As the last rays of sunlight stretched across the field and the polo match faded into memory, Anna found herself lost in the evening's swirl of laughter and clinking glasses. The crowd might as well have been background noise—her focus narrowed entirely on Victor, who hovered just close enough to make her heart race.
Anna tried to pass it off as just another idle conversation, another round of polite small talk, but she wasn't fooling herself. Victor's presence was magnetic, his every word and lingering glance stirring up feelings she'd forced into hiding years ago.
"Tell me something, Anna," Victor said, idly toying with his nearly-empty glass. "How do you pull it off?"
She arched a brow. "Pull what off?"
He gestured toward the gathering, where people watched her with a mix of curiosity and envy. "The whole act. The role. You're flawless, always. Like you were born for it."
Anna straightened, steadying herself with a sip of champagne. "It's not an act."
Victor's eyes sparkled with disbelief. "If you say so. Still, being perfect must wear you down."
Her hands trembled slightly as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "You make a lot of assumptions for a man who barely knows me."
He just smiled, a little wickedly. "I don't assume. I pay attention."
She wanted to brush him off, to treat him like every other man who thought a clever line was all it took. But Victor saw her, really saw her, in ways Alexander never had.
"I'm not the mystery you think I am," she replied, her voice cool but thin.
Victor leaned in, voice dropping. "You're even more interesting than you let yourself realize."
A flush crept up her neck. Anna looked away, pretending to watch the horses being led off the field.
Victor's voice chased after her. "Your husband's a lucky man. Though I doubt he notices."
Her jaw tensed. "You know nothing about my marriage."
He shrugged, eyes gentle but knowing. "I know you're talking to me, not him. That says enough."
Anna's chest tightened, but she stayed rooted. A part of her wanted to run, to find Alexander and slip back into her mask. But she couldn't move.
As the crowd thinned, Alexander got swept away by boardroom talk. Anna drifted to the edge of the tent, searching for space.
Victor found her there, leaning on the railing with the ease of someone who belonged everywhere. "I almost feel bad for the paparazzi," he said. "They think they're capturing the real Anna Kingsley. But I've seen something no camera can catch."
She gave a brittle laugh. "And what's that?"
"That you're desperate to drop the act."
The words hit a nerve. She drew herself up, but Victor didn't flinch.
"You're wrong."
He considered her, thoughtful. "Maybe."
They stood in silence, the tension between them thick as velvet. Anna hated how every nerve in her body seemed drawn to him.
She was about to speak when a sudden burst of camera flashes split the moment. Paparazzi had broken through, calling her name.
Anna stiffened. The last thing she needed was a photo of her and Victor, too close, too exposed. That would be all the tabloids needed.
Victor reacted instantly, slipping an arm around her and pulling her into his shadow. For a split second, Anna was pressed against him, shielded from prying eyes.
Their gazes locked, everything else faded away.
Security rushed in, pushing the photographers back. Victor's hand lingered on her waist, reluctant to let go.
"You're safe now," he whispered.
The word echoed inside her, unfamiliar and bittersweet.
She opened her mouth, unsure what she meant to say, but Bianca's voice sliced through.
"My, my."
Anna turned. Bianca was there, her expression hungry for drama, phone at the ready.
"Now that's a moment," Bianca teased. "Anna Kingsley, swept from the spotlight by Victor Roman. The gossip columns are going to eat this up."
Anna's mask slammed back into place. "Don't be absurd, Bianca."
Bianca smiled, the cat who caught the canary. "I live for absurdity."
Victor smirked. "Careful, Bianca. You'll give people the wrong idea."
"Jealousy isn't my style," Bianca shot back, raising her glass. "But this? This is a headline in the making."
Anna felt her cheeks burn. "There's nothing here."
Bianca just winked. "Time will tell."
The rest of the party, Anna could feel Bianca's gaze, sharp as a pinprick, following her everywhere. Alexander was buried in shop talk. Anna wore her best smile, but her thoughts kept circling Victor and Bianca—one seeing too much, the other ready to broadcast it.
When the event finally wound down, Anna let Alexander lead her away. Victor's laughter floated across the lawn. She looked back and saw him watching her, Bianca at his side, phone in hand.
Anna's heart pounded all the way back to the city. Alexander barely glanced up from his phone. Anna watched the darkness swallow the Hamptons and spit them out as city lights.
That night, wine in hand, she tried to will herself calm. It was nothing, she insisted, a party, a man with a dangerous smile, a friend with a sharp tongue.
Her phone buzzed. Instagram alert. She hesitated, then tapped.
Bianca's story: a blurry shot of the field, Anna and Victor's outlines just visible. The caption: The ice queen melts?
Anna's grip tightened. The story would disappear, but the whispers wouldn't.
Alexander passed by without noticing.
A second buzz: a message from an unknown number. Hope you're not upset about the cameras. I wanted to protect you.
Victor.
Her pulse skipped. She should erase it.
Another text:
Sleep well, Anna. I'll be thinking of you.
A wave of heat swept through her. She locked her phone tight, nerves jangling. Alexander never noticed.
Anna finished her wine. Sleep was nowhere close.
Morning hit hard. Anna sat at the marble island, scrolling through her phone. Bianca's post was gone, but the rumors were growing. Blogs spun stories about Anna and Victor. The ice queen melts. How close is too close?
She shut her phone, feeling sick. Alexander hadn't mentioned it, but silence was never a good sign.
Then a new alert: Steve, her brother, caught by paparazzi again. Photos, headlines, and now Dolly's name dragged in.
Anna called the car. This mess couldn't be ignored.
Steve's brownstone looked perfect from the street; inside, it was chaos. Anna picked her way through toys and glasses and the hum of cartoons.
Dolly sat at the table, eyes swollen. "Anna," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Anna pulled her into a hug. "I'm so sorry."
Dolly managed a brittle laugh. "Sorry doesn't erase the tabloids."
Steve's voice thundered from above, another slammed door.
"He's running away," Dolly said, voice breaking. "Like that'll fix anything."
Anna reached for her hand. "He's an idiot."
Dolly's laugh was all pain. "He's their father. What am I supposed to do, pretend I'm fine?"
Anna hesitated. "Did you know?"
Tears spilled over. "Of course. But it's one thing to know on your own. To have it on every screen, to have strangers pity you, that's something else. That's humiliation."
The word stung Anna to the core.
Steve barreled down the stairs, duffel in hand, face set in a familiar mask. "Anna. Don't look at me like that. It's blown out of proportion."
She snapped. "You've humiliated Dolly and your family."
Dolly stood, voice trembling. "It's exactly as bad as it looks, Steve."
Silence pressed down on the three of them. Steve muttered something and left.
The only sound was cartoons in the next room. Dolly slumped, shaking.
Anna squeezed her hand. "You deserve better."
Dolly shook her head. "I don't want better. I want my family. But I'm not stupid. Men like Steve? The world forgives. For women like us, it never does."
The words hit Anna harder than she'd expected.
For the first time, she could picture her own name not gilded in admiration but tarnished in disgrace. And suddenly, Victor's nearness, Bianca's post, felt like the edge of both freedom and disaster.