199 The Savior at the Alumni Gala
199 The Savior at the Alumni Gala
My stomach dropped. “Me? I couldn’t possibly-”
I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own cars. “Is that the story you’re telling these days, Alistair?”
For the first time that evening, I felt truly safe.
The effect was immediate. People straightened in their chairs. Conversations hushed. Alistair’s face drained of color.
Before I could formulate a response, a waiter appeared with glasses of wine.
“Speaking of where we are,” I said, my voice carrying to nearby tables, “I should clarify something. Alistair isn’t just my ex–boyfriend. He’s my ex–husband. We’re divorced.
She faltered. “But my father said-”
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, unable to speak. Across the room, I caught sight of Alistair watching us, his expression thunderous.
I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Fiona ignored me, storming off into the crowd. Alistair remained standing, his face a mask of controlled fury.
“University officials intimidate me. Always have.”
Sebastian pulled out a chair for me, then took the seat beside mine.
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “Money doesn’t buy confidence, Hazel.”
Alistair stood abruptly. “This is inappropriate, Hazel.”
“Honestly, Hazel, I never understood what Alistair saw in you,” Fiona sneered, leaning closer. “The way he described your relationship, it sounded more like obligation than love.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered, anxiety climbing up my throat.
199 The Savior at the Alumni Gala
The table fell silent. Sebastian Sinclair, powerful alumnus and the evening’s greatest benefactor, had just publicly aligned himself as my protector.
Suddenly, Sebastian’s hand closed over mine, stopping me. With his other hand, he took the wine glass himself.
Sebastian didn’t even turn around. “Your conversation is finished, Mr. Everett.”
“What? I’m just making conversation.” Her eyes gleamed with malice. “He said you were practically obsessed with him, calling constantly, demanding to know his
whereabouts.”
Sebastian’s gaze flicked over her with cool disinterest. “I don’t recall any such arrangement.”
We approached the head table where the university president, three vice–principals, and several distinguished alumni sat. My palms grew sweaty.
“Stepsister,” I clarified. “Who miraculously recovered from her terminal cancer the moment the ring was on her finger.”
“I really shouldn’t,” I murmured, but the vice–principal was already raising his glass higher, a challenge in his eyes.
The revelation rippled through our corner of the room. Fiona’s eyes widened.
I looked desperately at Vera, who nodded encouragingly. “Go,” she mouthed.
“Ah, Mr. Sinclair! And Ms. Shaw, isn’t it?” The president stood, beaming. “Please join us.”
Her hand flew to her face. “I haven’t had any work done!”
He pushed the glass closer to me, his smile tight.
“Ms. Shaw was top of her class in design,” Sebastian informed them smoothly. “Her work has been featured in Milan, Paris, and New York.”
Fiona pushed away from the table. “Conquest? Is that what I am to you?”
I took it, feeling like I was stepping onto a tightrope without a net. As we moved away, I heard Alistair protest.
“Easy for you to say. You just donated enough to buy the entire
campus.”
The pressure mounting, I reached for the glass. The table watched expectantly.
“Of course not. And that jaw recontouring? Pure genetics, I’m sure.”
“I left him,” I corrected automatically.
His fingers tightened slightly on my back. “They’re just people. Insecure ones, at that.”
“I’ll be taking you home later,” he said in a low voice. “This conversation isn’t over?
Alistair shifted uncomfortably. “Fiona, that’s enough.”
Before I could respond, a commanding presence appeared at our table.
Sebastian offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Panic froze me. The medication I was taking for my panic attacks interacted badly with alcohol–something Sebastian couldn’t possibly know. Yet he’d intervened.
Sebastian glanced at the offered hand but didn’t take it. “Mr. Everett.”
As glasses clinked awkwardly around us, Sebastian set the empty glass down and turned to me.
Then, maintaining eye contact with the now–flustered official, Sebastian drained my glass in one smooth motion.
“Mr. Sinclair,” he managed, extending a hand. “Congratulations on your generous donation.”
“A toast,” declared the vice–principal før alumni relations, lifting his glass. “To future collaborations.”
“What’s your opinion on incorporating design education into our general curriculum?” another vice–principal asked.
Fiona materialized beside Alistair, her earlier anger forgotten. “Sebastian, what an honor to meet you properly.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Daddy mentioned your families are having dinner next weekend.”
“What’s inappropriate is you bringing your new conquest to harass me,” I shot back.
Vera kicked me under the table, a silent warning not to engage. But something in me had snapped.
199 The Savior at the Alumni Gala
“It would be rude to refuse the head table.” His tone left no room for argument.
“Six years isn’t brief,” I corrected. “Neither is abandoning your wedding for your bride’s– dying stepsister.”
“Careful,” Vera cut in. “Remember where we are.”
The president cleared his throat, clearly trying to salvage the moment. “Well then, to future collaborations!”
“Tell me, Fiona, how many surgeries did it take to achieve that nose?” I asked sweetly. “The doctor did excellent work. Almost looks natural.”
Everyone raised their glasses expectantly. I reached for mine with shaking fingers, remembering too late why I shouldn’t drink it.
“Fiona, that’s not—”
How could Sebastian have known about my medication? And more importantly, why
else? everyone had he just placed himself squarely between me and
“Sinclair, Hazel and I need to finish our conversation.”
My fingers tightened around my water glass. “Is that what he told you? Interesting.” Alistair’s jaw clenched. “It was a brief marriage.”
“Miss Shaw.” Sebastian turned to me, dismissing Fiona completely. “The university president and vice–principals would like a word. They’re interested in discussing your involvement in the upcoming fashion exhibition.”
“Says the billionaire.”
“Just a taste won’t hurt. We’re all friends here.”
The vice–principal for academic affairs leaned forward. “I understand you’re the creative force behind Evening Gala. Impressive achievement.”
“Ms. Shaw has a rare medical condition,” Sebastian said suddenly. “She can’t have alcohol.”
His hand pressed gently against my lower back, guiding me through the crowd. Whispers followed us. Former classmates who had barely acknowledged me earlier now watched with naked curiosity.
<
“You can,” Sebastian replied quietly. “You’re Hazel Shaw. You’ve faced worse than a table of academics.”
Fiona stared at him with new eyes. “You left her at the altar? For her sister?”
“Divorced?” She turned to Alistair. “You were married? You told me you two just dated
in college!”
“I’ll drink this for her,” he said firmly, looking directly at the vice–principal.
“You’re pathetic,” she spat at Alistair. “No wonder she left you.”
The vice–principal faltered. “Oh, I insist just a small sip for the toast. Traditions matter at this university.”
Fiona’s face flushed an ugly red. “You bitter, pathetic-”
“Is there a problem here?” Sebastian’s deep voice silenced the murmurs around us.
