Chapter 15 – Zara vs High Heels

Zara Everleigh had exactly two natural enemies in life:

1. People who used "k" as a complete response.

2. High heels.

The first she could dodge. The second? Not so lucky.

Tonight, she had to face both.

The charity gala was held in a museum that smelled like money and old oil paintings. The kind of place that echoed even when people whispered, and had waiters who refilled your glass before you even touched it.

Zara stood under the chandelier, trying to remember how to balance while wearing what felt like medieval torture devices strapped to her feet. Black stilettos. Four inches. Designed by someone who hated women.

She hissed under her breath, "These shoes are trying to kill me."

Noah, walking beside her in a suit worth more than her rent, didn't even glance. "You look stunning."

"That's what people say at funerals, too."

"You'll be fine," he said, scanning the crowd like a political candidate.

She wanted to kick him with her left heel. Then remembered she couldn't lift her left heel without risking another ankle.

They made their entrance. The flashes from cameras were relentless.

Noah's hand found her waist. "Smile like you're having the best night of your life."

"I'd rather be eating instant noodles in bed."

"That's not camera-friendly."

They posed, waved, nodded like they knew who everyone was. Zara had perfected the fake laugh, the half-nod, and the strategically disinterested stare. She was untouchable—until the marble floor decided otherwise.

---

She was halfway across the room, Noah still at her side, when it happened.

Her heel caught. Or maybe the floor betrayed her. Maybe gravity just wanted content. Either way—she stumbled. In front of dozens of cameras. One leg slipped forward, the other gave way, and for a split second, she flailed like a swan in distress.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Noah reacted instantly. He caught her by the waist, strong arms anchoring her to him before she could even yelp. Her face was inches from his chest. His scent was expensive and infuriating.

The room froze. Cameras clicked like popcorn.

Zara blinked up at him, breath shallow. "Did I just—?"

"Almost crash into a senator," he murmured. "Yes."

He didn't let go.

She tried to pull away, cheeks flaming. But his grip only loosened after the flashes slowed down.

They resumed walking, Zara holding her head high like she hadn't just tripped over her own soul.

Thirty Minutes Later, Zara sat with her heels off under the table. Hidden by the tablecloth. Sanctuary.

Noah leaned over. "Comfortable?"

"Deliriously," she whispered, sipping sparkling water. "I can feel my toes again."

"You're trending."

She groaned. "Please say it's for something cool."

He turned his phone to her: > #PowerCatch

"Noah Lancaster saves Zara Everleigh mid-gala fall like a rom-com prince. We ship."

Another post:

> "Gravity said: ship it."

And a GIF. Of her falling. In slow motion. With sparkles edited around Noah catching her.

She dropped her head on the table. "I hate this timeline."

He chuckled. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I was going to thank you with a snack. Not with eternal internet humiliation."

He raised an eyebrow. "Snack accepted."

Later, when the speeches started, Zara escaped to the empty garden patio outside.

Her feet were throbbing. Her brain buzzing. And she was still reeling from being the human equivalent of a Disney damsel.

She leaned on the balcony, closed her eyes, and let the night air calm her. And then a familiar voice. Lucas.

"Thought you might be hiding here."

Zara opened one eye. "What gave it away? My lack of social skills or the visible trauma?"

He chuckled and handed her a tiny plate with two mini éclairs. "Both."

She took it. "Bribery accepted."

Lucas leaned beside her, looking less CEO and more concerned friend. "You okay? You looked shaken back there."

She shrugged. "I didn't die. That's a win."

"Yeah, but you also didn't look like you wanted to be caught."

Zara paused. Then said, "It's complicated."

Lucas didn't push. Just looked at her with those patient eyes.

"I mean it, Zara. You're more than just this... brand thing. You're not some accessory to Lancaster Inc."

Zara glanced at him. "Careful, Lucas. You're sounding dangerously sincere."

"Only because I still believe in you. And maybe... still want more than just press releases."

She didn't reply. And she didn't have to. Because when she turned back inside, she saw Noah watching from the doorway. Expression unreadable. But his hand clenched into a fist.