Page 137 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

He’d never been so tempted to kiss someone as he had been today, to see if their chemistry was still as potent. It had taken everything in him not to follow her into the falling snow, pull her around andfind out.

He probably would have gotten himself a knee to the stomach. Or lower. She’d been trembling with bitterness and he couldn’t blame her.

I didn’t think you were a victim…

He wasn’t.

It was no surprise that his father had turned her into one, though.

Ironically, Oliver saw himself as the primary victim anytime something went wrong. When that happened, someone had to pay. Never himself. It was never his fault. It wasn’t Carmel’s fault, either, for accepting an invitation to stay in a resort that specialized in wild parties, then hosting a dozen hard-drinking strangers. It wasn’t Oliver’s fault for going on a date knowing full well Carmel would let things get out of hand. It wasn’t even Atlas’s fault for failing to return in time to put a lid on it.

It was the fault of the staff for indulging a woman who lacked stopping sense—even if that staff included a teenage runaway living on the thin edge of survival.

Atlas tipped his head back. He should have tried to find Stella that night. Or the next morning before they left. He shouldn’t have allowed Carmel’s “just like Daddy” comment to get under his skin.

But he had. Chasing down a maid would have injected truth into his sister’s accusation, not just in their father’s eyes, but his own.

“Atlas?” Iris yanked him back to the chalet and the engagement he deeply regretted.

He turned, expecting her to be miffed at his inattention, but she wore an appalled expression and was staring at her phone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Carmel just sent me a link.”

He’d been ignoring his own phone. It was one of the reasons he loved to swim when he needed to think. Nothing external could intrude, especially whatever nonsense his sister was up to.

“Did you tell her we ordered the ring?” He wearily went back to his room to take his phone off its charger on the night table. “I told you she would try to interfere.” Carmel felt threatened by his takeover from their father. She had made a career of blocking all his efforts.

“No, this is…” Iris followed him to the double glass doors that separated his bedroom from the sitting room. Her glare was accusatory.

He touched the link under the string of Carmel’sHa-ha-ha-ha!Photos appeared. Images of him. With Stella. From today.

He swore.

“It’s not AI,” Iris said shakily. “Is it?”

“No.” They were authentic photographs taken through the window by someone inside the coffee shop, the glare from the glass only causing minimal reflection to diffuse the clarity. They hadn’t raised their voices, but he couldn’t help wondering if the photographer had overheard them somehow. Had there been music playing inside the shop? He couldn’t remember.

The post was already going viral.

The ongoing speculation over whether he would propose to Iris had primed the pump, ensuring a photo of him with a different woman would be high-traffic gold. That’s why some enterprising tourist had begun clicking the moment they recognized him.

DVE’s team of legal, PR and image specialists were already reaching out to him. He’d missed two calls, but they had a draft statement prepared. They were paid to protect Atlas, the rest of the family and the DVE brand so their response leaned heavily on Stella being a crackpot opportunist setting him up for her own gain.

He swore again, this time more wearily.

“Who is she?” Iris demanded.

He ought to say,No one, but he couldn’t make his lips form the words. But who was Stella to him? Really?

On the other hand, “no one” was a tough sell when the panel of images ran the gamut from her forced smile of politeness, then her leaning in with a look of scorned anger. There was one of him holding her elbow, then another with his hand hanging uselessly in the air after she had shrugged him off.

The worst interpretation was that he had accosted a stranger in the street. Looked at with a shred more accuracy, it was a lover’s spat.

“We met briefly years ago.”

“Meaning you slept with her and ghosted her.” Iris sniffed with indignation.

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