He'd imagined this moment since the dress first touched her skin. He'd wanted to kiss her then, to tell her how beautiful she was. But he'd waited. Even now, the ache of that restraint lingered.
His mother had only smiled when he'd shared his plans. "She'd make a perfect wife," she'd said, voice warm with approval. Even Tasha's father had given a quiet nod as he watched his daughter disappear into the sleek black car beside Clinton.
Tasha's hand trembled slightly as he helped her out of the vehicle. The grand hotel stood before her like a dream. She had never stood in the center of such luxury, but his arm grounded her. His scent, green and faintly floral, wrapped around her like safety. She smiled, small and unsure, but something soft bloomed in her chest. Hope.
"Clinton," Daniel called as he approached, clasping his friend's shoulder in greeting. But his eyes didn't stay on Clinton, they landed on Tasha. She was stunning.
Tasha bit her lip, uneasy under Daniel's gaze. But Clinton was the only one she saw, the only one she wanted. She glanced up at him, her eyes full of longing.
Clinton caught the flicker of recognition in Daniel's expression.
"Aren't you going to introduce her?" Daniel asked, almost teasing.
"This is Tasha," Clinton said simply. His tone wasn't possessive, but protective.
Daniel's brows lifted. Tasha. The girl he'd hoped would walk beside him tonight. Surprise flickered, but he masked it well. One glance at Clinton was enough, he was serious about her.
"I doubt Samuel will show," Daniel said, shifting the subject.
"I've called all day. Nothing." Clinton scanned the room. "Maybe he's at the hospital."
"Or hiding from the press," Daniel replied. "I feel for him."
David joined them then, his usual charm intact, a green-eyed model clinging to his arm. "Looking sharp, my friends," he grinned. His companion smiled warmly at Tasha. "I love your hair," she said, admiring the polished curls. The boys stepped away leaving the girls alone.
Tasha returned the compliment, laughter easing her nerves. "Clinton's not my boyfriend," she admitted quietly. "Not yet. He hasn't asked."
Across the room, Clinton accepted a flute of champagne. His gaze drifted to her, his voice a low murmur. "She's Tasha. The gatekeeper's daughter."
The others fell silent.
"The girl you deflowered?" Daniel quipped, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd catch feelings."
Clinton's jaw tightened. He remembered the clubhouse talk, the way he'd once spoken about Tasha, reckless, thoughtless. A wave of guilt rose before he could tamp it down.
"She's nothing to me," he said flatly. "Just... available. If I'd known you two were coming alone, I wouldn't have bothered."
But even as the words left his mouth, they tasted bitter.
Daniel studied him, unconvinced. "And yet... here you are."
Clinton forced a shrug. "She's loose. Not someone you build anything with. She's just... fun."
Then he saw her. Tasha. Standing a few steps behind them, tears already falling. She had heard every word.
Samuel's voice broke the silence. "Oops," he muttered. "What have you done?"
Tasha turned and fled, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she disappeared into crowd.
Clinton stood frozen, regret rising fast and sharp.
Outside, in the hotel parking lot, Tasha collapsed beside a lamppost, her face buried in her arms. The satin gown she'd once cherished now felt suffocating. Loose. That's how he'd described her. Like she meant nothing.
She had believed in him. Believed this night was the beginning of something real.
Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs, grief unraveling her pride.
She didn't know if she could forgive it. But a desperate part of her still wished he'd come after her. That he'd tell her he didn't mean it. That it was pride. Fear. That he was sorry.
Because she had already fallen.
A soft voice broke through the night. "Hey."
She looked up.
Daniel stood nearby, hands in his pockets, offering a kind smile.
"You don't want to sit in the road," he said gently.
"Please... just leave me alone," she whispered.
"You won't be allowed through the gates on foot," he said. "Let me take you home."
She hesitated. Something in his voice, unhurried, unjudging, made her pause. Finally, she nodded.
He unlocked a sleek navy car and opened the door. She moved toward it slowly. But just as she reached for the handle, she froze.
Clinton was there.
Walking toward them.
He had left the party, left the glittering dinner and endless conversation, to follow her. Guilt weighed on his shoulders, but he didn't stop. His eyes never left her.
Daniel stepped aside. Clinton reached out and gently took her hand.
Their eyes met. The crowd, the music, the cars, they all disappeared.
In the car, the silence stretched.
"Don't act like you didn't say what you did," she said, her voice cracking. "What am I to you, Clinton? A fling? A mistake? Someone you'd never take seriously because I'm just... the gatekeeper's daughter? Is it because I'm not like you? Because I clean your house?"
He said nothing. His hands tightened on the wheel, jaw rigid, eyes locked on the road. His silence filled the car.
Tasha turned away, staring out the window, her reflection blurry in the glass. He was the one who'd humiliated her, he had no right to be angry. But he was. She could see it in the taut line of his shoulders, in the way he gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him.
And still, her heart cracked.
"Let me out," she said quietly. "I'll find my own way back."
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then, without a word, Clinton pulled over. The car slowed to a stop along a quiet stretch of road flanked by trees and moonlight.
She reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped her.
"Why did you want to leave with him?"
It was barely a question. More like a confession, a wound laid bare.
She turned to him slowly. "You don't get to ask me that," she said, her voice thick with disbelief. "Not after what you said about me to your friends. You made me feel like I was nothing."
His hands trembled on the steering wheel. Her words sliced clean.
"You shouldn't go with anyone but me!" he snapped.
She stared at him, stunned. Her chest tightened with confusion, rage, and something dangerously close to hope.