Page 26 of Sinful Desires
On stage, as I hit the highest note of “Hate The Way I Live” and people had risen from their seats to applaud, it had hit me.
Performing had become muscle memory. Routine. Rehearsed to hell and back.I bowed, I smiled, I cried on cue, I waved. Rinse, repeat.Everything always felt robotic. Except for tonight, just for a second, it hadn’t.
Not during the songs, not during the applause, but when some small girl in the front row had clutched her chest like she couldn’t breathe, like I was her oxygen.
It scared me how badly I wanted to believe her.
Sometimes I caught myself wondering if begging my father to make me a star was the biggest mistake of my life. Back then, I’d thought fame would taste like freedom. But it didn’t.
It tasted like the last sip of flat champagne at a party you’re desperate to leave. Stale and hollow. Nothing like what I thought I was signing up for.
After the standing ovation, I slipped back into the crowd like I’d been born there.
Because I had been.
I was a Harper, after all. These kinds of events were practically embedded in my DNA, right between public speaking and pretending to care.
Luxury didn’t impress me anymore. Neither did foie gras.
I caught sight of Angelo across the room, deep in conversation with his mother and Jade, who, two years ago, had somehow gone from assistant to COO.
And honestly? Something in me justknew.
The way he looked at her, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle her or kiss her, gave it away. I’d known my cousin my whole life. I’d never seen him that twitchy around a woman. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
It was almost funny.
I ended up seated next to Victoria, who declared loudly that sheliterally criedat the end of “Butterfly.”
“No wonder you won a Grammy for that one,” she added, glancing at my chest. “Also, your tits in this corset? Very Victorian widow. In mourning. For modesty. Kiara was right, it was the perfect choice.”
The dinner crowd swirled around me like overly perfumed vultures. People came and went: some asked for photos, others for hugs, a few just to breathe the same air.
But first, they had to go through LeRoy. My human wall. He’d parked himself next to me like a marble statue with a Bluetooth earpiece.
By the time the fourth person asked if I was allowed to talk, I leaned in and muttered, “You know, you could at least pretend I’m not radioactive. I don’t bite.”
A pause.
“Not unless provoked.”
LeRoy blinked once. “If that’s your preference, Miss Harper.”
To his credit, he actually moved five steps back, like I’d granted him parole.
Victoria groaned, shaking her head. “Gosh, I don’t know how you do it.”
I arched a brow, turning toward her. “Do what?”
“Live withthisman.” She nodded toward LeRoy as she fanned herself dramatically. “I mean, look at him! Every single person in here is staring at him. Womenandmen. Hell, even the bartenders are watching.”
I scoffed, my eyes darting around the room.
She wasn’t wrong. It was like he was a magnet, and everyone was stuck on him.
Women were practically melting in their heels, whispering behind their glasses, sneaking glances like they were trying to steal a piece of him.
The men looked at him like they wanted to either be him or bury him six feet under, their eyes burning with a cocktail of envy and fear.
