I force my chin up and straighten my spine. I can do this.
Out of the corner of my eye I spy a group of women, all daughters of CEOs and founders, who I’m usually fairly friendly with, posing for a photo for a few paparazzi. I watch as their collective gaze slides over to me, eyes widening, lips curling. My stomach sinks and I quickly turn away.
This is good, I tell myself.This is the point. Let them laugh. Let them talk.
I hear my name and Asher’s hissed and whispered over and over again as I glide down the carpet and make my way into the building. People cover their mouths with their hands as I pass by, like I can’t see the way their shoulders are shaking with laughter.
My throat tightens.
My chest burns.
I remind myself that this is the goal. That this is the road to eventual victory. That if I’m feeling the burn of humiliation now, my father will be feeling it too and there’s only so much shame he can tolerate.
But my body doesn’t seem to care about the plan or logic because my vision blurs and my lungs squeeze in on themselves and no matter how fast I breathe, it feels like I still can’t get enough air.
I push through the doors into the theatre’s foyer, hoping for some reprieve from the flashing lights outside but it’s only worse in here. The space is filled to the brim with already tipsy socialites and it feels like every single head in the room turns in my direction as I step through the doors. My breath gets stuck in my throat.
There’s Emmy just a few feet away, her phone already in her hand and aimed in my direction, a sickly smirk on her face. She’s surrounded by a group of girls, all with wide eyes looking at me like you might look at a lion at the zoo, desperately willing it to do something so you can get your money’s worth of entertainment.
Every bone in my body feels like it’s vibrating with panic. My throat is working uselessly around air that won’t go in right.
I force a smile, or at least I think I do; my cheeks are too stiff to be certain.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But I can’t. My heart claws against my ribs, thudding so hard it’s painful, and my hands are trembling so violently I’m terrified someone will notice.
They probably already have.
I hear a pointed laugh from somewhere to my left. A camera flash on the right blinds me. A pair of lips, glossy red, curve into a smirk I just know is aimed at me.
My vision tunnels. The crowd warps at the edges, their faces blurring into grotesque masks, their whispers twisting into barbs I can’t quite catch but which I know are about me. My clutch nearly slips from my slick palms, and I have to lock my knees to keep from stumbling.
I don’t know what to do.
If I move, I’ll fall. If I stand still, I’ll suffocate under the weight of their stares.
You want this. You want them to talk. This is the plan. You can do this.
But the words rattle uselessly in my head, drowned out by the roar of my pulse. Everything feels wrong. My chest is tight, my mouth is dry and I feel panic everywhere – under my nails, in the back of my throat, curling around my spine until I’m certain I’ll crack open under the weight of it.
I take a deep breath to try and steady myself, but I choke and instead stumble forward. The cry that falls from my lips is more like a croak, and then—
‘Imani?’
The sound of my name slices through the fog.
I blink and Asher is suddenly standing in front of me, close enough that I can see the crease in his brow and the tight set of his jaw. His eyes are locked onto me, like I’m the only person in the room.
‘Imani,’ he says again, softer this time, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he speaks too loudly. I just might. His hand finds my arm and I swear it’s the first thing in minutes that feels real.
The crowd is still surrounding us, watching intently, but in this moment all I can focus on is the way his gaze is locked onto mine.
‘No,’ I manage to croak out eventually. I try to pull my arm away, but his grip tightens. It’s not painful, but it’s firm and grounding. ‘Asher, no. They’ll see… You’re ruining…’ The words come out in incomplete breathy pants.
Before I can get any more of an argument out, he’s guiding me away. I stumble in my heels, but his grip doesn’t falter as he pulls me into his side and steadies me. I catch glimpses of camera flashes and curious glances as Asher leads us through the crowd, but all I can really feel is his hand anchoring me, pulling me through the noise and the whispers and the suffocating heat until the cool night air hits my face and I can finally breathe again.
CHAPTER FOURTEENAsher
