The first thing Jade Carter felt was the ache in her neck.
The second was the weight, warm, heavy, unfamiliar of a man's arm draped across her bare waist.
Her breath hitched.
For a moment, her mind clung to the haze of sleep, grasping at shadows, trying to convince itself this was still a dream. But the world came into focus too fast. The sheets were rumpled beneath her. Her black dress from the night before hung limp over the back of a hotel chair like a ghost of her better judgment. The soft light of dawn streamed in through half-drawn curtains, catching gold on skin that wasn't hers.
Or—no—wasn't just hers.
She turned her head slowly, carefully, as if too sudden a movement might shatter what was left of her.
Cole Blaine.
His face was turned toward her, lashes resting against cheeks that looked impossibly soft in sleep. His mouth, always a line of restraint and logic, was slack now, peaceful. One hand curled loosely near the pillow. His shirt was gone. His hair was a mess. And..
Oh god.
Jade bolted upright, the sheet yanked to her chest as if it could somehow shield her from the memory searing through her like a match to paper.
They'd slept together.
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
No. No no no.
This couldn't be real.
Not after years of burying a one-sided crush so deep it almost stopped hurting. Not after holding her breath in the wings while he built a life with someone else. Not after pretending she didn't hear the way he said Vivien's name like it was a promise.
Vivien Blake. Impeccable, graceful, untouchable. Vivien, who had once shaken Jade's hand like she was staff. Vivien, who had left, but not before leaving Jade with a measuring stick she'd never meet.
And now?
Jade blinked down at her hands.
Now she was the girl in Cole Blaine's bed.
Half-naked. Heartsick. And utterly alone in the mess they'd made.
She reached for her phone with numb fingers.
No messages. No missed calls. No "Where are you?" from her brother.
Just silence.
She slid out of bed, sheet still wrapped around her like a bandage. Her knees buckled slightly as she stood, legs weak, head spinning.
Cole stirred behind her.
Her spine stiffened.
His eyes opened, gray and glassy, not quite awake. Then realization spread across his face in slow, dawning horror.
"…Jade?"
His voice cracked on her name.
She flinched like it was a slap.
"I—I think we—last night—" she tried, her voice barely a whisper.
Cole sat up fast, dragging the sheets around his waist. His hand went to his hair. His jaw clenched.
"Damn it," he muttered.
The words landed like a stone in her chest.
"I didn't mean…" She stumbled back a step. "I just came to check on you. Justin said you were upset. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I was drunk," he said sharply, like it explained everything.
She blinked at him. Her mouth parted. She didn't know what she had expected, maybe regret, maybe panic, but not this… distance.
He stood and pulled on his shirt with practiced, robotic movements. His back was to her now.
"Well, I'm fine. Clearly."
The words cut deeper than they should have.
Her voice broke. "You don't have to pretend it didn't happen."
He didn't turn around.
"This was a mistake," he said coldly.
Jade looked at him, really looked at him. And in that moment, she saw it, the calculation, the self-preservation, the barricades going up.
She nodded slowly, pressing the sheet tighter around her like armor. "Right."
Of course it was a mistake. What else could she be?
She gathered her dress, her heels, what was left of her pride. She didn't say goodbye.
The door closed softly behind her.
Barefoot, shoulders trembling, she walked down the quiet hotel hallway. The cold of the marble floor seeped into her bones. Her fingers clenched around her phone like it might anchor her to something real.
Tears blurred her vision as she waited for the elevator.
No headlines yet. No whispers. No fallout. Just the echo of his voice in her head, still calling it a mistake.
Her name was Jade Carter.
She was nineteen years old.
And that morning, before the scandal, before the press tore her apart, before the man she once adored became someone she barely recognized.
She realized she hadn't just lost her dignity.
She had given away something far more fragile.
Her heart.
And he hadn't even noticed.