The love that isn't mine: Between desire and duty

Hailey pov

The portfolio strap dug into my shoulder, expensive leather cutting through the silk of my blouse. I’d worn the good one today. The Celine.

Maya always noticed details like that, and I wanted her to be proud when she introduced me to her new life. To him. “I know he’s been so busy with work, but I’m so excited for you two to finally meet! Xavier is… well, he’s not warm exactly. Very quiet. Intimidating, even. But SO handsome, Hailey, you won’t believe.” I made some sound. Agreement, probably.

My reflection in the car window looked pale, washed out against the tinted glass. I’d been sleeping like sh*t all week.

Ever since Maya had called, voice high and breathy with excitement, telling me she was engaged. To Xavier Crowe. The name had settled in my chest like a stone. “Are you okay? You look a little green.” “Fine.” I turned away from the window, forced a smile. “Just nervous. You know I’m sh*t at meeting new people.”

Maya’s laugh was bright, uncomplicated. She’d always been like that. Able to float through life without the weight I seemed to carry everywhere. “He’s going to love you. I mean, once you get past the whole brooding billionaire thing. He barely talks, but when he does..." She fanned herself dramatically. The gates appeared. Iron, twisted into some family crest I didn’t recognize. Old money loved their symbols, their proof of lineage.

The Vaughn’s had money too, but it was new. Tech money. The kind people like the Crowes probably sneered at over their morning coffee and imported newspapers.

Behind the gates, the mansion sprawled across the hilltop like something out of a period drama.

Marble columns caught the afternoon light. Gardens stretched in geometric perfection, every hedge trimmed to exactly the same height.

Fountains I could hear from inside the car, water running in steady streams that probably cost more to maintain than most people’s mortgages. “Holy sh*t.” “I know, right?” Maya squeezed my hand, her engagement ring pressing cold against my fingers.

The diamond was obscene. I’d seen it in person twice now and still couldn’t get used to the size. "The Crowes are OLD money. Like, built this country money. My family’s fortune is pocket change to them.”

The car rolled forward. Gravel crunched under expensive tires. My stomach did something complicated, twisting and dropping at the same time.

I pressed a hand against it, willing the nausea down. This was supposed to be a good day. Maya was happy. She was getting married to someone who could give her everything. I was here to support her, to meet the man who’d put that stupid grin on her face for the past three months. So why did I feel like I was walking toward something I should be running from?

A butler opened the door. Actual butler. Uniform and everything, the kind with white gloves and a face trained into pleasant neutrality. Maya climbed out first, easy and confident in her heels. She belonged here already, had probably been practicing her lady of the manor routine.

I followed, less graceful. The portfolio banged against my hip. Inside were the sketches for Maya’s wedding ring design, the whole reason I was here.

She’d insisted on commissioning me personally, wouldn’t even look at other designers. Said she wanted her best friend’s art to be part of the biggest day of her life.

The best friend currently fighting the urge to throw up on the imported marble steps. “Ms. Vaughn.” The butler inclined his head. “Mr. Crowe is expecting you in the drawing room.” Drawing room. Of course they had a drawing room.

The foyer was worse than the outside. Vaulted ceilings, a chandelier that probably weighed more than my car, paintings in gilt frames lining the walls. Old family portraits, I assumed.

Generations of Crowes staring down with the same cold expression. Maya linked her arm through mine, pulling me forward. “Come on. Xavier’s probably been working. He practically lives in his office, but I told him he had to make time today.”

We walked through hallways that seemed to stretch forever. My heels clicked on polished floors. Everything smelled expensive. Old wood and furniture polish and something floral I couldn’t identify. Probably from whatever flowers they had arranged in the various vases we passed. Fresh flowers. Changed daily, I’d bet.

The drawing room. Cream furniture, more art, windows that overlooked the gardens. I barely registered any of it. My attention caught on the empty room, the absence of the man we were supposed to be meeting.

“He’s running late.” Maya checked her phone, rolled her eyes affectionately. “Typical. Last time I was here, he forgot I was coming entirely. Emerged from his office at midnight looking confused.” “Sounds charming.” “He grows on you.” I set my portfolio on one of the cream chairs.

The leather looked wrong against the fabric, too modern, too practical. Everything here was for show. Beauty over function.

The kind of wealth that didn’t need to be useful. Maya perched on the arm of a sofa, still scrolling through her phone.

“Want anything? The kitchen staff can make pretty much anything.” “I’m good.” I wasn’t good. My hands were shaking.

I shoved them in my pockets, wandered toward the windows. The gardens were even more impressive from up here. I could see a maze in the distance, hedges tall enough to get properly lost in.

“He’s on his way down.” Maya’s voice bright again, excited. “Oh god, I’m so nervous. What if you two don’t get along? That would be so weird.” “We’ll get along fine.” Probably. Maybe.

I didn’t get along with most people, but I could fake it when necessary. Smile, nod, ask polite questions about his work. Whatever billionaires talked about. Stocks. Acquisitions. Things I didn’t understand and didn’t care to.

Footsteps in the hallway. Maya straightened, smoothed down her dress. I turned from the window, prepared my polite smile. Meeting the family. This was normal. People did this all the time. The footsteps got closer. Steady, measured. The kind of walk that came from confidence, from owning every space you entered.

He appeared in the doorway. The floor dropped out from under me. No. No, no, no. “Baby!” Maya rushed forward, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

He bent slightly to accommodate her, one hand settling on her waist with the kind of casual possession that came from familiarity. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

My brain had short circuited, stuck on loop, repeating the same impossible fact over and over.

That face. I knew that face. Had memorized every angle of it, every expression, every micro movement that signaled his moods. The sharp jawline. The dark eyes that never gave anything away. The mouth I’d kissed a thousand times, that had whispered promises against my skin in the dark.

“Xavier, this is Hailey. My best friend I’ve been telling you about.” He turned. Those eyes met mine. For a second, just a fraction of a second, something flickered across his face. Recognition. Shock. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar blank mask.

“Hailey.” His voice. God, his voice. Deeper than I remembered, or maybe I’d just forgotten. Had I forgotten? How could I have forgotten any part of him when he’d taken up so much space in my head for so long?

“It’s nice to meet you.” Meet me. Meet me, like we were strangers. Like we hadn’t spent two years tangled up in each other.

Like I hadn’t known the sound he made when he came, the way he took his coffee, the scar on his ribs from a childhood accident. Like I hadn’t loved him until it broke something in me.

Maya was still talking. Something about the wedding rings, about how talented I was, how lucky she felt to have me designing them. Her voice seemed to come from very far away. He was looking at me. Really looking. I could see the calculation behind his eyes, the same expression he used to get when working through a complicated problem. Analyzing. Deciding on a course of action. Words coming out of my mouth, somehow. Professional. Distant.

“I brought some initial concepts to show you both.” Both. Xavier and Maya. The happy couple. “Perfect!” Maya clapped her hands together. “Should we look at them now, or do you want to give Xavier the tour first?”

“Now is fine.” I moved toward my portfolio. Put physical distance between myself and him. My hands found the zipper, pulled it open. The sketches inside were good. I’d spent weeks on them, careful and precise, wanting to give Maya something special. They looked like garbage now. Meaningless lines on expensive paper.

“These are gorgeous.” Maya spread them across the coffee table, fingers gentle on the card stock. “Xavier, look at this one. Isn’t it incredible?” He moved closer. I could smell him. The same cologne, or maybe just the same him underneath it. Familiar in a way that made my chest hurt.

“Very nice.” Very nice. Two words. Polite. Meaningless. Maya kept talking, pointing out details she loved, asking questions about using diamonds. I answered on autopilot. Yes, that could be embossed.

The whole time, I felt him. Standing there, three feet away, pretending he didn’t know me. Pretending we were meeting for the first time. Xavier Monroe. That’s who he’d been when I knew him. Monroe, not Crowe. That was five years ago. I’d spent two of those years with him. And now he was here. Xavier Crowe. Billionaire. Maya’s fiancé.

FLASHBACK

The library smelled like old paper and desperation. Finals were two weeks out and every table was claimed, students hunched over laptops and textbooks like their lives depended on it. Maybe they did.

Scholarships were fragile things. I’d found my corner three hours ago. Same spot I always claimed, tucked behind the architecture section where nobody ever ventured.

My sketchbook spread across the table, charcoal smudged across my fingers and probably my face.

I could feel it on my cheek where I’d rubbed earlier, trying to stay awake. The jewelry piece wasn’t working.

I’d been at it since midnight, pulling an all-nighter because Professor Matthew didn’t accept excuses, only results. The design needed to be organic but structured, delicate but strong.

Everything I drew looked wrong. Too heavy. Too precious. Too trying. I flipped to a clean page. Started again.

Let the charcoal move without thinking too hard, just feeling the weig