Chapter 2: Gala Gambles and Old Scars

Because of this project, Carter came back to the States.

Word spread like wildfire—every local business blog had a headline about Carter Lane's return. Even my mom texted me about it.

Maple Heights threw a gala for him—everyone acted like it was just a party, but really, it was a feeding frenzy.

Tickets were going for thousands on eBay. People were calling in favors, bribing assistants, you name it.

Mr. Walker called me into his office and handed me an invitation.

The envelope was heavy, thick cream paper with my name in gold. I felt like I was getting a letter from Hogwarts.

I looked at the gold-edged card in my hand, confused. “Mr. Walker, what’s this?”

I half-expected him to tell me it was a joke, but his face was dead serious.

“You’ll represent our company at this gala. Otherwise, you’d never have a shot at beating those other firms on your own.”

He tapped the invitation like a golden ticket. “Don’t waste it.”

“Savannah, remember, your face is your only asset here. Why do you think I’m sending you to get close to Carter Lane?

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I tried not to take offense. Still, ouch.

“Carter doesn’t respond to pressure or flattery—he’s tough to work with. But you’re different.”

His eyes narrowed, and I got the feeling he knew more than he was letting on.

Mr. Walker’s eyes were full of blind confidence. I asked instinctively, “What’s so different about me?”

I couldn't help it—the words just slipped out. I needed to know what he thought he saw in me.

He leaned back, looking like he’d already won. “I did my homework—Carter likes your type. You’re exactly his type. Savannah, the company is counting on you.”

He grinned, as if he’d just solved world hunger. I wanted to ask what, exactly, my "type" was, but bit my tongue.

I walked out of the office in a daze. How did Mr. Walker do his research? He didn’t even dig up my history with Carter and still claims he’s got the inside scoop. He probably got duped by some rumor—who knows how much he spent.

Probably just asked around the golf club and called it a day. Typical Walker.

Carter’s never had a single scandal; some reporters even speculated he might be into men. How could anyone possibly know his type? Like it’d be such a coincidence he likes my face.

The rumor mill was wild—one time someone swore he was secretly married to a Russian model. No one ever had proof. Next week, someone will say he’s Batman.

I looked down at the invitation in my hand. It felt like it was burning. I couldn’t believe I’d be seeing him so soon.

My palms were sweaty just holding it. I kept flipping it over, half hoping it would disappear.

On the day of the gala, maybe because they knew I couldn’t afford a decent dress, Mr. Walker actually sent over a gown and heels. I couldn’t believe it.

They arrived in a big white box, with a note: "Don’t embarrass us." Typical Walker encouragement.

Light pink—flattering for my skin. The style was a little too youthful, something I might’ve liked at seventeen or eighteen. Now, it just made me feel like a kid playing grown-up.

It had a soft shimmer, a little too sweet for a business event, but I didn’t have the heart to complain. I slipped it on, feeling like I was playing dress-up in my mom’s closet.

Everyone who was anyone in the circle showed up at this gala.

It was like prom for grown-ups—everyone in designer suits, the air thick with expensive cologne and ambition. The hotel ballroom sparkled, and the buzz was electric.

As the room quieted, a handsome man in a suit entered, surrounded by smiling subordinates. I swirled my wine glass, my gaze drifting to him.

He moved like he owned the place—shoulders back, chin up, never rushing. Even surrounded by his team, he stood apart. He always did.

A familiar figure, dark eyes, sharp features, and that air of detachment that seemed to come from deep inside.

His presence was magnetic—people parted for him without a word, like he was royalty. I caught myself staring.

I couldn’t help but smile. Some things never change.

There was something almost funny about it, watching grown adults try to impress someone who barely seemed to notice they existed.

No matter how much people flattered him, Carter’s expression stayed cool, almost indifferent, making it impossible to guess what he was thinking.

He had that poker face down to an art. I wondered if he practiced in the mirror.

My memories blurred a bit. This man, now a major player in the business world, was once my high school classmate.

It was surreal—a flash of lockers and textbooks behind the sleek suits and crystal chandeliers.

Back then, he was famous as the aloof campus legend—top grades, old-money family, always sitting alone by the window, no one daring to sit near him. He was untouchable.

Even the teachers treated him with a weird kind of respect. He always seemed older than the rest of us.

Everyone was scared of him because he was a great fighter—rumor had it even his family couldn’t control him.

He didn’t have to do anything—just walked around like he owned the place, and people got out of his way.

But I was the one who shamelessly begged the teacher to let me sit next to him. I told Ms. Parker, 'Put me next to Carter. I can handle it.'

Ms. Parker had looked at me like I was crazy, but relented. That was the start of everything.

At first, Carter didn’t care about me at all—he wouldn’t even look at me. But all I had was enthusiasm, and I was so curious about him.

I used to invent excuses just to talk to him—"Did you do the homework?" "What’s the answer to number seven?" Anything to get his attention.

No matter how cold he looked, I’d go right up to him, tug his sleeve and say, “Carter.”

He’d barely grunt in response, but I never let up. Persistence was my superpower.

“Mm.”

He’d never look up from his book, but that "mm" meant he was listening. It became our thing.

“You’re amazing! Last time in that alley, you took down all those guys by yourself. So badass!”

I’d tell the story to anyone who’d listen, but he just rolled his eyes. He hated the attention.

“Carter.”

“Mm.”

“Thanks for saving me that day. What a coincidence, right? Maybe it’s fate.”

I tried to sound casual, but my heart would always skip a beat. I couldn’t believe he’d actually helped me.

“Carter.”

He finally closed his book, glanced at me, and quietly said, “Shut up.” It was the most he’d said to me all week. Progress.

…

But after a while, I realized Carter wasn’t as scary as everyone said.

He had a quiet patience, especially with me. Sometimes I’d catch him hiding a smile behind his book.

At least when I was chattering away behind him, he never frowned. He’d just put down his pen, patiently listen, then go back to reading his dense finance books.

I once tried to read one of those books. I made it two pages before I gave up. He was on another level.

Honestly, he was stupidly good-looking. Those eyes... trouble.

I used to doodle his name in the margins of my notebook. My friends teased me endlessly.

He was famous in high school, but his reputation wasn’t great—maybe because there were too many rumors about him fighting with his family, and people labeled him a rebel. His family was a prominent one, after all.

Everyone loves a good rumor, and Carter was an easy target. But he never seemed to care.

Carter never said anything about people’s prejudices. He never explained himself, as if none of it mattered.

He had that air of invincibility—like nothing could touch him. I admired that, even if I didn’t understand it.

But when Lane Industries was on the verge of collapse, Carter gave up his dreams, took over the mess, and turned the company around—now everyone wants to curry favor with him.

The business world loves a comeback story, and Carter’s was the stuff of legend. Even the haters had to give him props.

My thoughts drifted back. My gaze was drawn to Carter, surrounded by a crowd of sycophants.

He looked almost bored, swirling his drink, eyes scanning the room. I wondered if he recognized anyone from our old school.

I stood at the back. There was a crowd of people trying to get close to Carter. Even though I was far away, it felt like he saw me—his gaze suddenly landed in my direction.

For a split second, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of us. My breath caught, and I looked away, pretending to check my phone. Smooth, Savannah. Real subtle.

Our eyes met. I felt a jolt and quickly looked away. Must’ve been my imagination—why would he look at me?

Still, my heart was pounding. I tried to act casual, but my hands were shaking.

But he really hadn’t changed—still way too good-looking, with a high nose, broad shoulders, and perfect posture. His eyes were calm as he traced the rim of his wine glass with his finger.

There was something hypnotic about the way he moved, so controlled, every gesture deliberate. He was like a panther in a suit.

Not far from Carter, a few middle-aged men were trying to figure out how to approach him.

They looked like middle schoolers trying to work up the nerve to talk to the cool kid.

I recognized them—led by Mr. Harper, who runs a well-known old firm and is famous for his bad temper.

Mr. Harper was the kind of guy who thought he owned every room he walked into. Tonight, he looked a little out of his depth.

My eyes flashed. Carter knows all my tricks—he’d see through me in a second.

Still, if I wanted to make a move, this was my shot. I just had to be braver than I felt.

But it didn’t matter. This was an opportunity. I had to take a gamble. I tossed back the rest of my wine. My cheeks went hot—yep, already tipsy.

The wine burned a little going down, but it gave me just enough courage to do something reckless.

I asked the waiter to refill my glass—this time, all the way to the top.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. I thanked him, trying to steady my nerves.

I picked up my glass and strolled toward the center of the hall. As I passed Mr. Harper and his group, I “accidentally” tipped my glass, spilling red wine everywhere—almost getting it on them.

A collective gasp went up. I apologized profusely, dabbing at the spill with a napkin.

“Sorry, sorry, Mr. Harper, I almost ruined your suit.” I bent over to apologize.

My voice was steady, but inside I was freaking out. This was risky, even for me. What was I thinking?

My voice carried.

Heads turned, and suddenly all eyes were on us. Exactly what I needed.

Mr. Harper wasn’t about to let me off the hook. He scowled and snapped, “Which company are you from? So clueless! Do you know this suit costs more than you make in years? Can you afford to pay for it if it gets stained?”

His voice carried, and a few people nearby winced. I kept my head down, playing the part.

I apologized again. “Mr. Harper, please don’t be angry. How about you give me the suit and I’ll get it cleaned for you? I promise I’ll be more careful next time—this won’t happen again.”

I tried to sound sincere, but I could feel his gaze crawling over me, making my skin crawl.

One of the men with him gave him a look. Mr. Harper got the hint, looked me up and down with a greasy leer. “You think just saying sorry is enough? Young lady, you need to show some real sincerity.”

He leaned in, breath reeking of whiskey. I braced myself.

His look made me really uncomfortable, but I was still gambling—betting Carter wouldn’t just stand by.

I glanced in Carter’s direction, hoping he’d notice. My heart was doing backflips.

I stood my ground. “Sorry for staining your suit, Mr. Harper. To make it up to you, I’ll buy you a new one.”

My voice was firmer now. I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me.

Mr. Harper sneered, “Young lady, you think I want your suit? And you couldn’t afford to replace mine anyway.”

His words dripped with contempt. I could feel the anger simmering in the room.

Everyone knew what he meant. A guy pushing fifty, trying to take advantage of a young woman—shameless. I couldn’t believe how slimy he was. I’d really stepped in it this time.

It was like a bad scene from a movie, only I was the one with the spilled wine and the sinking feeling.

Looked like I’d lost my bet—no way Carter would come to my rescue a second time. He runs all of Lane Industries now—he’s seen it all.

I tried to steel myself, ready to walk away with whatever dignity I had left.

I dropped the act—no point pretending anymore.

My expression turned cold; I didn’t even want to keep up appearances. I tried to leave, but Mr. Harper’s face went from shocked to furious, and his fat hand grabbed my wrist. “Trying to leave so soon, young lady? Not that easy.”

His grip was tight, and I winced. People nearby looked away, pretending not to see.

I couldn’t break free, and no one else dared step in—nobody wanted to cross the boss of an old, established firm.

I scanned the crowd for help, but everyone avoided my eyes. I was on my own.

Struggling, I knocked over a table of desserts, and the party started to get chaotic.

A tower of mini cheesecakes crashed to the floor, and the clatter finally got everyone’s attention. So much for blending in.

Suddenly, a strong hand wrapped around my waist. I caught a faint, familiar scent—just like in high school. I looked up in surprise, meeting Carter’s cool, distant eyes.

His cologne hit me—clean, woodsy, and way too familiar.

He barely showed any expression, but under the gala lights, his features were striking.

He looked down at me, his gaze steady. How did he do that? I felt my nerves settle, just a little.

Carter didn’t look at me for long—just glanced down briefly.

His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t read. Then he turned his attention to Mr. Harper.

His lips pressed together, he looked straight ahead, his voice low and cold above me: “Mr. Harper, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

The words hung in the air, sharp as ice. The room went silent.

You could hear a pin drop.

No one expected Carter to step in—he was always so aloof, rarely speaking up.

People exchanged glances, shocked. Even the waiters froze.

Mr. Harper looked at Carter, testing the waters. “Mr. Lane, what’s this about…?”

His voice wavered, but he tried to play it cool.

Carter’s silver watch pressed against my waist, the coldness seeping through me. I instinctively tried to pull away, but his arm only tightened.

His grip was protective, possessive. Okay, heart, calm down.

I looked up at him. He stared ahead, face calm, unreadable.

His poker face was back, but I could sense something simmering beneath the surface.

Carter held me with one arm, looking at Mr. Harper and his group, who were all guessing at our relationship. “My assistant will contact you after the gala to compensate you for your suit.”

His tone made it clear: the matter was closed.

Mr. Harper was still in shock. One of the other men quickly tugged his sleeve, snapping him back to reality. “No need, no need, Mr. Lane. The young lady didn’t mean any harm—no need to trouble you.”

The man’s voice was oily, eager to smooth things over. Nobody wanted to be on Carter’s bad side.

Carter glanced at me, then said coolly to Mr. Harper, “Whether she meant it or not is another matter. But it’s impressive, Mr. Harper, that you still have other interests at your age.”

Some people tried to hide their laughter. Harper went from red to ghost-white.

Everyone understood the implication, and Mr. Harper certainly did. But as a veteran in the business world, he had some dignity—he didn’t expect Carter to embarrass him like this.

He shifted uncomfortably, his bluster gone.

Mr. Harper’s face turned ugly. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Lane?”

His voice was shaky, but he tried to hold onto his pride.

Carter’s gaze was calm, but everyone could feel the chill. He pulled me closer. “Just what I said.”

The message was clear: back off.

Mr. Harper was barely holding back his anger, but his companion quickly tried to smooth things over. “It’s nothing, just a misunderstanding. Mr. Lane, you misunderstood—Harper didn’t mean anything by it. Next time, watch your words, Harper, so Mr. Lane doesn’t get the wrong idea.”

People nodded, eager to move on. The tension eased, just a little.

Everyone here was a business veteran—they all knew what was really going on. They were just giving Mr. Harper an out.

It was the unspoken code of the business world: save face, move forward.

But after that, Mr. Harper remembered why he’d come to the gala. His company might be old, but it’s being squeezed by up-and-coming firms. He wanted to use Lane Industries’ influence to climb higher.

He shot Carter a wary look, then tried to blend back into the crowd.

Mr. Harper forced a smile. “Yeah, my mouth gets ahead of me sometimes. I scared the young lady. It’s nothing, really—no stain at all.”

His words sounded hollow, but nobody called him on it.

Carter didn’t respond, just led me away toward the lounge.

His hand was steady on my back, guiding me through the crowd. People parted for us without a word.

I mumbled, barely above a whisper, “Thank you.” I hoped he heard me.

My voice was shaky, but I meant it.

I thought he hadn’t heard, but his cool voice came from above: “It was nothing.”

He sounded almost annoyed, but I caught the hint of a smile.

Harper looked ready to explode, but he kept his mouth shut.

Harper glanced around, realized he’d lost, and slunk away.

On the surface, the party returned to normal, but I could feel everyone’s eyes on me and Carter.

Whispers followed us as we left the main hall. I tried to ignore them, but it wasn’t easy.

How could they not be shocked? Everyone knew Carter was a bit of a germaphobe, but now he was holding me—wine and dessert stains and all.

I looked down at my dress, mortified. Maybe he really didn’t care about the mess.

Any one of these things would be enough to surprise them.

It was the talk of the night—Carter Lane breaking his own rules.

I asked quietly, “Mr. Lane, where are we going?”

I barely whispered, but he caught it.

At the words “Mr. Lane,” Carter’s eyes darkened for a moment, then his expression became unreadable again.

He hesitated, then turned away, his jaw tight.

I shivered when his fingers brushed my waist. “To change. Your dress is dirty—you’ll be uncomfortable.”

His tone was gentle, almost caring. I blinked, surprised.

Wait—he meant me, not himself?

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I just nodded, letting him lead the way.

In the lounge, Carter sat on the sofa waiting while I changed in the back room.

The room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

When I came out, Carter was smoking, his eyes dark. When he saw me, he flicked his ash and put out the cigarette.

He stubbed it out with deliberate care, then looked up, his expression unreadable. Classic Carter.

He stood up and walked over, sounding casual. “How are you? Need a minute?”

He kept his tone light, but I could see the concern in his eyes.

“I’m good.”

I tried to sound confident, but my hands were shaking just a little.

He smelled like smoke and cologne—shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

It was a strange mix—cologne, tobacco, and something uniquely Carter. I tried not to stare.

Carter noticed and quietly stepped back. “Let’s go.”

His voice was gentle, softer than I remembered.

He strode ahead, his steps long. I hurried to keep up.

His stride was so much longer than mine—I had to jog to keep up, heels clicking on the tile.

I ran smack into his back—ouch.

Rubbing my forehead, I asked, “Mr. Lane, what’s up?”

I tried to keep my tone light, but my heart was pounding.

His voice was soft, but there was steel underneath: “Savannah, why do you keep calling me Mr. Lane?”

His voice was gentle, but there was an edge to it—like he was daring me to answer honestly.

Carter was really tall—almost six foot three. But right then, his broad back looked lonely.

He seemed smaller, somehow, like he was waiting for something.

I hesitated, then said, “I didn’t want to be presumptuous. We only spent a short time together in high school, and I thought you might’ve forgotten me. It’d be awkward to act familiar out of nowhere.”

I looked away, embarrassed. My words sounded lame, even to me.

The hallway was much dimmer than the lounge. Carter’s face was half in shadow, looking unusually calm. “So you made a scene on purpose? To see if I’d step in?”

Of course he did.

Just like in high school, Carter’s blank stare made people uncomfortable.

But I wasn’t embarrassed about being called out—he’s Carter, after all. How could he not see through my little tricks?

Since he’d said it so plainly, I dropped the act and relaxed. I laughed, meeting his eyes. “But Mr. Lane, you took the bait yourself, didn’t you?”

I grinned. If he wanted to play, so could I.

Carter looked at me and let out a quiet, exasperated laugh.

It was the first time I’d seen him smile in years. My heart did a little flip.

Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms. We were so close our breaths mingled. In the dim hallway, I could see his usually calm face wasn’t so calm anymore. “Savannah, why pretend not to know me? Saying hello is so simple.”

His breath was warm against my cheek. I swallowed, trying to keep my cool.

I frowned slightly. I’d never seen Carter like this—he’d always been composed, both then and now. “Mr. Lane?”

My voice was barely a whisper, but he heard me.

Carter’s big hand traced my cheek, his voice low. “I don’t have to pretend around you. I’m a mess—I’ve been thinking about you for so long. Savannah, you still owe me an explanation for what happened in high school. Just tell me, and I’ll believe you.”

His words were raw, honest. I felt my defenses crumbling.

I went stiff, but suddenly snapped back to reality. I pushed his hand away and gave him a polite smile. “Nothing to explain—a broken promise is a broken promise.”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice shook. I wasn’t fooling anyone. The past was harder to face than I thought.

It was like he expected that answer. His eyes darkened. “Savannah, I know you—you’re stubborn, but I can tell when you’re just being difficult.”

He sounded almost fond, like he’d memorized every one of my habits.

I looked at him helplessly. The great Mr. Lane really was impossible.

I let out a sigh, half-laughing. He hadn’t changed a bit.

He let go of me and walked ahead, then stopped after a few steps. “Savannah, never put yourself in danger again. You can bring your company’s documents straight to Lane Industries and see me. I don’t care about appearances in front of you—I’m easy to win over.”

His words caught me off guard. I was totally thrown.

With Carter openly protecting me, I could’ve strutted through that gala like I owned the place.

If I’d had any sense, I would’ve. But my brain was still spinning.

But my mind was a mess, so I left early.

I slipped out a side door, heels in hand, dress bunched up in my fist. The cool night air felt like freedom. Best decision all night.

I never expected the 27-year-old Carter Lane to be so direct—nothing like I remembered, nothing like the rumors.

He was still the same, but somehow more—more open, more vulnerable, more real.

On my way home, I stood on the corner, letting the wind clear my head, when a black luxury car pulled up.

The engine purred, headlights washing over the sidewalk. I hesitated, half-expecting a movie villain to step out.

The door opened and a man got out, polite and respectful. “Miss Reed, I’m Mr. Lane’s assistant. He asked me to make sure you got home safely.”

His suit probably cost more than my last three paychecks. He gave me a reassuring nod.

He opened the back door for me. I didn’t hesitate—at this hour, it was impossible to get a cab here.

I slid into the plush leather seat, grateful for the warmth. The city lights blurred by as we drove.

I rolled down the window, letting the wind tangle my hair. Guess you never really leave high school behind. Some memories I thought were long gone were still rooted deep inside me, impossible to forget.

The night air was sharp, bittersweet. I closed my eyes, letting the past wash over me.