“Of course.” Paige smiled. “Connor told me how anxious you get at events like this. He said you used to need him to hold your hand.”

The sentence struck harder than Harper expected. She had told Connor about her anxiety one night in bed, after a panic attack at a crowded fundraiser.

He had held her until she stopped shaking. He had promised the admission was safe with him. Now Paige carried that private confession like a knife.

People nearby had stopped pretending not to listen. Harper’s vision narrowed. She wanted to throw her champagne into Connor’s face. She wanted to tell the entire ballroom what kind of man he was.

But Connor was waiting for exactly that. One emotional reaction, and he’d become the calm former fiancé dealing with an unstable woman who couldn’t accept rejection.

“You should walk away,” Harper said.