I step up to the podium, gripping the edges to steady myself, and the room quiets.
Hundreds of faces stare back at me. Donors, politicians, journalists. People who measure my worth by how much money I can raise, how well I can perform.
I've done this thank-you speech a dozen times, but tonight, my throat feels dry.
I glance toward the side of the stage and spot Octavian, half-hidden from the lighting, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on me.
And somehow, that makes it easier.
"Good evening, everyone," I begin, my voice clear and confident. "Thank you all for being here tonight and for your continued support of the Killaney Family Trust."
Applause ripples through the room, and I let it settle before continuing.
"This organization was built on a simple belief—that everyone deserves a chance. A chance to rebuild, to grow, to thrive. Because of your generosity, we've been able to provide education programs, job training, and resources to thousands of families across Boston."
I pause, letting my words sink in.
"But we can't do it alone. We need partners who believe in second chances, who see potential where others see obstacles."
My gaze drifts back to Octavian, and for a moment, I forget the crowd.
I forget the cameras. I forget everything except the way he's looking at me.
I clear my throat. "So thank you. Thank you for believing in this work, and thank you for being here tonight. Now, I'll hand things over to my incredible team, who will guide you through this evening's auction. Enjoy, and please, bid generously."
Laughter and applause follow me as I step down from the stage, and the tension in my shoulders finally eases.
As I reach the edge of the platform, Octavian is there, holding a glass of champagne.
I stare at him, surprised.
"I remember you mentioned needing air after being on stage," he says, his voice low. "I found an area over there." He gestures toward a set of glass doors leading outside. "We can go if you'd like."
My chest tightens. He remembered.
I take the glass, my fingers brushing his, and the contact sends a jolt through me.
"No," I say, shaking my head and looking at him. "I don't need to be pulled away from the crowd tonight."
Because I have you,I think, but I don't say it.
Octavian studies me for a moment, then nods. "All right."
We turn and watch the auction process kick off.
As the night continues, it's clear it's a roaring success, and I'm relieved.
Bids fly fast and high, and I watch from our seats on the sidelines as my team expertly guides the room through each lot. Art, jewelry, exclusive experiences—all going for prices that will fund the Trust for months.
Laughter and champagne flow freely. The energy in the room is electric.
I should be thrilled, and I am.
But I can't stop thinking about the way Octavian's hand felt on my waist. The way his arm fits around me like it belongs there.
The way, if I'm being honest with myself, I didn't want him to let go.
I don't know if I'm emotional from the news Callum gave me the other day or the fact I was focused on meeting these Shadowharbor VIPs and they canceled, or just—I don't know. Maybe I need to stop looking for excuses about things.
