Ninety-Nine Engagements, One Betrayal

oks Preston, a stoic tech mogul who seemed to be the only m

venient prop, a wife he needed to hide his obsessive

, windowless room, weaponizing my childhood claustrophobia to break me. He ne

days, my terror a spectacle for his cold, calculati

med gala, I looked into the camera and smiled. "Everleigh, darl

pte

ences." In reality, the difference was always the same. My mouth. It moved too fast, too often, too much. I was a motormouth, a chatterbo

my mother would sigh, smoothing my

more laughter, more life. That was my mantra. But it

e. No more chasing a fairytale that clearly wasn' t meant for me. Marr

et Brook

that held the quiet intensity of a winter storm. A tech mogul from Seattle, old money, precise, stoic. Every word he uttere

words tumbling out like marbles down a flight of stairs. I was bidding on a ridiculous

oing twice..." the

d!" I yelled, my voi

mere feet away, turned his head slowly. His gaze, usually so i

gging at my sleeve. "Are you sur

oo loudly. "But it's for a good cause, and

twitched. A g

deep, resonant voice cut

at me, really looking, with those calm, stea

and!" I declared, a

y gesture that spoke volume

abandon. Each time I spoke, I felt a strange exhilaration. Each time he resp

finally shouted

ly, lowered his paddle. A collective g

s, miss," the a

triumphant grin on my fa

attles aren't worth winning, especially w

s that what they're calling it these days? Usuall

ad. "I found it

veness charming. My smile faltered, a new,

master. I haggled for hours, felt like a true art connoisseur. Got it for a steal, or so I thought. Brought it home, showed it off to all my friends. Turns out, it

is lips. He wasn't laughi

eek black suit, cleared her throat. "Mr. Pres

word. His eyes were still on me. "Please, con

. Not too much. This man, this stoic, silent B

I imagined myself driving it through the French countryside, scarf trailing in the wind. Turns out, it was a prop from a B-movie, held together with duct tape

hat sent shivers down my spine. It wa

Brooks Preston was the one. He was the man who saw me, truly saw me, and didn't try to

timistic. My friends, more pragmatic, warned me to take it slow. But I wa

most cynical of New York's socialites. I had broken the curse of the ninety-nine. I was Mrs.

once found calming, now felt like a wall. I would talk and talk, filling the silence, expecting him t

spark a conversation. I'd ask him about his work, his childhood, his dre

to say? I just told you about my boss's scanda

to provoke a reaction. I' d turn up the music too loud, leave my clothes all over the floor, accidentally-on-

a, darling, you know I prefer a tidy home." Not an ar

ing into an abyss, and the abyss was smiling back, patiently. Something was off

came back. His

ocent eyes. Brooks was instantly solicitous, his quiet attention amplified in h

y phone rang. It was

ne. Can you come get me? I'm at the pr

ut to her. "Oh, Everleigh!

a scrape. A bar fight, actually. Silly, really

le Everleigh? This was certa

hem out of anything. I'm very good at talking, you know. I once talked my way out of a speeding ticket with a very grumpy officer. He was so surpr

sniffle the only interruption. I felt a sur

a board meeting, but he listened, his voice calm, as I recounted Everleigh's dramatic tale of defending a stranger

out the unprovoked aggression and the self-defense, and how Everleigh just has such a strong moral compass that she couldn't stand by and watch injustice unfold. I mean, who cou

rt. He said he would be there as soon as

ling Everleigh out. A few minutes later, she was being escorted out, looking relieved, but sti

He didn't even notice me at first. He strode in, his face a mask of fu

oice echoing through the quiet p

raw, untamed emotion. He wasn't just talki

. This wasn't the Brooks I kn

ng. He wasn't just expressing concern. He was expressing deep, profound anger. And

ious expression instantly softened, replaced by a flick

d. But it was too late. I had seen it. The real Brooks. The one who c

aching. I couldn't speak. I just got up, my legs feeling like lead, a