Chapter 5

In the private suite, Damien and I just stared at each other. Neither of us spoke first.

It had been over half a year since we'd seen each other last — the Christmas before.

Someone slipped in quietly, glanced at me, then hesitated before leaning down to murmur in Damien's ear.

"Young Master Adrian is in the VIP suite tonight with the Harrington heiress. They're... quite close this evening, sir."

Damien raised a brow.

"The real Harrington heiress is right here."

Then he turned back to me. "This what you're crying about?"

I didn't answer.

Every Christmas Eve for years, Damien and I would share that one dinner. Then the next morning, we'd go back to being what we were: he to his jet-setting life, me to my quiet little life in Wickham.

He never told me anything about himself. All I knew was he was Adrian's uncle.

The one strange, silent tether between us was that one dinner a year.

For eight years, in a world lit up with holiday lights, that one dinner was the only kindness I had. It had been enough.

Somewhere in the world there was one person waiting to share Christmas with me.

Tonight was the first time I'd ever lost composure in front of him. And for some reason, the second I saw his face, it was like seeing family — and every bit of held-back hurt just crashed out of me.

Damien stood. His hand came down gently on the top of my head. His expression was serious.

"I know you had it rough growing up in that orphanage. I know you'd rather swallow things than make a scene. But listen to me, Hazel. In a family like the Harringtons, endurance only tells people they can keep taking. What belongs to you — even if you'd rather throw it in the trash — doesn't belong to anyone else."

"You're a Harrington. You're the real heiress. The Sterlings know it. Your grandfather knew it. And the one person in that family he left things to — that's you."

"You've been eating at my table for eight years. Don't embarrass me by being a pushover. If you want a man, you fight for him. If someone hurts you, you hit back. Understood?"

I looked up at him. The tears welling up in my eyes didn't feel like grief anymore. Something steadier, braver than I'd ever felt, settled into my chest.

The next day, my supervisor was abruptly transferred to a satellite office in the suburbs. For someone with her seniority, an out-of-nowhere reassignment like that was exile.

I ran after her and caught up just outside the building as she was packing up.

"Listen," I started.

She'd been hard on me, sure, with a short temper. But she had taught me so much.

She stopped and smiled at me. "Was starting to think nobody was going to see me off."

"Hazel, listen. My leaving has nothing to do with you. There are a lot of bad people in this world. They come wrapped in beautiful packaging. You have to learn to see with more than your eyes. That's the last thing I'll teach you."

"It's the anniversary of your grandfather's passing this year. Bring him white chrysanthemums for me."

I stared after her as she walked away.

She knew... my grandfather? She knew about me and the Harringtons?

Then last night — she'd meant for me to walk in on Adrian?

It hit me in a rush — Sienna telling Adrian to play sweet with me, to make me fall for him...

So getting my supervisor — the one who'd been "hard on me" — exiled to a failing office: that was Adrian's first romantic gesture.

In the blinding sunlight, a deep cold spread through me.

"You've been eating at my table for eight years. Don't embarrass me by being a pushover. If you want a man, you fight for him. If someone hurts you, you hit back. Understood?"

Damien's words echoed.

I didn't want to fight for this man.

But I didn't want to endure anymore either.