Page 143 of Picture Perfect

"Yep," Gen nods, her gaze flitting between Princess and me. "It's more dramatic that way. Trust me."

Mason offers me a knowing smirk and clasps my shoulder, while Dre gives me a nod, his ice-blue eyes reflecting understanding beyond his years. Chess, mischievous as ever, winks at Princess before joining the others. And just like that, they vanish into the throng inside, leaving us alone in the quiet corridor.

"Ready?" I ask, even though my heart is hammering against my ribs. Ready to face a room full of sharks pretending to be socialites. Ready for their fake smiles and judgmental whispers.

"I hope so," Princess replies, her voice steady as a drumbeat, and I admire her courage. In another life, she'd be a warrior queen, leading armies into battle with nothing but her will and her wits.

"Good," I say, my hand finding hers, squeezing gently. "Because after tonight, they'll all know that Adelaide Winthrop belongs with Barrett Saint. Engagement or not, you're mine."

I mean it, every damn word. Whatever game we're playing, whatever lies we're weaving, the truth is simple—I can't keep my hands off her, and I don't want to try.

The hush of the corridor wraps around us like a blanket, Princess's hand trembling slightly in mine. Her skin is a contrast against my darker tones, her blonde hair a halo under the dim lights. I can feel the thrum of her pulse, the nervous energy that she tries to mask with a smile that doesn't quite reach those guarded green eyes.

"Scared?" I whisper as we stand on the precipice, the muted sounds of the party filtering through the grand doors.

"Terrified," she admits, a breathless laugh escaping her. "But not of them." She squares her shoulders, facing me. "Of how much I want this... with you."

I step closer, and the world narrows down to just us. "I've got you," I say, and it's a vow. My thumb brushes over her knuckles, and I can't help but pull her in for a brief, fierce hug. "We're in this together."

She nods against my chest, her breath warm through the fabric of my shirt. "Together," she echoes, and there's strength woven into the word—a promise.

"Let's show them who we are," I murmur into her hair before stepping back, my gaze locking with hers. There's a fire there now, one that matches my own.

"Let's."

And then, the moment shatters with our names booming through the speakers, echoing off the marble and crystal of the ballroom. The doors swing open, and we step forward into the lion's den.

"Adelaide Winthrop and Barrett Saint!"

A sea of faces turns our way, eyes wide and lips curled into practiced smiles. Cameras flash, blinding and relentless. Princess stiffens beside me, a deer in headlights, but I'm quick to slide an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"Keep looking at me," I tell her, my voice low but firm. "Ignore them."

"Easy for you to say," Princess murmurs back, but she follows my lead, her gaze locked with mine as we descend the staircase.

The crowd parts for us, a river flowing around two stones too stubborn to be washed away. Whispers brush our ears, some tinged with envy, others with malice, but they can't touch us—not here, not now.

"Remember," I lean down to whisper in her ear as we reach the bottom step, "you're a goddamn queen."

Her lips twitch, the shadow of nerves chased away by a spark of defiance. "And you're my king."

"Damn right."

We glide into the throng, and I can feel the weight of every look, every judgment, every hidden dagger. But they don't matter. Because tonight, Princess shines brighter than all their cold, hard jewels—and I'll be damned if I let anyone tarnish that brilliance.

William Winthrop's intentions in throwing this shindig are clear as crystal—a showcase of wealth and connections, an exhibition of his new power play with Mason. But my motivations run deeper than the shallow pools of high society's facades. I'm here to tilt the scales, to illuminate Princess's true worth in a world that's long overlooked her brilliance.

"Saint," Princess whispers, her voice threaded with a mix of awe and unease as we weave our way through the crowd.

I keep my hand firmly on the small of her back, a silent promise that I'm not going anywhere.

"We've got this," I remind her, because this is a partnership—equal parts storm and sanctuary. And as much as this night is about showing her off, it's also about standing with her, unbreakable and proud.

"Congratulations, Barrett! Adelaide, darling, you look stunning!" The compliments rain down on us, each one soaked in different shades of sincerity. Some are genuine, others laced with curiosity or envy. Princess takes them all with grace, but I can feel the tension in her frame. So, I keep her close, a constant touch to remind her she's not alone in this sea of sharks and charlatans.

"Are you hungry?" I lean down, spotting a waiter with a tray of gourmet tarts.

"Starving," she admits, her green eyes dancing with mirth despite the nerves.

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