If Anthony had the choice, he would’ve opted not to attend the charity gala his father was hosting. The ballroom was alive with conversation and the soft clinking of glasses, but after hours of standing and smiling, you could feel the ache creeping into your feet and shoulders. Anthony had been by your side the whole evening, moving through the crowd with practiced ease as he introduced you to what felt like an endless stream of guests.

You did your best to keep up, but as the night wore on, Anthony noticed the tired lines in your face, the way your shoulders sagged slightly each time the two of you stopped to talk. Quietly, he leaned over to you.

“You holding up okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

You gave him a quick nod and forced a smile, but Anthony wasn’t convinced. With a gentle but firm hand, he took yours and steered you through the crowd, guiding you past the guests and out of the main room. You shot him a confused look, but he only gave a reassuring smile as he led you down one of the quieter hallways. Finally, he stopped by a small bench along the wall, gesturing for you to sit.

“Whats this?” you asked, half-laughing, half-exhausted.

He shrugged, crouching down in front of you. “I can see you’re exhausted. Thought I’d do something about it.”

Before you could protest, he gently lifted your foot and unfastened the strap of your heel, slipping it off and setting it aside