Chapter 6: Nightmares and Confessions

That one sentence made me the target of everyone’s jealousy.

The air crackled with it—a toxic mix of resentment and curiosity. I braced myself for the fallout.

The debutantes glared at me as if they wanted to tear me apart.

They clustered together, voices hissing, eyes narrowed. It was high school all over again, only with designer shoes and better lighting.

As they reached out to grab my sleeve, I hurried onto the shuttle bus.

I ducked my head, moving fast. The bus door hissed shut behind me like salvation. I plopped down in the back, heart racing.

Back at our house, I ordered the smart lock engaged and refused to go out again.

The familiar beep of the keypad brought a measure of safety. I peeled off my shoes, dumped my clutch on the hall table, and slumped onto the worn couch. Mom fussed, but I tuned her out, counting the minutes until bedtime.

That night, I tried desperately not to dream, but sleep overtook me anyway.

I squeezed my eyes shut, repeating lists—state capitals, presidents, anything to keep the dreams at bay. But exhaustion won.

The man’s familiar, scorching breath brushed against my neck.

His presence was immediate, overwhelming. I shivered, my dream self powerless to resist.

"Annie, why are you so late today?"

His tone was mock-stern, laced with tenderness. I almost smiled, even as guilt prickled at my chest.

I turned to dodge, but twisted my neck by accident and cried out in pain.

A jolt shot through me, so real it woke me for a split second before I drifted back down.

"You—don’t touch me!"

I tried to push him away, but my protest was weak, my body betraying me.

"What’s wrong? Did you hurt your neck?"

Marcus crouched in front of me, his tone careful and gentle.

His eyes searched mine, concern softening every hard edge. I melted under his attention.

"Let me put some ointment on it, all right?"

He waited, patient, hands steady. The urge to trust him was overwhelming.

My resolve melted instantly.

I nodded, unable to say no. The brush of his fingertips was gentle, almost reverent.

His warm fingertips touched my neck, applying the cream with just the right pressure and care.

I closed my eyes, letting myself drift in the comfort of his touch. It was the kind of care I’d never dared ask for in real life.

Who would have thought that the proud, all-powerful Marcus Sterling—

A man who could level a room with a glance—would ever stoop to tend a girl’s scraped neck?

Would become so humble and attentive, like a servant, in front of me?

It felt unreal. Surreal. Yet in that moment, it was everything I wanted.

This was the Governor’s son, the pride of Savannah.

His family’s name was stitched into the very fabric of the city. He belonged on magazine covers, not in my dreams.

If he ever learned that the woman he worked so hard to please was just a minor official’s daughter, would he be so furious he’d want to cut me off for good?

The thought was like a bucket of cold water. I shivered, dread curling in my stomach.

At the thought, I quickly pulled away.

I sat up, putting distance between us. The look in his eyes nearly undid me.

"You said before you wanted to come to Savannah to see me, but I’m ugly and fat. Let’s not meet."

My voice cracked on the words. Shame and fear warred inside me. It was easier to push him away than risk being hurt.

Marcus’s hand paused.

He looked stricken, as if I’d struck him. The silence between us stretched, heavy and uncertain.

In the darkness, he stared at me for a long time, then suddenly smiled.

His smile was slow, gentle—like the first sunlight after a storm. For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

"How did you know I came to Savannah?"

His words tangled with my heartbeat, and I realized—if this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.