Chapter 2 - The Aster HouseThe Aster House ballroom was an architectural monument to old-money arrogance.
Gilded mirrors lined the walls, crystal chandeliers cast a warm, blinding glare over thousands of dollars worth of orchids, and the city’s elite mingled in custom tuxedos and designer gowns, sipping vintage champagne and trading whispers of power.
Grant Mercer stood near the grand mahogany bar, nursing a bourbon, his eyes darting toward the double doors every few seconds with a smug, anticipatory grin.
“Where is she?” Grant muttered to Dominic, who stood a few feet away, nursing a glass of scotch with a cold, impassive expression. “Did she get lost on the subway? Or did she take one look at her gray cardigan in the mirror and realize she’s completely out of her depth?”
Dominic didn't answer.
A strange, low-level static of unease had been buzzing in the back of his mind all afternoon. He had watched Evelyn leave the office at precisely 5:00 PM. She hadn't asked any questions about the event. She hadn't looked flustered.
She had simply closed her laptop, locked her desk drawer, and walked out with the steady, unhurried stride of a soldier marching toward an objective.
“If she doesn't show in five minutes, I’m calling a cab for her,” Grant laughed, taking another sip of bourbon. “Can you imagine the headlines? ‘Dominic Vale brings his blind-mouse secretary to high society.’ The tabloids will have a field day.”
Before Dominic could tell his cousin to shut his mouth, the low hum of conversation near the entrance abruptly died.
It didn't fade away. It cut off instantly, as if someone had pulled a plug.
Dominic turned his head toward the brass-trimmed double doors.
May you like
Grant’s glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor with a sharp, echoing crash that nobody even bothered to look at.
Because nobody could look away from the woman standing at the top of the grand staircase.
