The first time David sat down with James Vauhn, it wasn't in a drawing room lined with mahogany. It was in the conservatory, sunlight pooling through the tall glass panels, and every inch of the atmosphere humming with polite tension.
James, ever the stoic patriarch, didn't speak for the first five minutes.
Melissa sat between them like a human buffer, sipping tea she clearly didn't want. David, poised but calm, folded his hands.
James finally broke the silence. "You've had a positive effect on my daughter."
David nodded slowly. "She changed herself, sir. I just reminded her what she was capable of."
"Did you remind her how to lie to her professors? Skip finals? Smoke through her tuition?"
"Melissa already paid dearly for that life. I don't think she needs reminding."
Melissa inhaled sharply. "Dad—"
But James held up a hand. His tone, when he spoke again, was quieter. More dangerous.
"I won't pretend I don't care about appearances, Mr. Terverem. We belong to a world of influence and inheritance. When Melissa falls in love, it affects my business, our social standing, even our extended family name. You understand the burden she carries?"
David didn't flinch. "I understand burdens, Mr. Vauhn. But hers won't be made lighter by pretending love doesn't matter."
James stared hard. "And what do you want out of all this?"
"Her," David said simply.
The silence returned, thick and uncertain.
Then, slowly, James leaned back.
"I respect honesty," he said. "Even when it doesn't flatter me."
Melissa exhaled. She reached for David's hand under the table. He took it.
The ice had cracked—but not yet melted.
As they left the room, Candice Vauhn appeared in the hallway, arms crossed, her sleek blonde hair tied in a bun that looked carved from marble.
She said nothing at first, only looked at David, head tilted slightly.
Then, with no warning, she stepped forward, reached up, and adjusted the collar of his shirt.
"You'll need a better tailor," she said. "There's a gala in three weeks."
David blinked. "You're inviting me?"
"I'm warning you," she corrected. "Those people will smile and still wish you invisible. Be prepared."
Then she turned and walked away.
Melissa stared after her. "That's… weirdly supportive."
David smiled. "That's your mother saying 'welcome to the family,' isn't it?"
"Something like that."
Melissa stood before her mirror that evening, her mother's words echoing in her ears.
"Those people will smile and still wish you invisible."
Not just at David.
At her.
She had been invisible before—hidden beneath glitter, hangovers, and foggy regret. But this was a new kind of invisibility. The kind that came from stepping outside the expectations of the elite. And yet, for the first time, she didn't care.
She slipped into her robe and wandered to the balcony of her apartment, where David sat reading beneath a single yellow lamp.
He looked up, his face bathed in soft light.
"I was thinking," she said, sliding onto the seat beside him. "Maybe we should write our own story."
He looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Not just live one. Write one. About us. All of it. From the beginning."
He closed his book. "You want to write a memoir?"
"Maybe not something we ever publish. But something true. Something we'll give our children."
He smiled slowly. "You're thinking about children now?"
She reached for his hand. "Sometimes."
He pulled her close, his voice low against her ear. "Then we have time. For stories. For love. For everything."
She touched his face. "Can we stay in tonight? Just us?"
He nodded. "Of course."
What followed was quiet—soft kisses, warm touches, the gentleness of two people who no longer needed to prove themselves to each other.
He undressed her like a secret. She undressed him like a prayer.
And when their bodies met, it was not passion for passion's sake, but intimacy shaped by time. By trust. By the absolute conviction that this was real. That she was his…and he hers.
Afterward, curled against him, she whispered, "I can't believe I ever lived without this."
"You didn't," he said. "You were just waiting for it. Every experience, every mistake, prepared you for this"
And outside, the city lights blurred into the stars.
The old Melissa was gone. Not with a bang. But with a breath.
And in her place stood a woman deeply, utterly, in love.