### Chapter 3 Misty I sit motionless in my cubicle, staring at my laptop screen, the gentle radiance from it piercing the heavy silence of the dimly lit office that had long emptied of its usual buzz. The clock ticks late into the evening, and with a deep breath, I’m just about to put the final touches on my proposal when an email notification flashes on my screen. “No way…” The disbelief courses through me like a shockwave. There it is, bold and unsparing—a summons to the black-tie fête hosted by the Everette family every year in honor of their patriarch’s birthday. The email feigns a trivial necessity for a public relations representative to be present, but I know better. This is Damon’s game, and I can sense the undercurrents of his manipulation. Did he not toy with me enough that night? The memories are raw, embedded in my mind like a vivid painting. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see the sinewy muscles of his arms, rippling as he struck down. I force those thoughts away, brushing my fingers across the keyboard as I hit Reply. **MistyHart@BostonBruins.com to Events@BostonBruins.com** I regret to inform you that I am unavailable to attend the gala. Best wishes, Misty Hart Junior PR for the Boston Bruins Satisfaction curves my lips into a smirk. My professionalism intact, I think I've dodged this bullet. But just moments later, a message pinged through the company’s messenger app, and my pulse quickens. **Damon Everette – CEO of Everette Industries:** Mandatory attendance. See you there. Black tie, dress appropriately. His impersonal words strike a nerve, igniting my ire. This wasn’t a polite request; it was an order. There’s no need for me to be there; I am not part of the event's planning, considering it's a family celebration and not a Bruins-related affair. My teeth grind as I hover my fingers over the keys, wrestling with my response. **Misty Hart – Junior PR representative:** My apologies. I’ve previously booked the weekend off and have a prior engagement. Just as I hit Send, his retort arrives, cooler than a winter frost. **Damon Everette – CEO of Everette Industries:** Not a request. “Gah!” I lash out, slamming my laptop shut, fury roaring in my chest as I grapple with my inability to just decline. As the embers of defiance awaken within me, a playful smile dances on my lips—oh, he can dictate my presence all he wants, but I can still choose how to flaunt myself. If he wants to play this game, let’s see what he thinks of my idea of dressing appropriately. When we finally pull up to the Everette hotel, the driver, Nicholas, a gentleman in his late fifties with warm eyes and a ready smile, opens the door for me. He’s been a pleasant companion during the drive, sharing snippets about his family—his wife, Sarah, and two children, both excelling academically. The company sent a car instead of letting me arrive in a cab, no doubt out of fear that I might tarnish their reputations with my *commoner* arrival. A smirk curls at the corners of my mouth as I imagine their expressions if they knew I came in an Uber. The hotel looms before me, a stunning piece of art deco architecture, laden with luxury—marble façades, intricate stained glass in blacks and whites, all whispering opulence from a bygone era. I extend my hand for Nicholas, who assists me out of the car. “Thank you,” I murmur. “Of course, Miss Hart. I will wait out front for you when you are ready to leave.” The restraint in his poised posture betrays years of professionalism honed to perfection. “Honestly, you don’t need to. I can catch a cab,” I say, adjusting the strap of my dress as it settles against my shoulder. “I assure you, Miss Hart, I must.” He nods. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” I’m still baffled by his insistence when a man in a black suit gestures for me to follow. “Right this way, Miss Hart.” “Wow,” I murmur, eyeing him curiously. “Are you like a glorified bouncer?” He chuckles, “Not quite. We’ve thoroughly reviewed the guest list. All the staff are aware of who you are.” I scrunch my nose in confusion, “That’s… strange.” “Not accustomed to the limelight?” he asks, a glint of mirth in his eye. “Is anyone?” I quip back. “Oh, definitely.” His gaze trails over me, lingering for just a second too long. “Come find me before you leave. Maybe we can grab a drink?” “Are you hitting on me?” I laugh incredulously. He looks too young to be part of this world, let alone hit on me. “Maybe? Are you open to that?” he asks, his playful spirit drawing a chuckle from me. “Hard pass,” I reply, my heels clicking sharply against the marble as I ascend the grand staircase, my hand brushing over the elegantly carved railing. Once inside, the ocean of elegantly clad people sweeps me into their midst. The lobby overwhelms me with its enchanting vibrancy—trees adorned with brilliant red blooms, sparkling lights illuminating the space, all punctuated by the alluring scent of jasmine and honey. “Misty!” A voice cuts through the chatter, pulling my attention. “Mia!” I beam, spotting one of my closest friends. Her pale blonde hair elegantly fashioned into a French twist, she looks radiant in a rich purple gown that complements her figure perfectly. “Who pissed you off?” she asks, her eyes sweeping over my outfit with an appreciative whistle. “Do I look that angry?” I joke, knowing fully well it isn’t a total lie. “Because that dress is a total revenge dress, like Princess Diana level,” she grins, hands on her hips as she inspects me, clearly delighted. My attire—a stunning navy gown fading into pale blue, with a neckline meant to seductively flirt with propriety—was a bold statement, carefully chosen for Damon’s eyes. I spin to showcase the fit. “Do you really think it will have the intended effect?” “Definitely.” The words come from Alex, Mia’s boyfriend, who strides over with a champagne flute in hand. He’s part of the elite crew of forwards from the Bruins, alongside River, who enters with a casual confidence, placing a soft kiss on Mia’s temple. “Who’s the lucky guy?” River smirks, raising an eyebrow at me, a playful lift curling his lips. I feel a weariness settle on my shoulders. Did I really think this through? Finally, the dam of hesitation breaks; Mia grasping my hand offers encouragement. “You look stunning, and whoever caught your eye better know what he’s missing, or he might just end up begging on his knees.” I laugh nervously, “I don’t want him begging.” Do I? “Even better, leave him wanting,” she winks, sauntering deeper into the venue, her infectious excitement pulling me along. Inside the ballroom, the sheer scale of the event washes over me. While working within the NHL has made me accustomed to wealth, this atmosphere is something else entirely—it’s old money, the kind of wealth that owns islands. Spotting Lucas and Piper weaving through the crowd, I wave excitedly. Piper’s hair cascades in golden waves, reminiscent of an era long past. After a whirlwind romance endured through university, it’s clear that they’ve become a solid pair. “Misty! How did you get roped into this?” Lucas, dashing in his deep navy suit, asks with a bemused grin. “Work,” I grumble, nose scrunched at the shared reluctance. “Don’t you usually get out of these?” Alex prods, concern flickering in his eyes. “Yup. Boss’s orders,” I sigh. The atmosphere shifts as River and Alex exchange worried glances. They know all too well the elusive grip of Damon over my world—his alleged vendetta against Alex still whispered among players. “Keep out of trouble,” River cautions, half-joking, eyeing Mia like a hawk. Mia raises her pinky, making a double promise. “I swear!” With their exit, curiosity piques within me, and Mia turns to me, still glowing. “So, who is he?” “What’re you talking about?” Piper joins. “Whoever Misty wore this dress for.” I wave her off. “Really, it was just a spur-of-the-moment style choice.” But deep down, I know the truth lingers just beneath the surface. I picked this outfit to elicit a reaction from Damon, to make him regret this forced attendance. The atmosphere around me buzzes with excited whispers, and I lean closer to eavesdrop on the ladies behind us. “Did you see them?” “Not yet.” “I heard they just returned from their mansion in Monaco.” “Which one of them races cars?” “Which one? I could definitely get into cars.” “You wish. They go through women like it’s a game.” “Not Damon. Only the younger two.” Their whispers float like smoke in the air, fueling my curiosity as I lean closer, gripping the bar of my glass tighter. “That’s because he doesn’t date at all. No one has ever stayed overnight with him. A girl named Brittany said it was like a transaction; no intimacy whatsoever.” I roll my eyes, the tides of my perception shifting. Just my luck—he can’t be good in bed either. “Wait, you mean she didn’t… finish?” “No, she did, but nothing personal. Just cold like a business deal. He hasn’t been seen with anyone in years.” “His mother must be furious—he’s thirty-five, right?” That detail sends a shiver down my spine. Feeling a thrill ripple through me, I shove the notion away—just because I find older guys attractive doesn't mean it complicates anything. “What are they saying?” Piper leans in, her breath tickling my ear, pulling me back to reality. “Juicy gossip, for sure,” I whisper back, “Everette family stuff. No idea why people are so intrigued.” “Handsome, wealthy, influential—what’s not to love?” Piper counters, raising an eyebrow. “Alex and River don’t like them,” I remind her. “That’s because he tried to part them, and now he’s fixed that.” “Whether it matters or not…” Just as the murmurs die down, the ballroom lights dim, curiously capturing our rapt attention toward the stage in the distance. “It’s the Everette brothers,” murmurs one of the girls behind me. “That’s Sebastian—youngest. I heard he has a death wish.” “And over there, “Xander—God, he’s stunning,” another interjects, trailing off in awe. But then, the atmosphere thickens as Matthias steps forward—his dark air enveloping the stage. No one dares to speak as Damon appears last, commanding the room’s attention all on his own. With a tailored suit that clings to him in all the right ways, the sight is both familiar and maddening. Despite the disdain I hold him in, I can’t help but admire the sharp angles of his jaw and the confident stride of his demeanor. He unbuttons his tux, vaguely illuminating the contours of his abs beneath his shirt, the injustice of it inciting irritation. As the patriarch of the Everette family approaches the microphone, silence blankets the room. His presence alone demands complete submission, and the tension thrums in the air as he begins, “Thank you all for gathering this evening for the annual Everette ball. I must admit I hold a private agenda for being here tonight.” Panic flares subtly throughout the attendees, but his next words grip even tighter. “I had hoped to pass my title down to my son; however, with his tragic passing, I now find myself waiting for my eldest grandson to be ready.” The room shifts, eyes drawn to Damon—eerily calm but displaying no trace of the emotions roiling beneath. “To uphold the Everette tradition, my successor must be married. Thus, it falls upon my grandson Damon to fulfill this requirement before assuming the family helm.” Gasps weave through the crowd like an electric current, the murmurs rising in pitch, entwining excitement with anticipation. “This summer, he will be required to find his bride; should he fail, the mantle shall shift to his next brother.” The patriarch's voice vibrates with gravity, as he steps away, his figure shrinking from the stage. Whispers bubble fiercely around me now. “Did you know they’re part of the Order Of The Saints?” “No, that’s a myth isn’t it? Just an old wives’ tale,” I snort dismissively. “Believe it or not, I dated a guy in it. They take it seriously. He once accused me of ruining his life when he lost his ‘Sainthood.’ I swear, he almost lost it.” Before I can respond, the tension rises again, each snatched breath filling the void left behind by the patriarch’s words. “Of the five most influential families, the Everettes are at the summit.” The weight of this event hangs thick over me, pulling my thoughts inward. A forced marriage carried out under the gilded chandelier of tradition—to secure alliances, to grow in power. If I know Damon, this prospect is merely a stepping stone on the path to his dominance; he would accept nothing less. Suddenly, I yearn for the thrill of this chaotic world, to play my part in a game far beyond my control. Each moment pulses with possibilities—what a summer it will be.