“The one with the pearl collar?” Marta asked.

“Yes,” I said. “The one my mother wore to the opening of the first Whitlock hotel.”

Julian frowned, stepping into my line of sight.

“Are you sure you want to go there tonight? Bennett will have security at the door.”

“Bennett cannot throw me out of a public charity gala,” I said. “Not in front of the people who funded his entire lifestyle.”

***

The grand ballroom of the hotel was filled with the scent of white lilies and expensive champagne.

The crystal chandeliers cast a bright, cold light over the crowd of Manhattan’s elite.

I stood at the top of the marble staircase, smoothing the skirt of my gown.

The velvet was heavy, warm, and reassuring against my skin.

Julian stood beside me, offering his arm.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” I said.

We walked down the steps together.

I could feel the shift in the room almost immediately.

A few heads turned near the bar.

Then more.

Whispers followed us like a draft of cold air through the warm room.

I saw Bennett across the floor.