Chapter 15

Jayden

The glow of my phone screen feels like the only thing anchoring me to reality as I stare at Ryder's text one more time. No hello, no "can't wait to see you" – just cold, hard details. The Christmas ball, eight o'clock sharp, Charleston's most opulent hall, dripping with history and a guest list that reads like a who's who.

"Jayden, honey, are you going to stand there all night?" Mimi teases from behind me, her voice pulling me back into my bedroom where a taupe dress lays across my bed.

"Sorry," I murmur, tucking my phone away. "Just... can't believe this is happening."

Mimi sways over, her heels clicking a reassuring rhythm against the floor. She starts with my hair, weaving soft waves around her curling iron.

"It's going to be fine," she assures me, pinning a curl in place.

"Easy for you to say." I manage a half-smile in the mirror. "You're not the one who has to pretend to be someone's perfect date."

"Girl, you don't need to pretend anything." Mimi lets another curl fall, cascading down my shoulder. "You're gonna knock 'em dead."

I wish I could see myself through her confident eyes.

"Okay, makeup time." Mimi’s excitement is palpable as she opens her case of cosmetics full of brushes and colors.

"Remember, Jayden," she starts, dabbing foundation onto my skin. "Tonight's about you, too. Not just Ryder and his cryptic messages."

"Feels like it's about everyone else but me." The worry isn't just about Ryder; it's the fear of not belonging.

"Stop that. You belong wherever you want to be, including some fancy ball."

Her words are meant to comfort, and they do, somewhat.

"Almost done," Mimi says, applying a shade of lipstick that makes my lips look like they've been kissed by cherries. I smile at the transformation.

"Wow," I finally breathe out, meeting my own gaze in the mirror. Mimi's magic has worked, and I actually see the woman who might just captivate a room—and hopefully, Ryder.

"Ready to go?" Mimi nudges me gently.

"Ready as I'll ever be." With that, I grab my clutch and head towards a night that promises everything and nothing.

The Uber car pulls up, and I slide into the backseat. The driver doesn't need to ask where I'm going; the address has already been punched in.

"Nice night for a fancy event," he offers, attempting small talk as we pull away from the curb.

"Is it?" I whisper in return.

I lean forward, peering through the windshield as grandiose buildings come into view, all dressed up in their holiday best. My stomach churns with anticipation, or maybe it's dread.

"Here we are," the driver announces, and my heart leaps into my throat.

"Thank you," I murmur. He wishes me luck—I'll need it—and I step out into the chill of the evening.

The lobby doors loom before me, swallowing guests in their finery. I breathe in deep, trying to taste the excitement in the air, but it's the sharp tang of uncertainty that fills my lungs. With every step, the click of my heels on the marble floor is a counting down to an inevitable crescendo.

Amidst the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits, I'm adrift, clinging to the hope that Ryder's text wasn't just a courtesy. Was it a lifeline or a polite dismissal? The question burns, and I can't quell the embers of doubt.

A waiter glides past, offering up flutes of champagne from a silver tray. I take one, but my sips do little to lighten the weight in my chest.

I scan the crowd, searching for him. I’m not having any luck, though.

With another sip of champagne, I’m really starting to feel more isolated than ever.

Just when I’m about to give up and order an Uber to pick me back up, I hear my name.

"Jayden," Ryder call my name a second time, and I turn to find him striding toward me.

He's a vision of tailored perfection, his suit hugging every athletic curve of his body, making me forget how to breathe. His ice-blue gaze locks onto mine, and suddenly the room isn't so vast anymore.

"Didn't think you'd show," he says, a corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smirk that's all arrogance and charm.

"Neither did I," I admit, my voice steadier than I feel.

He steps closer. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, and the words wrap around me like a caress I've been starved for.

"Thanks," I reply.

Without another word, he offers his arm, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. He guides us through the throngs of people.

"Mom's over here," he says, leading me toward a cluster of guests who seem to orbit around a woman with an air of regality.

"Be nice," I whisper, half-joking, half-pleading. Ryder's only response is a gentle squeeze of my hand on his arm.

"Mom, this is Jayden," he announces, presenting me like a prize he's not quite sure he wants to give away. His mother turns.

"Jayden," she echoes, and her eyes sweep over me in a way that feels like she’s peeling back every layer I have. "Charmed."

"Likewise," I say. There's a beat of silence.

The disdain in her eyes is a cold blade, twisting with every passing second. Ryder's mother surveys me from head to toe again, her lips curling into a sneer.

"Darling, the thrift store is calling—it wants its gown back." Her voice drips with venom, and I can feel the color draining from my face. "Also, dear, where is your jewelry? Makeup? It's a ball, not a barn dance. And that hair—did you even attempt to see a professional stylist?"

The world shrinks to the size of this humiliation, and I am suddenly very aware of every eye upon us. My throat tightens, choked by invisible hands, and I'm gasping for air that won't come.

"Excuse me," I manage to choke out before I pivot on my heel and sprint away.

I hear Ryder call after me, his voice laced with concern, but it's too late. The need to escape is overwhelming; it propels me through the lobby doors and into the night air.

My heels click frantically against the pavement as I run with tears blurring my sight. I don’t stop running until I see neon signs to a downtown hamburger joint.

Barging through the restaurant, I ignore the startled looks from patrons enjoying their sizzling burgers.

The restroom door slams behind me, and I slide down against it, the floor sticky under my palms. I barely register the filth because shame is all-consuming. I pull out my phone with trembling fingers, fumbling through the app to summon an Uber to whisk me away from this nightmare.

Hot tears stream uncontrollably, carving salty tracks down my cheeks. I curl up tighter, knees to chest, on the grimy tiles.

I just want to go home.