Chapter 102 The Midnight Rose
The upper floor of the Winslow estate was a controlled chaos of tulle, hairspray, and the frantic energy of three generations getting ready at once. In the center of the storm was Samira, moving with a calm grace that made her look like a saint among the madness. She was currently juggling a tray of juice boxes for the kids while simultaneously helping me fasten the delicate clasp of my grandmother’s necklace. It was a vintage piece, heavy and cold against my collarbone, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from my skin as my nerves began to peak.
"Breathe, Ellie," Samira whispered, her eyes catching mine in the mirror. She looked at me with such unfiltered pride that a sharp pang of guilt twisted in my chest. "You look... honestly, you look like a revolution. I remember when we were kids, pretending to get married in the garden. Now, seeing you actually heading out to Arthur’s gala with a man like Rhys by your side... it’s everything we dreamed of, isn't it?"
I forced a smile, the lie tasting like ash. "It's definitely more than I imagined," I murmured, smoothing the burgundy velvet. The fabric was so deep a red it nearly looked black in the shadows. I couldn't tell her that the "everything" she saw was a carefully negotiated contract. I couldn't tell anyone. Every time Samira talked about our "future," or my brothers made a joke about Rhys joining the family for real, the walls of the secret felt like they were closing in. This was Arthur's night—the most important event of the year for his firm—and Rhys and I were supposed to be the crowning jewel of the Winslow image.
I took a shaky breath, looking at the reflection of the woman in the mirror. Between the dress and the ring, there won't be a single person at the Pierre who isn't looking for a crack in our story. But the real cracks weren't for the press to find; they were inside me. I was falling for him—really falling—and the more the world believed the lie, the more I feared the lie was all we actually had.
"Now go," Samira said, giving my shoulders a final, affectionate squeeze. "Your family is waiting, and Rhys is probably already tired of Owen’s bad jokes."
I emerged from the bedroom and made my way toward the landing of the grand staircase. The foyer below was a sea of polished shoes and shimmering evening gowns. Arthur and Mom stood near the heavy oak doors, the picture of practiced composure. Arthur looked particularly distinguished in his tuxedo, though I could see him checking his watch; tonight’s gala was his legacy on display. Jace and Naomi were huddled by the refreshments, Jace adjusting his tie for the tenth time while Naomi whispered something that made him chuckle. Grant leaned against the piano, checking his cufflinks with a focused intensity.
Nearby, the Vance brothers stood together, a formidable trio. Aaron and Chloe were deep in conversation with Elias and Simone, the two couples moving with an effortless synchronicity. And there was Owen—who was currently mid-sentence, gesturing to Rhys.
Then, Rhys looked up.
His silence was the first thing that alerted the others. It was a physical weight that settled over the room, an abrupt shift in the atmosphere that drew every eye toward the stairs. One by one, the conversations died. Owen stopped talking, his hand frozen in mid-air. Arthur adjusted his glasses, a look of quiet pride settling on his face.
I began my descent. The heavy velvet whispered against the marble steps, the sound amplified in the sudden hush. I could feel the weight of their collective gaze—not as Winslows or Vances, but as a family watching one of their own step into the line of fire.
Grant’s jaw dropped slightly, a rare break in his stoic facade. Jace let out a low whistle, while Naomi and Simone shared a look of pure, impressed shock. Chloe let out a tiny, stifled gasp of "Oh, wow," her hand reaching for Aaron’s arm. Even Elias, usually the most reserved of the Vance brothers, tilted his head in acknowledgment, a small, respectful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
At the foot of the stairs, Rhys stood frozen. The cool, detached mask he usually wore for the public had completely shattered. His eyes burned with an intensity that made my heart stutter. He didn't look like a man who was part of a business arrangement; he looked like a man who had forgotten how to breathe.
"Ellie," Owen broke the silence, his voice a mix of awe and sibling protective instinct. "You look... incredible. But you know the second we step out of those cars at the Pierre, the cameras are going to be relentless. This gala is the first time the public is seeing you two properly since the announcement."
"We're ready, Owen," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. I looked at Rhys, searching for any sign of hesitation. We were the only two in this room who knew the truth, and the isolation of that fact felt like a physical barrier between us and the people we loved.
Arthur stepped forward, a rare, genuine smile on his face. "You look stunning, Ellie. Having you and Rhys there tonight... it means a lot for the firm's image, but more importantly, it means a lot to see you so happy."
The irony of his words felt like a physical blow. I looked at Rhys, and for a second, the mask stayed off. His hand reached out, trembling just slightly as he took mine. His fingers were warm, grounding me. He leaned in closer, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a gesture that felt far too natural, far too intimate to be scripted.
"You are the most breathtaking thing I have ever seen," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "And the dress? It’s perfect. It’s bold, it’s elegant, and it’s going to make it very easy for me to look like a man desperately in love."
"You're a very good actor," I whispered back, a desperate plea for him to confirm that this was still just a game. But his eyes didn't flicker. He didn't smile. He just held my gaze with a sincerity that terrified me. If he was acting, he deserved an Oscar. And if he wasn't... then we were both in more trouble than the press could ever cause.
Rhys looked around the room at my brothers and his own, his expression softening into one of genuine warmth. "We have a long night ahead of us. But looking at this group, I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be."
Arthur cleared his throat, checking his gold pocket watch. "The motorcade is synchronized and the security teams are already at the Pierre. This gala is a pivotal night for all of us. If we want to make the entrance we planned, we need to move now."