“This is our premium vintage, ma’am,” Thomas said, his face a mask of professional politeness. “It has been added to your table’s tab, as requested by Mr. Mercer’s account.”

Vivian frowned slightly, then waved her hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. Pour it. And bring more of those truffle crackers.”

“Right away,” Thomas said.

I watched through the glass as Thomas poured the golden liquid into their flutes.

My hand tightened around the edge of the metal door frame.

For three years, I had cooked their dinners, cleaned up after their parties, and listened to their insults in their living room.

I had done it because I loved Daniel, and because I thought he was trying his best to build a life with me.

But Daniel had spent those three years trying to escape me, never knowing that the very roof over his head belonged to the woman he despised.

My phone vibrated in my palm.

I looked down. It was a text alert from the security office.

“Director, Mr. Mercer has just left the Presidential Pavilion. He is taking the private service elevator to the executive floor. He appears highly agitated.”