Instead, I scan the room and spot Grady near one of the balcony doors with Chloe. Relief fills me that Leif didn’t return with him.
Carson’s continued presence sends unease through me, as if he’s waiting. Carson Whitaker didn’t stumble into this celebration by accident. He knew when to arrive, who to speak to first, and how to ingratiate himself before anyone thought to question it.
That kind of timing doesn’t happen by accident.
He came here to catch Leif off guard.
And he succeeded.
Chapter Six
Leif
The air in the Breakwater lobby hits my overheated skin, and my nails dig half-moons into my palms as I force my feet to carry me away from the ballroom, away from Carson.
My breath comes fast and shallow, my chest tight as if bound by invisible ropes. The walls close in despite the cavernous ceiling arching overhead as my vision narrows, darkening at the edges.
Three months of distance crumble in an instant, leaving nothing between us but polished marble and the fragile pretense that I’ve moved on.
He’s here. Carson is here.
Not visiting. Not passing through.
The dean of Pinecrest Academy.
Quinn’s school.
My stomach twists into a cold knot as the implications unfold. The school I helped Quinn prepare for, the classroom I reassured her would be safe, and the teacher I swore would be kind, are all under Carson’s authority now. His influence will touch every aspect of her education, her comfort, and her security.
I reach for a polished mahogany table to steady myself. The wood cools my sweaty palms while my thoughts splinter and scatter.
One, two, three, four…
I count my breaths, a technique I perfected long ago when Carson’s mentorship first revealed itself as control. Slow inhale through the nose, hold for four seconds, exhale through parted lips. The method never fails me, though sometimes it takes longer to work.
A woman in business attire walks through the lobby doors, briefcase in hand. Her heels click-clack across the marble, the sound slicing through my counting. I straighten my spine, release the tension in my shoulders, and smooth the fear from my face.
No one can see. No one can know.
Carson taught me that, too. The importance of appearances. The necessity of control.
The music from the ballroom filters through the closed doors, the celebration continuing without interruption. A waiter passes with a tray of empty glasses, his white shirt crisp under the chandelier light.
Normal. Everything looks normal, except me.
Copper coats my tongue from where I bite the inside of my cheek. The pain helps center me, a physical sensation to focus on rather than the memories threatening to surface. Carson’s office. His hand on my shoulder as he explained why my teaching methods needed his guidance. How he expected more from me. How disappointed he was.
I force air into my lungs, deeper this time, and the oxygen burns on its way down.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
The question startles me. A hotel employee stands two paces away, concern etched between his eyebrows.
“I’m fine.” The words come out steadier than I feel, years of conditioning coming through. “Thank you.”
“You’re a bit pale.” He steps closer. “Can I get you some water? Or call someone from your party?”
“No!” I say, sharper than intended, and smile to take the sting out of it. “No, thank you. It’s warm in there, and the crowd…” I gesture toward the ballroom doors. “I needed a moment of quiet.”