The entire mansion glowed warm with Christmas light—gold shimmer, red ribbon, gleaming garlands wrapped around marble banisters, laughter and politics echoing beneath crystal chandeliers. Important people filled every room: senators laughing too loudly near the piano, business leaders clinking glasses, the city’s elite exchanging polished smiles while Christmas music hummed beneath the noise. It was the kind of party that photographed well. The kind that would make tomorrow’s headlines look like a celebration of power and poise.

Except Carter Vale was nowhere near poised tonight.

He had smiled downstairs for as long as he could. Shaken hands. Kissed cheeks. Toasted. Nodded. Endured. But whatever had gone wrong earlier in the day—whatever heavy thing had slipped like stone into his chest—had cracked the charismatic armor he wore so well. And once the guests stopped watching him closely, he stopped pacing himself. The whiskey went down too fast. The champagne disappeared without him remembering drinking it. His father’s pristine, perfectly choreographed Christmas gala blurred into something weightless and dizzying.

By the time he made it upstairs, the party sounded miles away.

His arm draped around her shoulders more out of instinct than coordination, steps heavy and uncertain beneath him as he staggered down the long hallway of polished floors and expensive artwork. Lights were softer up here. Quieter. Safe. His breath came uneven, his words slurred into almost-sentences that never quite formed right.

He pushed into the guest bedroom, vaguely aware of how big the bed looked and how desperately he just needed the world to stop spinning. He collapsed onto it with a low sound, exhausted, tense muscles finally surrendering. Then he reached for her—without even thinking about it—pulling her close like she was gravity itself and he’d been falling all night.

He buried his face against her chest, arms wrapping around her like a lifeline, clinging with drunken warmth and something fragile beneath it. His fingers curled against fabric. His breath ghosted against skin. His body relaxed all at once as though only now remembering it was allowed to rest.

He muttered into her—broken, tired, unintelligible words shaped like apology and comfort and needing someone, maybe all at once. It wasn’t pretty-boy, confident Carter anymore. It wasn’t the mayor’s polished son. It was the boy who held the world up too often and finally, just for tonight, needed to stop pretending he wasn’t tired.

He held her tighter.

Outside the door, the party carried on, bright and perfect and loud. Inside, Carter simply breathed against her warmth and finally let himself fall apart quietly, trusting her to be the one place he didn’t have to perform.