Page 20 of Bitter Truths

“The cupcakes... they’re white and gold. Not black and gold like you specified.”

Whitney’s jaw tightens, her fingers curling into fists. She smooths her expression into false calm. “Show me.”

We follow Celia downstairs through groups of early arrivals, past the grand foyer where staff arrange favor tables, into the massive catering tent on the back lawn. White-clothed tables stretch with towers of appetizers and sweets.

At the center stands a massive cupcake display, hundreds of white and gold treats arranged in a spiral. It’s stunning.

Not to Whitney.

“Who is responsible for this?” Her voice slices through the bustling tent. Several caterers freeze.

An older beta woman steps forward, clipboard clutched to her chest. “Miss Montgomery⁠—”

“I was crystal clear about the color scheme. School colors. Black and gold.” Whitney’s voice rises with each word. “These look like they’re for a wedding.”

“There was a mix-up with another event⁠—”

“Unacceptable. You realize none of you will have jobs tomorrow, right? My father will blacklist your entire company.” Whitney’s composure fractures, rage seeping through.

The catering staff exchange horrified glances.

“Wait.” I position myself between Whitney and the trembling catering manager.

Whitney whirls toward me.

I grab a cupcake, examining the frosting. “The gold is perfect. The white... call it a creative choice. These look stunning.”

The manager nods vigorously. “We could add black sprinkles to the tops or maybe some black frosting details around the edges?”

“Do it,” I tell her. “Five minutes, tops.”

Whitney folds her arms across her chest. “That doesn’t solve⁠—“

“Everyone’s drinking. Trust me, nobody will care about cupcake colors.”

Her shoulders drop an inch. “Fine. But it better look perfect.”

The catering team scrambles. Whitney strides away, shoulders rigid. I follow, relieved at having saved a dozen people’s jobs over frosting colors.

“What was that about?” I ask. “They made a mistake. It happens.”

Whitney sniffs. “When you pay what Daddy pays, flawless execution is the expectation.”

The party swells around us, and the music thumps louder as the sun disappears.

Where are they? I check my phone. No messages.

Thirty minutes pass. I dance with classmates, accept congratulations, and pick at gourmet appetizers.

Did they change their minds? Decide not to come after all?

Then the air shifts. I sense them before I see them.

They move as a unit. Heads swivel as they enter. Everyone notices when they walk in… people stand up straighter. The sons of the most powerful men in town don’t exactly blend into crowds.

Even knowing what I know now, seeing them steals my breath. The way Freddie’s face lights up when he spots me. How Owen’s gaze sweeps the crowd before settling on me with relief. Tristan surveys the party, and Weller navigates through the crowd like he owns the place.

They came. For me.