Chapter 3: The Outcasts

I was the governor’s least-favorite plus-one.

A year ago, I wore the same shade as the governor’s wife to a charity gala, and she made sure everyone saw me suffer—three hours of humiliation for disrespect.

Just then, Will Carter came by, balancing a tray of iced watermelon and fruit. With a few well-timed jokes, he had the governor’s wife laughing, and before I knew it, I was off the hook.

That memory played on a loop in my mind, the sticky-sweet taste of watermelon lingering, summer lawns heavy with the scent of cut grass. Will always knew how to talk to people, slipping through the cracks of high society like he was born to it.

I wanted to thank him. Instead, I found him getting punished by the old butler. In the thick summer heat, the butler dumped a pitcher of ice water over him in front of everyone. Will just knelt there, back straight like he was daring anyone to break him. No cowering, no begging—just stubborn pride. He didn’t act like a servant. He looked like someone who’d never let them win.

I saw him punished like that a few more times. Him—a young assistant anyone could bully. Me—a mistress banished to the mansion’s forgotten wing. We were both outsiders, really. I started to pity him.

So I sent someone to ask if he’d rather work for me. “It’s not as glamorous as serving the governor, but the job’s easier,” I promised. My family wasn’t powerful, but we still had some money. “Stick with me, and I’ll treat you right.” I meant it.

Will Carter looked stunned, but a real smile flickered in those rain-washed eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m lucky to work for the governor. I can’t just leave.”

He turned me down politely, sunlight falling across his face, eyes flicking past me to the old red maple out back. He never quite met my gaze—always careful, always respectful. He had a confidence that didn’t belong to an assistant. My heart stuttered. Will Carter was seriously good-looking.

The red maples rustled in the breeze, sunlight catching on Will’s hair. For a second, he looked like the hero of his own story, quiet and sure, the kind of man you want to believe in—even if he never lets you close.