Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 138

The invitation arrived on thick cardstock with embossed lettering that probably cost more per square inch than my hotel room.

Annual Heritage Foundation Fundraiser. Black Tie. Speeches. Silent Auction. The Future of Our Community.

I stared at it like it was a subpoena.

"I'm not going," I told my phone when my mother called.

"Yes, you are."

"Mom—"

"Show your face. Prove you're not falling apart." Her voice had that steel edge. The one that meant this wasn't a suggestion. "Everyone will be there. It's a chance to show them you're stable. Professional. Not some disaster they've been gossiping about."

"I don't owe them a performance."

"You owe yourself one. Unless you want Amber to control the narrative forever."

She hung up before I could argue.

I texted Chase: Are you going to this fundraiser thing?

His response came immediately: Unfortunately. You?

Apparently I have to prove I'm not having a breakdown.

I'll be there. We can suffer together.

The dress code was black tie, which meant I spent two hours and too much money at a boutique that smelled like expensive candles and judgment. The saleswoman kept suggesting "age-appropriate" options until I bought a black dress that was simple and elegant and made me look like I had my life together. I didn't. But at least the dress was convincing.

The fundraiser was at the country club on the edge of town. White tablecloths. Crystal. People in designer suits pretending they cared about historic preservation while actually caring about being seen caring.

Chase met me at the entrance. Black suit. Tie slightly loosened. Hair pushed back in that way that made my stomach flip.

"You clean up nice," he said.

"You too."

We found our table. Made small talk with people whose names I immediately forgot. The room buzzed with that particular energy of forced elegance and champagne on an empty stomach.

Dinner happened, speeches started. The mayor droned about community values. The historical society president talked about legacy.

Then they called my name.

I wasn't expecting to speak. Wasn't prepared. But apparently my work on the campaign earned me three minutes and a microphone.

I walked to the podium on shaking legs. The room was too bright. Too many eyes. I could see my mother in the back, expression tight with hope and anxiety.

I cleared my throat. "Architectural preservation isn't just about buildings. It's about memory. About the stories embedded in brick and mortar. When we tear down historic structures, we're not just destroying wood and stone—we're erasing the physical evidence of who we were."

My voice steadied. The words flowed easier than expected.

"The Franklin Building isn't just a building. It's a reminder that this town believed in beauty once. That we built things meant to last. That we valued craftsmanship over profit."

I scanned the crowd. Looked for Chase.

Found him at our table.

And next to him—

No.

Not next to him. Three seats over.

But close enough.

Amber.

Sitting with Chase's mother.

They were laughing about something. Amber's hand rested casually on his mom's arm. Like they were old friends. Like she belonged there.

My words stumbled. "The building represents—uh—it represents..."

I lost my train of thought. Stood there like an idiot while three hundred people waited for me to remember how sentences worked.

"It represents hope," I finally managed. "That we can choose preservation over convenience."

I wrapped up fast. Probably too fast. Returned to my seat while polite applause followed me like an accusation.

Chase leaned over. "You okay?"

I didn't answer—just stared at Amber's perfectly styled hair and the way his mother was smiling at her like she was delightful.

The speeches continued. I didn't hear any of them. Just sat there with my hands clenched in my lap and rage building in my throat.

After, during the silent auction portion where rich people bid on weekend getaways and wine baskets, I found Chase by the bar.

"Why is Amber with your mother?"

He turned and saw my face. Looked immediately exhausted. "My mom invited her."

"Why?"

"She doesn't know our history. Yours and Amber's. She just remembers Amber was friends with everyone in high school."

My jaw clenched. "And you didn't tell her to uninvite her?"

"I told her it would be awkward. She said I was being dramatic."

Something snapped inside me, not loud—just a quiet fracture that changed everything.

"So you let her bring the person who's been destroying my reputation?"

"What did you want me to do?" His voice rose slightly. "Ban my mother's guests? Tell her she can't bring someone she considers family?"

"You could've warned me."

"I didn't know she'd be at our table."

"But you knew she'd be here."

We were both angry now. That particular anger that came from hurt dressed up as logic.

"This isn't fair," he said. "I can't control who my mother invites to events."

"You could've told me. I could've prepared."

"For what? A three-second interaction?"

"For seeing her laugh with your mother while I'm up there making a fool of myself."

"You didn't make a fool of yourself."

"I forgot my entire speech because I was staring at her sitting where I'm supposed to fit into your life."

He ran his hand through his hair. Frustrated. "That's not—you're twisting this."

"Am I?"

The space between us felt cavernous. Like we were standing on opposite sides of something neither of us knew how to cross.

"I thought you'd choose me," I said quietly.

The words landed heavy. Final.

He stared at me. "I thought you'd trust me."

"Trust you to what? Stand up for me? Because from where I'm standing, you just let her sit there like she has every right to infiltrate your family while I'm—"

"While you're what? Leaving in five weeks?"

The accusation hit like a slap.

"That's not fair."

"None of this is fair." His voice was rough. Raw. "You want me to choose you over my mother? Over the one person who stayed when everyone else left?"

My throat burned. "I'm not asking you to choose."

"Yes, you are."

I grabbed my clutch from the bar. "I need to go."

"Zoey—"

"Just—don't."

I walked away. Through the crowded room. Past Amber's knowing smile. Past my mother's confused expression. Past all the people in their expensive clothes pretending they understood preservation when they couldn't even preserve basic human decency.

Chase didn't follow.

The parking lot was cold. Dark. My heels clicked against asphalt like a countdown.

I sat in my car with the engine running and my hands on the steering wheel and absolutely no idea how to fix what just broke.

My phone stayed silent. No "wait, let's talk about this." Just the dashboard lights and my reflection in the rearview mirror looking exactly like someone who was falling apart while trying to prove she wasn't.