"Why aren’t you sitting at your table with your parents?" Jared’s voice was laced with barely contained irritation and mockery.
He wanted to make Harold feel embarrassed for sitting with his parents like a kid.
Harold smirked, ignoring the tone of Jared’s voice, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I could be, but I find this seat much more interesting. Besides, sitting with , a Braddock, might improve your chances for the right connections, Petrovski."
Jared’s jaw clenched at the sound of Harold’s last na, a reminder of the Braddock family’s weight in this country, a weight that Harold wielded with reckless abandon. But Jared refused to let the brat get to him. He’d worked too hard, and faced too much to let Harold’s petty jabs affect him now.
He forced himself to focus on Jerica again, standing there on stage, her voice commanding the room, her dress shimring like the spotlight was ant for her.
Seeing her like this made sothing twist inside him—pride mixed with sothing sharper, sothing bitter. Jerica had always belonged in these kinds of circles. She was born into it, raised in it.
But him?
He’d clawed his way up, and even then, he was still considered an outsider, no matter how many wins he racked up in the courtroom. Bringing her to events like this would only highlight the difference between them, make her see how little power he had in these circles. And worse, it would expose her to the dangers that ca with his work, the kind of work that made enemies in dark places.
It was better this way, safer.
He swallowed the bitter taste of reality, watching her from a distance, a distance he’d created for her protection, for their safety.
"Don’t you think she’s happy there?" Harold’s voice broke through his thoughts again, this ti softer, almost wistful.
Jared’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Harold, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Harold was watching Jerica too, his expression uncharacteristically somber. But Jared knew better. He knew Jerica. That wasn’t happiness up there. It was practiced poise, a skill she had learned growing up in these circles.
Her real happiness—the kind that lit up her entire face, the kind that made her eyes sparkle—wasn’t sothing she’d ever show in public. Only he had seen it when she was under him.
He leaned in slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he whispered, "That’s not her happiest face."
Harold frowned, his confusion apparent. "What do you an?"
Jared’s smirk widened. "You’ve never seen it, have you?"
Harold blinked, taken aback, his brow furrowing as he tried to understand what Jared was implying. "What are you talking about?"
Jared’s voice dropped lower, his tone laced with a private, knowing edge. "You were a boy back then. You wouldn’t know what makes her truly happy."
Harold’s face flushed with frustration, his confusion deepening. "What wouldn’t I know?" His voice was sharper now, more insistent.
Jared chuckled softly, enjoying the ga. He leaned back, crossing his arms casually as if to dismiss Harold’s questions entirely. "When you get married, co talk to ," Jared murmured, his voice dripping with condescension. "I’ll teach you a few things."
Harold’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassnt and anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "Get lost," he muttered, shoving Jared’s arm away as he stood abruptly, his movents clumsy with frustration.
Jared watched him go, amusent flickering in his eyes as Harold stumbled his way toward the front of the room. The empty seat beside him didn’t stay vacant for long. Within minutes, a group of lobbyists jockeyed for position, one finally sliding into the chair with a triumphant grin. He turned to Jared, trying to make small talk, but Jared could see right through him. The man was more interested in Harold’s Braddock connections than anything Jared had to offer.
Jared’s mood soured again as he glanced toward Harold’s family. Noel Braddock, Harold’s father, sat beside his wife Hannah. His arms were folded, watching the room with the keen eyes of a predator. When their gazes locked, the air between them seed to thicken with unspoken animosity.
Jared didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. He t Noel’s gaze head-on, refusing to show weakness. He’d done nothing wrong to the Braddocks, yet their disdain for him hung over him like a shadow.
For a long mont, they stared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. It wasn’t until a waiter interrupted Noel with a tray of drinks that the tension finally broke. Noel turned away, but Jared knew the standoff was far from over.
His eyes drifted back to Jerica, still up on that stage, still so far away.
Jerica kept her smile warm and composed as Susan took the stage, her speech flowing smoothly despite the quiet tension simring beneath the surface. "Reports will be read by our beloved CEO, Susan Whitaker," she announced, her voice steady, though her thoughts were miles away.
As she made her way back to her seat, she caught sight of Lydia Sutherland staring at her from across the room.
Their eyes locked briefly, and the woman smiled at Jerica—a polite, almost placid smile with a slight nod. But sothing in the woman’s expression sent a ripple of discomfort down Jerica’s spine. Was she judging her? Jerica couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the seemingly harmless smile masked sothing deeper, sothing far less innocent.
What was her deal?
"No, it can’t be," Jerica chastised herself silently, forcing the doubt away as she returned to her seat. She tried to focus on the rest of the event, but her attention kept drifting back to the woman.
It was then that she noticed the won seated just a few tables away, their glances occasionally darting toward her and Susan, punctuated by stifled snickers and low whispers. One of them was the sa woman she saw hiding backstage.
Jerica clenched her hands beneath the table, her nails biting into her palms. She had no doubt now—those won had sothing against Susan. The sneering glances, the way their conversation died every ti Susan spoke—it all pointed to a deeper disdain, one Jerica could feel festering beneath the surface. But why? What had Susan done to warrant such treatnt?
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