The chandelier above glittered like a thousand frozen stars, and yet, I felt nothing but the cold. My gaze lingered on my mother as she swayed in Richard's arms to the soft rhythm of a piano melody. Her laugh was light, carefree—alien. I stood at the edge of the reception hall, a spectator in my own life, unsure of my role in this picture-perfect disaster. The lace of my pale-blue dress felt like a chain, constricting me in place.
A new family, they said. A fresh start.
But why did it feel like the end?
The clink of champagne glasses pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, and that's when I saw him.
Miles.
He moved through the crowd like smoke—impossible to ignore, impossible to hold. Richard's little brother, the one everyone whispered about but never openly addressed. The man who didn't belong at family weddings or happy gatherings, yet here he was, all sharp angles and restless energy. His tie was undone, his jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder.
And then his eyes found mine.
A jolt, like an electric current, passed between us. He smirked, but it wasn't kind.
"Enjoying the show?" His voice was low, threaded with something I couldn't name.
I stiffened, refusing to let him see how easily he'd unsettled me. "It's a wedding, not a show."
He stepped closer, the faint scent of whiskey and danger clinging to him. "Everything's a show, Riley. You just haven't learned to play your part yet."
His words stung, but it wasn't just the jab. It was the way he said my name, like he'd tasted it before and wasn't sure if he liked it.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
He tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "Same as you. Trying to survive the circus."
I should've walked away. I should've told him to leave me alone. But something in his gaze pinned me in place. It wasn't just arrogance. There was pain there, buried deep, and it echoed my own.
"Must be hard," he continued, his tone softer now. "Watching her move on."
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "You don't know anything about me."
"You're right," he said, stepping even closer. "But I know what it's like to feel out of place. To hate the way everyone expects you to smile and pretend you're fine."
His words cracked something inside me, and before I could stop myself, I whispered, "I don't hate it. I hate her."
Miles raised an eyebrow, but he didn't mock me. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The gesture was so unexpected, so intimate, that I forgot how to breathe.
"You're not like them," he said, his voice barely audible over the music. "You don't belong here."
"Neither do you," I shot back, though my voice trembled.
His lips twitched into a half-smile. "Maybe that's why we understand each other."
I should've stepped away. I should've said something cutting, something to shatter the fragile tension building between us. But instead, I stood frozen as he leaned in. His breath was warm against my skin, and for one reckless moment, I didn't care about the consequences.
The kiss was fleeting but searing, like the strike of a match. My heart pounded as his lips left mine, his eyes wide with something that looked like regret—or fear.
"This was a mistake," he muttered, his voice hoarse.
Before I could respond, before I could even process what had just happened, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. I stood there, trembling, my world tilting on its axis.
A mistake.
The word echoed in my mind, but it wasn't guilt that burned in my chest. It was something far more dangerous.