Page 5 of Fallen Heir
Because Millie was here.
And for the first time in months, I didn’t feel like I was just surviving. I was present. Aware. Watching the way her head tilted back in laughter. The way she draped her legs across the white couch with the kind of confidence only born of someone who had never needed to run.
She made it look so easy.
I watched Millie, fingers dancing along the rim of her champagne glass as if life had never handed her a bad day. She moved through the world with this magnetic energy—confident, fearless, and completely untethered. The way I used to. And I envied that. Her freedom. Her ability to exist without looking over her shoulder. She didn’t know what it felt like to constantly measure your breaths, to question every unfamiliar face, or to sleep with one eye open. I doubted she ever would.
She took for granted the safety I could only dream of, unaware that I was still trapped in a life I’d barely escaped. A locked place with no doors, no exits—just invisible bars that held me in.
Sometimes, when Millie laughed like that—full-bodied, unbothered—it reminded me of my mom. They both had that unshakable presence, the kind of grace that made people stop and take notice without trying.
My mother was my best friend, my anchor in the middle of every storm. I’d spent my entire life trying to be just like her. Losing her left a hole I didn’t know how to fill. And maybe that’s why I was drawn to Millie so quickly. She exuded the same strength, the same elegance. She made me feel like, just maybe, I could find pieces of safety again.
But there were still so many things I couldn’t explain. Like how my mother and father—who rarely did anything together outside of charity galas—had both been in the car that night.
No one ever questioned it.
But I did.
The alcohol helped tonight. The champagne buzzing through my veins offered me a false sense of freedom. It wasn’tuntil now that I realized just how much I needed it to silence the noise in my head. But even then, that heavy sensation lingered—like someone’s eyes were still on me, watching from behind the mirrored glass, peeling back the layers I was desperate to keep hidden. I glanced up again, heart tapping against my ribs, scanning the ceiling for any sign of movement.
Nothing. Just my own reflection staring back at me—wide-eyed, wary, pretending to belong. But deep down, I knew the truth.
I didn’t belong here. Not in this club. Not in this city. Not in this version of my life.
And worse, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend I did.
Because if anyone ever saw past the heels and lipstick… if anyone ever put the pieces together—
Everything I’d built in just a few months would disappear.
Just like I had. I vanished long before I ever left him—piece by piece, smile by smile. Until all that remained was this woman in red lipstick and luxury clothing, sipping champagne under a name that wasn’t hers.
I hadn’t come here tonight to be seen. But something told me… someone already had.
Chapter 3
“I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom,” I murmured in Millie’s ear, noticing her checking out a guy on the dance floor who kept sneaking glances her way. He was good-looking, a little taller than most of the guys here, and seemingly more her type than Trevor. My eyes narrowed at her, letting her know I’d caught her red-handed.
“Okay, time for a little dancing, I guess,” Millie winked at me as we relayed our plans to the men beside us. Trevor, Millie, and Bryce headed toward the dance floor as I kept walking toward the restroom.
The line was long, and as I leaned against the wall, the music’s rhythm washed over me. The champagne in my veins gave me the courage to let myself move to the beat, my body finally loosening up. I felt a flicker of freedom, a rare moment of feeling like me.
Once I finished in the restroom, I headed to find Millie. My gaze shifted toward the dance floor, where Millie was dancing with a man that was definitely not Trevor.
I spotted an open stool at the bar and took it, silently deciding to avoid the crowd. It was the least I could do for Millie—let her have her fun while I tried to breathe in the chaos of the club.
“I’m Nic, what will it be tonight?” the bartender asked, shaking up a drink in her hands. Her bold appearance matched the club’s vibe—vibrant tattoos covered her arms, and her smile was warm yet confident. There was something more to her than just a bartender. She didn’t fit the usual mold, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what seemed different about her.
“Weller on the rocks, if you have it,” I said, giving her a small smile. I was my father’s daughter, after all. He hadn’t been much of a parent, but when I was sixteen, he handed me my first glass of bourbon and told me if I was going to sit with the grown men at the Country Club, I’d need to hold my liquor.
It wasn’t just bourbon. It was a lesson. A message. That if I wanted to exist in a man’s world, I had to stop acting like a girl. That glass didn’t just teach me about alcohol—it taught me power. Resilience. Disguise.
“I like your style. Not sure it’ll mix well with the champagne, but that’s your hangover,” she said with a grin, sliding my drink toward me.
“I’m kind of a snob when it comes to my bourbon,” I added, the words coming easily.
She laughed, a light sound that caught me off guard. “Next drink’s on me.”
