Chapter 2: Dance with Shadows

After Derek spoke, Noah didn’t try to force me anymore.

A small mercy. The tension at the table loosened, and I exhaled, grateful for Derek’s intervention—even if he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

But a man further down the table, the kind you saw at every southern gala—slick hair, too much cologne, whiskey glass glued to his hand—let out a soft "Oh."

"Noah, your girlfriend really looks like one of Derek’s former flames."

The words landed like a stone in a pond, sending ripples through the table. I felt my cheeks flush, my fingers curling tight in my lap.

Everyone nearby perked up, pressing for details.

People leaned in, hungry for gossip. There was a kind of glee in the air—the anticipation of a scandal.

"It’s just an old story," he said. "There was a girl who liked Derek—chased him, even shamelessly took off her clothes and climbed into his bed."

His words dripped with false innocence, meant as a joke but landing like an accusation.

"I forgot her name, but I remember what she looked like. She looks a lot like Noah’s girlfriend."

I shrank in my seat, wishing I could disappear. My face burned. I glanced at Noah, but he only squeezed my hand tighter.

He even joked, "Derek, take a look. It’s not the same person, is it?"

Laughter fluttered, brittle and sharp. Eyes multiplied, whispers growing louder.

The moment he said that, everyone’s eyes turned to me, whispering among themselves.

I felt naked under their scrutiny, like a bug pinned under glass. The urge to run rose, but I forced myself to stay.

Noah held my hand, frowning with displeasure, but said nothing.

It was Derek who broke the silence—his gaze cutting across the table, voice low and deadly:

"Are you blind?"

Then, with one swift motion, he picked up a wine glass and splashed it over the man’s shirt.

The glass arced, chardonnay raining down. The table gasped; I nearly jumped out of my seat.

"Anyone who comes to this banquet, I’ll treat well."

Derek’s words rang out, clear and commanding—a warning that would be whispered about for months.

"But if you’re here to cause trouble, get out. Don’t dirty my place."

His Southern drawl was sharp as broken glass. Nobody questioned him—not even the man now mopping wine from his collar.

As soon as he finished, two security guards dragged the speaker away.

The drama was swift—two men in black suits hustling the troublemaker out. The tension snapped, and conversation stuttered back to life.

Only then did Noah gently stroke my hair:

"Don’t worry. I know you’re not that kind of person."

"Natalie, let’s go dance. I’ll take you to the center of the floor, okay?"

His voice was gentle, trying to draw me away from the memory of all those eyes. I nodded, grateful for the escape.

I didn’t want to stay under Derek’s gaze any longer, so I nodded.

My heels wobbled as Noah led me to the dance floor, the band’s bass thumping with my pulse.

He led me out, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine.

The lights dimmed, casting everyone in gold and shadow. He settled his hand at the small of my back, breath warm at my temple.

He’d taught me the waltz before—rehearsed it twice before tonight.

In his parents’ sunroom, he’d counted steps, patient as a coach. I’d stumbled, laughing, spinning in circles until the world tilted.

But tonight, my steps were clumsy. I kept stepping on his shoes.

The music seemed too fast, or maybe my head was just spinning. I muttered apologies, cheeks burning, wishing I could disappear.

He grinned, whispering, "Careful, Nat, I only brought one pair of nice shoes."

I kept feeling a gaze—cold and angry—boring into me.

The hairs on my neck prickled. Even when I looked away, I sensed it—watchful, heavy, impossible to ignore.

My skin burned, the weight of it making my chest tight. I felt like every secret I’d ever had was showing on my sleeve.

But when I turned to look, everything seemed normal.

Derek stood in a circle of men, drink in hand, laughing at someone’s joke. His posture was relaxed, his eyes unreadable.

He was chatting, not glancing my way.

Just as I was lost in thought, Noah suddenly pulled me closer, his large hand gripping my waist—possessive, almost desperate.

"Natalie, you’re distracted tonight."

He murmured it against my ear, breath warm. It was more question than accusation.

"What’s wrong? Did my uncle scare you?"

His hand tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I flinched anyway.

He grinned, trying to make me smile. "He looks fierce, but he’s a good guy. Especially around my aunt—he’s so obedient. If she tells him to go east, he’d never go west."

I blinked. "He’s married?"

"Not yet. She’s his fiancée. Wedding’s coming up."

Noah smiled, fingers lingering at the edge of my backless dress, tracing slow circles.

That gaze fell on me again—heavy, sticky, unhappy.

It made my skin crawl. I slowly turned my head and looked toward Derek.

He stood at the edge of the dance floor, eyes locked on me. In the low light, his jaw was tight, knuckles white on his glass.

This time, his eyes met mine directly—a challenge, a silent dare. A shiver ran down my spine.

But in the next moment, Noah spun me, blocking him from view.

"Natalie, focus on the dance I taught you."

I nodded, dropping my gaze to the floor. The music swelled. I tried to find my rhythm again.

I rested my hand on his shoulder, silent.

Noah didn’t know I could already waltz.

It was a secret I kept—a piece of the past I refused to share.

I’d learned it, step by step, from Derek himself.