199 The Savior at the Alumni Gala
I nodded, unable to speak. Across the room, I caught sight of Alistair watching us, his expression thunderous. 1
“Tell me, Fiona, how many surgeries did it take to achieve that nose?” I asked sweetly.
“The doctor did excellent work. Almost looks natural.”
“Stepsister,” I clarified. “Who miraculously recovered from her terminal cancer the
moment the ring was on her finger.”
I took it, feeling like I was stepping onto a tightrope without a net. As we moved away, I heard Alistair protest.
Before I could respond, a commanding presence appeared at our table.
Panic froze me. The medication I was taking for my panic attacks interacted badly with alcohol-something Sebastian couldn’t possibly know. Yet he’d intervened.
“I left him,” I corrected automatically.
Vera kicked me under the table, a silent warning not to engage. But something in me had snapped.
Suddenly, Sebastian’s hand closed over mine, stopping me. With his other hand, he took the wine glass himself.
Sebastian pulled out a chair for me, then took the seat beside mine.
“I’ll be taking you home later,” he said in a low voice. “This conversation isn’t over.”
My stomach dropped. “Me? I couldn’t possibly—”
I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “Is that the story you’re telling these days, Alistair?”
Sebastian’s gaze flicked over her with cool disinterest. “I don’t recall any such arrangement.”
“Six years isn’t brief,” I corrected. “Neither is abandoning your wedding for your bride’s
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dying stepsister.”
“Ms. Shaw has a rare medical condition,” Sebastian said suddenly. “She can’t have
alcohol.”
The revelation rippled through our corner of the room. Fiona’s eyes widened.
His fingers tightened slightly on my back. “They’re just people. Insecure ones, at that.”
Fiona pushed away from the table. “Conquest? Is that what I am to you?”
“Is there a problem here?” Sebastian’s deep voice silenced the murmurs around us.
Everyone raised their glasses expectantly. I reached for mine with shaking fingers, remembering too late why I shouldn’t drink it.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered, anxiety climbing up my throat.
“It would be rude to refuse the head table.” His tone left no room for argument.
The effect was immediate. People straightened in their chairs. Conversations hushed.
Alistair’s face drained of color.
For the first time that evening, I felt truly safe.
“Miss Shaw.” Sebastian turned to me, dismissing Fiona completely. “The university
president and vice-principals would like a word. They’re interested in discussing your
involvement in the upcoming fashion exhibition.”
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
“Fiona, that’s not-”
“I’ll drink this for her,” he said firmly, looking directly at the vice-principal.
His hand pressed gently against my lower back, guiding me through the crowd. Whispers followed us. Former classmates who had barely acknowledged me earlier now watched with naked curiosity.
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “Money doesn’t buy confidence, Hazel.”
As glasses clinked awkwardly around us, Sebastian set the empty glass down and turned
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to me.
Sebastian glanced at the offered hand but didn’t take it. “Mr. Everett.”
Sebastian offered his arm. “Shall we?”
“Just a taste won’t hurt. We’re all friends here.”
“A toast,” declared the vice-principal for alumni relations, lifting his glass. “To future
collaborations.”
“What’s your opinion on incorporating design education into our general curriculum?”
another vice-principal asked.
“Divorced?” She turned to Alistair. “You were married? You told me you two just dated in
college!”
“Sinclair, Hazel and I need to finish our conversation.”
“Ah, Mr. Sinclair! And Ms. Shaw, isn’t it?” The president stood, beaming. “Please join us.”
The vice-principal for academic affairs leaned forward. “I understand you’re the creative
force behind Evening Gala. Impressive achievement.”
How could Sebastian have known about my medication? And more importantly, why had
he just placed himself squarely between me and everyone else?
“I really shouldn’t,” I murmured, but the vice-principal was already raising his glass higher,
a challenge in his eyes.
“Says the billionaire.”
Fiona stared at him with new eyes. “You left her at the altar? For her sister?”
We approached the head table where the university president, three vice-principals, and
several distinguished alumni sat. My palms grew sweaty.
Sebastian didn’t even turn around. “Your conversation is finished, Mr. Everett.”
She faltered. “But my father said-”
Then, maintaining eye contact with the now-flustered official, Sebastian drained my glass
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in one smooth motion.
He pushed the glass closer to me, his smile tight.
The president cleared his throat, clearly trying to salvage the moment. “Well then, to future collaborations!”
Alistair shifted uncomfortably. “Fiona, that’s enough.”
Before I could formulate a response, a waiter appeared with glasses of wine.
“Ms. Shaw was top of her class in design,” Sebastian informed them smoothly. “Her work has been featured in Milan, Paris, and New York.”
“You’re pathetic,” she spat at Alistair. “No wonder she left you.”
Alistair’s jaw clenched. “It was a brief marriage.”
Her hand flew to her face. “I haven’t had any work done!”
“Speaking of where we are,” I said, my voice carrying to nearby tables, “I should clarify something. Alistair isn’t just my ex-boyfriend. He’s my ex-husband. We’re divorced.”
Fiona materialized beside Alistair, her earlier anger forgotten. “Sebastian, what an honor to meet you properly.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Daddy mentioned your families are having dinner next weekend.”
“Careful,” Vera cut in. “Remember where we are.”
My fingers tightened around my water glass. “Is that what he told you? Interesting.”
The pressure mounting, I reached for the glass. The table watched expectantly.
“University officials intimidate me. Always have.”
“What? I’m just making conversation.” Her eyes gleamed with malice. “He said you were practically obsessed with him, calling constantly, demanding to know his whereabouts.”
“You can,” Sebastian replied quietly. “You’re Hazel Shaw. You’ve faced worse than a table of academics.”
“What’s inappropriate is you bringing your new conquest to harass me,” I shot back.
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The vice-principal faltered. “Oh, I insist just a small sip for the toast. Traditions matter at this university.”
Alistair stood abruptly. “This is inappropriate, Hazel.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Sinclair,” he managed, extending a hand. “Congratulations on your generous donation.”
“Of course not. And that jaw recontouring? Pure genetics, I’m sure.”
## Hazel’s POV
The table fell silent. Sebastian Sinclair, powerful alumnus and the evening’s greatest benefactor, had just publicly aligned himself as my protector.
“Honestly, Hazel, I never understood what Alistair saw in you,” Fiona sneered, leaning closer. “The way he described your relationship, it sounded more like obligation than love.”
“Easy for you to say. You just donated enough to buy the entire campus.”
Fiona’s face flushed an ugly red. “You bitter, pathetic-”
I looked desperately at Vera, who nodded encouragingly. “Go,” she mouthed.
Fiona ignored me, storming off into the crowd. Alistair remained standing, his face a mask of controlled fury.
