The Hale mansion was bathed in the blinding Texas sun, its pale stone glowing beneath a tangle of climbing ivy and the sweetness of blooming roses drifting through the open doors. The afternoon heat made everything shimmer, distorting the perfectly manicured gardens into something dreamlike. Inside, where the air conditioning hummed softly and expensive perfume lingered in every corner, Kitty Hale sat at her vanity, absently curling a lock of hair, her face lit up with the kind of untested hope that belongs to girls who haven't had their hearts broken yet.
"Mother, he's it. I know it in my bones," she said, spinning around to face Margaret, who lingered in the doorway with her arms folded and a look that could slice through granite.
Margaret's eyebrow arched. "Kitty, you've exchanged what, a handful of words with him?"
"Three conversations," Kitty replied, cheeks tinged pink. "But it's different. When Victor looks at me, I feel seen. Not just another girl in a fancy dress, me."
Margaret stepped into the room, heels clicking against the marble floor with that distinctive rhythm Kitty had heard her whole life—sharp, purposeful, unwavering. Her fingers fussed with her pearls, the ones that had belonged to Grandmother Hale and before that, someone even more distant and untouchable. "Victor Roman isn't just any suitor. He's the golden ticket. Money, influence, old family name. Most girls would give anything for a second of his attention. And you think you've caught his eye?"
Kitty's gaze drifted dreamily toward the window, where the sun painted everything gold. "I feel it. He's my future, Mama."
Margaret's sigh was heavy, but her eyes glinted with calculation, the same look she got when planning a charity gala or orchestrating a business deal. "Then don't let the opportunity slip away, darling. Men like Victor don't fall for just anyone. Appearances count. We'll need to be strategic."
Kitty wrinkled her nose. "He'll like me for who I am."
Margaret gave her a tight, knowing smile, the kind that held decades of experience Kitty couldn't yet understand. "That's sweet, Kitty. But it's not how this world works. Let me help."
Kitty turned back to her reflection, already picturing herself on Victor's arm, dazzling and adored, everything she'd ever wanted finally within reach. In her mind, she could see it all, the engagement announcement in the society pages, the wedding at the cathedral, the envious looks from every girl who'd ever doubted her.
A voice broke through her reverie.
"Victor Roman, huh?"
Kitty startled, nearly dropping her curling iron. Her brother Ethan was in the doorway, arms crossed, boots still dusty from the barn. His face was set in that stubborn way she knew too well, the expression that meant he wasn't going to let something go.
"Were you listening?" Kitty snapped.
Ethan shrugged. "Didn't have to. You're loud enough." He stepped in, his gaze steady. "You don't know him, Kitty."
She lifted her chin. "I know enough."
Ethan's tone was even, but there was something gentle in it, something protective that made her both grateful and annoyed. "What you know is the version meant for the public. Guys like Victor—people swoon over the image, but they don't stick around. They burn through everything and everyone."
Kitty tried to sound sure of herself. "You just don't get it. You've never wanted something like this."
He looked at her, something sad flickering in his eyes. "I've wanted plenty, Kit. Just not the kind of thing that leaves people hurt."
Margaret cut in sharply, "Let her have her dreams, Ethan. You've spent too long on that ranch, away from proper society. Victor's a chance, and Kitty is smart to see it."
Ethan's jaw tightened. He looked at Kitty, his voice suddenly soft. "You deserve someone who sees the real you. Not someone who'll make you another notch in his belt."
Kitty's voice wobbled. "He's not like that."
Ethan just shook his head and let it drop, but the disappointment in his eyes lingered long after he'd turned away.
Later, Kitty sat on the terrace, scrolling through Victor's feed: yachts in the Mediterranean, rooftop parties in Dubai, charity balls where champagne flowed like water, always surrounded by beautiful people and sunlight. Each photo was perfectly curated, each caption witty and effortless. She hovered over the like button, but thought better of it. Too eager. Instead, she opened her notes and started drafting the perfect thing to say next time she saw him, practicing her smile in her phone's camera, adjusting the angle until it looked natural and unforced.
"You look ridiculous," Ethan called from the doorway, holding a glass of tea, watching her with a bemused expression.
"I'm practicing," Kitty shot back.
"For what? A rom-com audition?"
"For when I see him again. Not that it's your business."
Ethan settled in the seat next to her, radiating calm in that way that always made her feel like a hummingbird by comparison. "I'm not trying to spoil this, Kitty."
"Then what are you doing?"
"I'm trying to protect you," he said quietly. "You're chasing after a man who probably doesn't even know you're alive. Even if he does, he's not the kind who sticks."
Kitty bristled. "You can't know that."
He met her gaze, unflinching. "I know the type. Collects women, moves on when he's bored."
"Stop it," Kitty said, voice barely above a whisper.
"It's the truth," Ethan said, gentle but firm. "And one day you'll see it."
She wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes made her throat close up. Ethan had always been her safe place, the steady one when everything else felt uncertain, when their parents' expectations became too much to bear.
She shook her head. "I don't need you to save me. I just wish you'd believe in me a little."
He didn't reply, just gave her a sad half-smile and walked inside, leaving her alone with the cicadas and the fading light.
That night, they went to a Manhattan art auction. The gallery was buzzing, walls hung with paintings that cost more than most houses, abstract pieces that Kitty didn't understand but pretended to admire, classical portraits with eyes that seemed to follow you across the room. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across marble floors, and waiters in crisp white jackets glided through the crowd with trays of champagne and canapés. Kitty floated beside her mother, her heart thumping as she scanned the crowd, searching for that particular shade of golden hair, that distinctive profile she'd memorized from a hundred photographs.
And there he was, Victor Roman, laughing among a circle of men in expensive suits, the light turning his hair gold. He gestured broadly as he told some story, and the men around him leaned in, captivated. Kitty's breath caught. "He's here, Mama."
Margaret's eyes sparkled with triumph, her hand tightening almost imperceptibly on her clutch. "This is your moment."
Kitty started to cross the room, nerves jangling, her new heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that suddenly felt too loud, too obvious. She'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times, the casual approach, the knowing smile, the witty comment about whichever painting hung nearest. Then she spotted Anna Kingsley, statuesque in black satin that probably cost more than Kitty's entire wardrobe, standing apart from the crowd but somehow commanding it all the same. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe chignon, her posture perfect, her expression one of elegant boredom.
Victor's attention slid across the room and landed on Anna, not on Kitty. The way he looked at her made everything else fade—the paintings, the champagne, the chatter, all of it dissolved into background noise.
Kitty's heart sank as she realized the truth. She wasn't the only girl hoping for Victor Roman's attention. She was just the only one naive enough to think she'd get it.