Page 98 of Twisted Control

I really am.

But then my eyes find Drew. He’s watching me with that half-smirk tugging at his mouth. And just like that, the heavy weight in my chest lifts, replaced by something light and fluttery and dangerously hopeful.

28

GRACE

It’s been four days since the gala, and I’m getting more excited with every passing second. I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.

It’s like everything has finally clicked into place. All that hesitation and overthinking has completely drained away, and I am one hundred and fifty percent sure I’m making the right decision. In fact, I’m low-key mad at myself for not doing this sooner. I should have run off with Drew the second Dad assigned him as my bodyguard. Okay, maybe I’m getting carried away, but the point is—I know this is the right decision.

I’ve been slowly moving my things out, one careful bag at a time, nothing obvious enough to raise suspicion. A suitcase of clothes disguised as a dry-cleaning run. A box of skincare and jewelry labeled as a donation. Little by little, a quarter of my wardrobe now hangs in Drew’s closet. My favorite books are stacked on his coffee table. My spare charger lives beside his bed. When we finally sit down and tell Dad the truth, I’ll be totally fine. Not scrambling or panicking.

I’ll be ready.

I’m curled up on my bed right now, legs tucked beneath me, phone warm and silent in my lap. I keep staring at the dark screen, willing it to light up. Drew’s been swamped trying to sort out our new life while still handling security jobs, but we’ve stolen a few precious moments in between.

And every single one of them has made me more sure.

So have the group chats. They’ve been exploding again, as if the last month never happened. The girls added me back without a single word of explanation, like my social exile was nothing more than a minor technical glitch. Being seen with Charles at the gala apparently scrubbed my reputation clean in their eyes.

I haven’t replied to a single message. I haven’t even opened them.

I also haven’t reactivated any of my social media pages. I’m so done with all of that.

It’s funny. The life I’m stepping into is the complete opposite of the life I always thought I wanted. No glamorous events, no perfectly curated feed, no constantly looking like I have it all together. And yet…I don’t think I’ve ever felt so sure, or so happy, in my entire life.

My bedroom door swings open without so much as a knock.

Finn storms in like he owns the place. In his mind, he probably already does. He’s been unusually quiet since the gala. I kept waiting for the old, sharp-tongued Finn to come roaring back.

Looks like he’s finally here.

There’s that familiar smug glint in his eyes again. He drops onto the bed beside me without asking, the mattress dipping under his weight. The scent of his expensive woody cologne fills the space between us. He pulls out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen, then turns it toward me with a dramatic flourish.

“The pictures from the gala finally dropped,” he announces.

On the screen, Governor Richie and Teresa beam like the perfect power couple. His hand is possessive on the small of her back, her smile bright and camera-ready. My stomach twists. I know exactly how much that image must burn for him.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

Finn shrugs, trying to look unbothered. “I’ll be fine.” Then his eyes narrow on me. “You, on the other hand…are completely fucked.”

He swipes to another photo and zooms in. There I am at the table with Charles, his back turned to me, smiling softly across the room.

I frown. “What’s the big deal?”

Finn doesn’t say anything. He slowly zooms out, then shifts the frame and there’s Drew a couple of tables over, smiling right back at me. The kind of private, warm smile that makes it painfully obvious we’re looking at each other.

Shit.

To anyone else it might look innocent. To Finn, it’s glaringly obvious.

“Wouldn’t have picked him for you,” Finn says, voice deceptively light. “He looks like a linebacker who wandered into the wrong party.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I try, keeping my tone even.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Gracie. So what’s the plan? Marry Charles for the money and keep fucking the help on the side?” He leans back on my bed. “He doesn’t seem the type to put up with that.”