My fiancé, Julian, returned from his three-month vanishing act with his “true love” in tow. That’s fine. I also came back with a man who claims he can’t live without me. When he saw my fiancé, his eyes welled up. He leaned into me, his voice a bitter, fearful whisper. "Sloane, am I... am I making things awkward? The way he’s looking at me is terrifying." Later, at the gala, the two of them had words. They both ended up in the ornamental pool. When Silas was pulled out, he collapsed into my arms, shivering. "Sloane," he wept, "I don't understand why he pushed me. What did I do wrong? He knows I can't swim." He buried his face in my shoulder. "If he hates me that much, I... I'll just go. I'll leave." 1 I hadn’t even made it back to my penthouse before I heard the news: Julian Thorne was back, and he’d brought a stray. The story was all over Page Six in less than twelve hours. The entire East Coast was waiting for the Hayes family to become a laughingstock. My engagement to Julian was a legacy arrangement, set in stone since we were kids. We were supposed to get married after I returned from my first major overseas assignment. That was five years ago. But our "war"—the ruthless expansion of our family's holdings—kept pulling me away. I spent those five years in the corporate trenches of Asia and Europe, barely ever returning to NewYork. The wedding, naturally, never happened. This year, with the markets finally stable, was supposed to be the perfect time. And now he pulls this. Honestly, it’s better he showed his hand before the contracts were signed. A scandal after the merger would have been infinitely messier. I was driving the convertible, top-down. From the passenger seat, a voice. "Sloane? Is this really New York?" A pale hand, adorned with intricate silver rings, reached out into the wind. A moment later, I heard the delicate clinking of metal on metal. Silas leaned out, staring up at the skyline. He was dressed in what looked like layered silks and handcrafted leather, dripping with so much silver and turquoise jewelry he chimed when he moved. His amber-colored eyes were wide. Silas was... an acquisition. While hunting down a con artist who’d fled to the desert, I took a shortcut, my SUV went off a ridge, and I woke up in a cot with a concussion. He’d found me. The head injury gave me temporary amnesia. For a month, I lived in his bizarre, isolated artist commune, thinking we were... well, I wasn't sure. But he took care of me. When my security team finally found me and my memory returned, I was ready to leave. He wasn't. He clung to me, weeping. He said he’d "nursed me back to health," that he'd "given me his innocence" (I seriously doubt that), and that everyone in the commune now saw us as a pair. If I left, he claimed, their bizarre customs (which I'd never seen) dictated he’d be "shunned" and exiled to the mountains to fend for himself. My head of security, trying to shut him up, snapped that I was engaged. This only made Silas cry harder. "I don't care! I'll just be near her. I'll be her assistant. Her... her servant. Sloane, please. I'll be so quiet." I knew he was lying. Their "customs" were weird, but those people didn't just respect Silas; they revered him. They treated him like some kind of prophet-artist. They weren't shunning him anywhere. And given the sheer weight of gold and silver he wore daily, he could sell one bracelet and live comfortably for a decade. He just... really wanted to come. But I brought him with me. Why? Because he was a fantastic actor. And because when I said no, he just started following my convoy on foot, crying. It was pathetic, and frankly, hilarious. 2 I had my security team blast our arrival on social media, complete with geotags at the family estate. The message was clear: I brought a man back, too. I parked the car and tapped the passenger door. "We're here, Silas." He clinked and clattered, getting tangled in his elaborate outfit and the seatbelt. "Sloane, I'm stuck," he whined. "There's just... so much stuff." "I told you to put the necklaces in your carry-on." I sighed and leaned over to help untangle him. "Sloane Hayes! What the hell are you doing?" I looked up. Julian Thorne, just arriving, was stalking toward us, his face thunderous. I pulled Silas free. "I'm unbuckling my passenger." From an outside perspective, I suppose it looked intimate. My body halfway in the car, his face inches from mine. "He doesn't have hands?" Julian snapped. Silas visibly flinched, shrinking back. "Sloane, please don't fight with... with him... because of me. It's my fault. I shouldn't have worn all the jewelry you gave me. I just... I loved it so much, I couldn't bear to pack it away." He looked at Julian, his eyes brimming with tears. "Sir, please don't misunderstand. I'm... I'm nobody to her." I watched Julian's jaw clench. "Silas isn't nobody," I said, my voice sharp. "He saved my life. I owe him." Silas tugged my sleeve, whispering just loud enough for Julian to hear. "Sloane, don't. What if he gets the wrong idea? He'll be angry." "No, he won't," I said coolly. "He'll understand." The one-two punch left Julian speechless. 3 Later, in the study, Julian made his case. "I brought someone back," he said, "Lila. She... she also saved my life. Her family is gone, so I'm taking responsibility for her." "The rumors are just that. Rumors. There's nothing unprofessional between us." I just sipped my whiskey. "Go on." "I know you have a lot of... clothes. And jewelry. Things you never wear, things your mother buys you that just sit in a vault." He was hedging. "Lila comes from nothing. She doesn't own anything nice. With gala season starting, I was hoping you could... lend her some things. And maybe, you know, take her under your wing. Show her the ropes." I had to set my glass down. Was he insane? Or had that "disappearance" cost him his brain? "No," I said flatly. "I don't think so." Just then, the door burst open. Silas ran in, the sound of his jewelry like wind chimes. "Sloane! Look! Do you like my hair like this?" He'd taken down his elaborate braids and was trying to figure out how to use one of my diamond hairpins. He was like a beautiful, exotic bird playing with a mirror. I propped my chin on my hand, watching him. He really was stunning. That androgynous, otherworldly beauty that designers went crazy for. I turned back to Julian, who looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. "You're too late," I said. "I gave all my extra pieces to Silas." "He's so beautiful, and he appreciates pretty things. They look better on him anyway." Julian's eyes bugged out. "You what? Those are your mother's! That's a billion-dollar collection! I've asked to borrow a set for my own sisters and you've refused! You're giving it to... to him?" I loved my jewelry. I loved just looking at it. And Julian knew it. Which made his request for this "Lila" all the more insulting. He was clearly here to provoke me. Silas, sensing the tension, immediately started his act. "Oh, Sloane," he said, his voice trembling. "I shouldn't have taken them. I'll... I'll give them back to... to this gentleman." He fumbled, pretending to pull the pins from his hair. I grabbed his hand. "Don't be ridiculous. You need to look good for the parties, too." Julian was vibrating. "You can't forget our engagement, Sloane. I am your fiancé. And you're acting like this, with him, right in front of me?" I raised an eyebrow. "Like what, Julian? I'm just being nice to my... friend." "He's my savior. I'm indebted to him. I'm taking him in, giving him a place to stay. You, of all people, should understand that." "Are you... jealous? You don't have siblings, do you?" Silas chimed in, "Sloane, am I in the way? He looks so... angry. It's scary." "Don't worry," I assured him. "He's just got a bad temper. Not sweet and kind, like you." Julian looked like he was going to faint. 4 The invitations and charity gala requests flooded in. I only accepted the ones I couldn't avoid. I brought Silas to the Met Gala. He, of course, was in his element, whispering about the art. I was catching up with some old-money friends I actually liked when Julian arrived. He had a woman on his arm—Lila. Dressed in a simple pink dress, she looked... terrified. She clung to his arm, her head down. The act... it was almost identical to Silas's. I glanced at Silas. He caught my look and gave me a wicked, private smirk. "God, Julian is shameless," one of my friends muttered. "He hasn't even finalized the merger with you, and he's parading his mistress around." Silas nodded gravely. "He really is." "And that girl. No self-respect. She knows he's engaged." Silas: "She really doesn't." "Pathetic, both of them." Silas: "So pathetic." I shot him a "zip it" look. He just smiled, all innocence. Julian spotted us and steered Lila our way. "Sloane. I'd like you to meet Lila. The woman who saved my life." He emphasized the "saved my life" part, as if it were a trump card. "Lila, this is Sloane Hayes, my fiancée. You can call her..." "You're gorgeous," Lila interrupted, staring at me. Julian paused. I gave her a polite nod. Her face flushed bright red. Julian gritted his teeth. "You can call her 'Sloane,' like a friend." My friends bristled. He was using this nobody to claim a familiarity he hadn't earned. "Ms. Hayes is fine," I said. "We just met." Lila nodded enthusiastically. "Whatever you say!" Julian looked frustrated. "This... person... you brought gets to call you Sloane." Silas immediately drooped. "I'm sorry, am I... am I bothering everyone? Sir, I don't know why you're so angry with me. I... I don't have any family. Sloane is all I have." "If you hate me," he whispered, "I can just... go back to the desert..." Julian was stuck. He looked around. Everyone was glaring at him. Even Lila. "Julian," I said, "can you please not be so petty?" "Me? Petty?" he sputtered. Just as he spoke, Silas stepped forward. "Sir, Julian, please don't be upset. I only think of Sloane as a..." He paused, then hit the killing blow. "...as a big sister." The word "sister" made Julian see red. He spun around, yanking his arm away in disgust. "Don't call me that! I'm not your brother, you goddamn..." His movement was sharp. Too sharp. Silas, who was just slightly too close, went flying backward, crashing into a champagne tower. Glass shattered everywhere. Silas cried out in pain. Julian froze, staring at his own hand. He hadn't pushed him. He'd just... gesticulated. I held back my smile and rushed to Silas's side. He shot me a look—it took you long enough—and grabbed my arm. "Julian... why?" he choked out, "Why do you hate me this much?" "I always envied you," he wept. "You have everything. A family, wealth... and Sloane. I have nothing. I just wanted to be near her." Julian was dumbfounded. "I didn't touch him! I just pulled my arm away! He... he threw himself!" "You're saying Silas threw himself into a glass tower?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "Why would he do that?" "Sloane, he's lying! I'm telling you..." "He saved my life, Julian. And all you've done is bully him. You owe him an apology." Julian looked at Lila. "Lila! You were standing right there. Tell them. I didn't push him." Lila looked like a deer in headlights. This wasn't in her script. "Don't threaten her," I snapped. "Lila, just tell the truth. No one will blame you." Lila looked at me, her eyes shining. "I... I didn't really see. I just... I looked, and he was flying." Julian was officially cooked. He stormed out, leaving a trail of whispers and broken glass.
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