Chapter 2: Ghosts at the Magnolia Club

Mason Yeager grinned, but his eyes were sharp. “She’s just a wilted rose now, a little classier than the girls who work here, that’s all.” His words stung, each one a little jab, but I kept my face blank.

He flashed that salesman’s smile, all teeth and no warmth. For a second, I wondered if the men saw through it. I felt the knot in my stomach tighten, but I just kept smiling.

“Tonight, I brought her out especially to entertain you all. Ladies raised right always know how to make guests feel at home.”

The private room filled with laughter and crude jokes. Someone whistled. Another banged his glass on the table. I stood there, feeling their eyes crawl over me, my skin prickling like I’d walked through a patch of nettles. I reminded myself to keep my chin up, to play my part.

Mason always did this—using me as a party trick to impress big shots and grease his business deals. I could feel the humiliation burning in my cheeks, but I swallowed it down.

It was always the same—he’d parade me out like a show pony, letting the men size me up, waiting for the moment when I’d smile just right and the contracts would sign themselves. I learned to laugh at the right moments, to let the jokes roll off me like rain on a tin roof. Sometimes I’d stare at the carpet, counting the stains, just to keep from screaming.

But I’d been his kept woman for seven years, not even good enough to be a mistress. What more could I expect? Some days, I wondered if I’d ever been anything else.

Seven years of waiting rooms and closed doors. Seven years of being the secret, never the story. Sometimes I wondered if the girls on the street had it better—they didn’t have to pretend they were anything more than what they were. Maybe their honesty was a kind of freedom.

I took a shaky breath, forced a smile, and pushed open the door, feeling the weight of every eye on me.

I smoothed the skirt of my dress, squared my shoulders, and stepped inside, letting the noise and the heat wash over me. My heart thumped so loud I was sure someone would notice, but I kept my voice steady, my head high.

“Evening, gentlemen.”

I let the words hang, giving them a second to notice me, to remember who I used to be. That pause was all I had left—one last scrap of control.

As usual, I bowed to Mason, but when I looked up, my whole body locked up, every muscle tight as a drum.

There he was. Julian. The years had changed him—his jaw sharper, his eyes colder—but I’d have known him anywhere. The world seemed to tilt, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

The glass Julian had just raised froze halfway to his lips. His hand trembled, just a fraction, but I saw it. The men around him kept laughing, oblivious, but something in the air shifted. For a heartbeat, it was just the two of us.

Ten years—after everything, I never thought I’d see Julian Pierce alive again. My heart hammered in my chest. I felt like I was seventeen again, all nerves and hope and dread.

I’d imagined this moment a hundred times, always in dreams or nightmares. Never like this, with strangers watching, my heart in my throat. Never with my hair done and my dignity in tatters.

But of course, it had to be here. It had to be now. Fate always did have a flair for the dramatic.

Life never handed out second chances in quiet, private places. It always made sure you had an audience for your worst moments. And tonight, I had a full house.

The harsh sun and dust of the Nevada desert hadn’t dulled Julian’s presence a bit. If anything, he looked even more dangerous—like the desert had sanded him down to something sharp and unbreakable.

Wearing a crisp white suit, sitting among these rich, rowdy men, he stood out more than anyone. He looked like he belonged in a movie, not this smoky back room.

His suit was tailored, the kind that screamed old money and discipline without saying a word. The others looked like they were playing dress-up beside him. I caught a whiff of his cologne—clean and sharp—and it nearly knocked me sideways.

But the shock of seeing him again lasted only a second before I pulled myself together. I’d had years to practice hiding what I felt.

I’d learned the hard way how to hide my feelings. I straightened my back, forced my hands to stop shaking, and pasted on the smile I reserved for strangers.

I walked to Mason’s side and poured him a drink. The ice clinked against the glass, cold and sharp. I felt every pair of eyes on me, but I didn’t let my hand tremble.

My hands were steady, but inside, I was unraveling. I told myself to breathe, to keep moving, to not let anyone see how much I was falling apart.

Mason must’ve noticed Julian’s reaction, because he yanked me hard into his lap. I landed with a jolt, my heart in my throat.

His grip was possessive, bruising. I felt his fingers dig into my waist, like he was staking his claim for everyone to see. The men hooted, loving the show.

My dress slipped off my shoulder with the force. I flushed, tugging it back up, but Mason just laughed, squeezing my waist even harder. I could hear the whispers start up, like wolves circling prey.

A chill ran down my arm, goosebumps prickling my skin. I tried to fix my dress, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I wanted to disappear, to be anywhere but here.

His roughness made me look even more desperate than the club girls working the room. I felt like I was on display, stripped down to nothing but shame and old memories.

For a moment, I wished I could disappear. Just vanish into the floorboards and never come back up.

“Colonel Pierce, you got your eye on my Miss Stewart?”

Mason’s hand clamped down on my waist, his gaze pinning Julian. He said it with a drawl, like he was daring Julian to make a move.

At his words, every man in the room turned to stare at me—some curious, some mocking, some hungry. My skin crawled under their gaze, but I kept my chin up, refusing to let them see me flinch.

Julian’s face shifted from shock to a cold, blank mask. In a blink, he was all business—nothing left of the boy I remembered. I saw his jaw tighten, his eyes go flat. It hurt more than I expected.

Even when he saw I was Mason’s kept woman, the disgust and scorn in his eyes cut right through me. I felt my stomach twist, but I refused to look away. I wouldn’t give him that.

It was like a slap, sharp and final. I felt the old shame rising up, heavy and suffocating. But I wasn’t that girl anymore—I wouldn’t let him see me cry.

But so what?

I straightened my shoulders, telling myself I owed him nothing. Not anymore. Whatever we’d been, whatever I’d lost, it was over a long time ago.

After ten years, he was the Pierce family’s golden boy, the young colonel who’d made a name defending the country. Folks told stories about him like he was a legend. Meanwhile, I was the cautionary tale.

And I was nothing but Mason Yeager the jeweler’s plaything, not even worthy of a name. Just a shadow in someone else’s story.

Sometimes I wondered if anyone even remembered my first name, or if I’d just become another rumor in the stories men told over whiskey. Maybe I was just another lesson for their daughters.

Julian didn’t answer Mason’s jab. He just stared, lips pressed into a thin line, as if speaking would cost him too much.

I felt Mason relax a little, and his grip on my waist tightened. I could feel his satisfaction radiating off him. He liked winning, even if the prize was just my humiliation.

He leaned back, satisfied, but I could feel the tension humming in his body. I wondered if he’d ever really trust me, or if he even cared.

I hurried to my feet, forcing a cheerful smile as I poured drinks for the men around the table. My hands moved on autopilot, my mind somewhere far away.

I moved from man to man, keeping my voice light, my hands steady. I let them believe I was happy to be there, that I was just another pretty face in a room full of sharks. I told myself it was just another night.

“I’m just a nobody, lucky Mason took me in. It’s an honor Colonel Pierce even bothers to look my way—how could I ask for more?” I made my voice breezy, letting them think I was in on the joke. The words tasted like ash, but I smiled through it, pretending I didn’t notice the way Julian flinched.

Cliff Anderson must’ve sensed the tension and slid his hand over mine as I poured his whiskey. I forced myself not to pull away.

His fingers were clammy, his grip too familiar. I bit the inside of my cheek, reminding myself that anger was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

“Mason, Miss Stewart’s something else. Even I can’t look away.”

He winked at the table, playing up his role as the class clown. The men roared with laughter, loving every second of it. I let myself laugh, too, because it was easier than crying.

“But the Colonel’s just looking for something new. No matter how stunning Miss Stewart is, she’s not even in the same league as his fiancée, Miss Hamilton.”

He put on a show of being lovestruck. I watched him clutch his heart, the men howling around him. Even the bartender cracked a smile, pouring another round.

The room’s tension melted, and even Julian managed a slight smile. It was tight, barely there, but it was enough to break the spell.

It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but it was enough to let everyone relax. The men turned back to their drinks and dirty jokes, and I slipped back into the background.

Mason gave me a look, and I caught on, making a few self-deprecating jokes at my own expense. I poked fun at my faded looks, at the way I’d peaked in high school. I let them laugh at me, because it was safer than letting them see me hurt.

Then I kept moving through the guests, laughing, flirting, playing along. I leaned in close, letting them think they were special. I laughed at their stories, touched their arms, played the part until it felt like a second skin.

Whatever made them happy, I did it.

That was the unspoken rule—keep them smiling, and maybe they’d forget to ask for more.

Cliff’s hand wandered from my waist to my thigh. His touch was bold, testing boundaries. I stiffened, but forced myself to keep smiling, glancing at Mason for help I knew wouldn’t come.

Instinctively, I glanced at Mason. He was staring into his drink, brooding. He didn’t care, not really. I was just another chip in his game, another way to buy favor with men richer than him.