coaxing me into a state of calm.

My phone buzzed, shattering the tranquility. I glanced at the screen—my assistant. Ignoring it was tempting, but duty rarely waited.

“Yes?” I answered, trying to keep the irritation from my voice.

“Mr. James, I apologize for the late hour, but there are some urgent matters requiring your attention,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“Does it involve someone’s untimely demise?” I asked dryly.

“Uh, no, sir.”

“Is the company on fire? Hostile takeover? Alien invasion?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Then it can wait until morning,” I said, keeping my tone firm but not unkind.

“Understood, sir. Have a good evening.”

I ended the call and set the phone to silent, resisting the urge to toss it into the ocean. Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, the screen lit up again—Amy’s name flashing insistently.

“What now, Amy?” I muttered, answering reluctantly.

“I can’t believe your audacity!” she fumed without preamble. “You just left! Do you have any idea how that makes us look?”

“Amy,” I began, rubbing a hand over my face, “it’s late.”

“It’s not even midnight,” she snapped. “Honestly, Wade, it’s like you want to be written out of Dad’s will. You can’t keep running away every time things get a little uncomfortable.”

“I’m not running away,” I countered, though even I heard the defensive edge in my voice. “I’m choosing not to engage in pointless charades.”

“Pointless?” She let out a bitter laugh. “Networking is hardly pointless. Priscilla was waiting for you, and you couldn’t even be bothered to show some basic courtesy.”

“Priscilla is more interested in a merger than in me as a person,” I retorted. “And I have no desire to be a pawn in Dad’s business schemes.”

“You’re impossible!” she exclaimed, exasperation clear. “One day, you’re going to realize that isolating yourself isn’t the answer.”

“Maybe so,” I conceded quietly. “But I’d rather be alone than surrounded by people who only see dollar signs when they look at me.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of her sigh barely audible over the distant crash of waves.

“I just worry about you,” she admitted, her tone softening slightly.

“I know,” I replied, a hint of a smile touching my lips. “But maybe it’s time you let me worry about myself for a change.”

“Fine. Enjoy your lonely life then,” she huffed. “One day, it’ll be just you, your fancy cars, and that bourbon you love so much.”

“Sounds peaceful,” I murmured.

“Ugh!” With that eloquent response, she hung up.

I stared at the dark screen for a moment before chuckling. “Goodnight to you too, sis.”

Pocketing the phone, I leaned against the deck railing, gazing out at the restless ocean. The whitecaps glowed under the moonlight, each wave whispering secrets as it kissed the shore. I felt a mix of relief and an undercurrent of melancholy. Family ties were complicated, woven with threads of obligation, expectation, and genuine care that often tangled into knots.

I gazed out at the ocean, the endless horizon a canvas of possibilities. Somewhere out there, beyond the glitz and the pretense, was a life that resonated with who I truly was—a life not dictated by boardroom deals or society’s ruthless climb.

My thoughts drifted back to a night fifteen years ago. College days, when the world felt wide open and uncharted. I’d met someone—a woman whose eyes held galaxies, whose laughter eased the weight of the world. She probably had no idea, but she’d changed the way I looked at the world forever. Maybe even had been the catalyst that led me to build my own fortune, without relying on my family’s money.

And maybe I’d been searching for some version of her ever since.

The bourbon warmed me from the inside out as I took another sip, the smoky richness a balm to old wounds. I wasn’t some starry-eyed kid anymore, but I still held out hope—however small—that there was someone out there who saw the world the way I did.

Stepping back inside, I made my way to the study. Shelves of well-read books greeted me like old friends. I sank into the leather armchair, picking up a novel at random. The familiar scent of aged paper and ink was comforting.

As I tried to lose myself in the pages, the words blurred. My mind kept circling back to the same thoughts. Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe that connection I’d felt was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

But then again, maybe not.

I glanced at the bourbon, its amber liquid catching the light. “Here’s to finding out,” I murmured, lifting the glass in a silent toast.

Leaning back, I propped my feet on the ottoman, the soft sound of the waves providing a steady rhythm. Tonight, I’d let go of expectations—family’s, society’s, even my own. Tomorrow was another day, with its own set of challenges and possibilities.

For now, I had good bourbon, a good book, and the calming lullaby of the sea.

And that was enough.