Chapter 5

Evelyn

I pushed through clusters of people, scanning faces. Neither of them was anywhere in the main ballroom.

The coat check. The restrooms. The lobby. Empty of both.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor, where smaller event spaces lined the corridor. Most doors stood open, rooms dark and unused. At the end of the hall,light spilled from a half closed door leading to a private terrace.

I moved closer, heels silent on thick carpet. Voices drifted out. Liam's low rumble and Chloe's higher pitched laughter.

"The place on Fifth is perfect," she said. "Three bedrooms, southern exposure, views of the park."

"It's expensive."

"You can afford it." Rustling fabric.

"I haven't signed anything yet," Liam said. "Give me time to look at the numbers."

"Don't wait too long. Real estate moves fast in that neighborhood."

More silence. I imagined them out there, his hands on her waist, her body pressed against his. Maybe his palm spread over her stomach where his baby grew.

"You look beautiful tonight," Liam said. "That dress is incredible."

"I wore it for you. Did you notice the back?"

"Hard to miss. You're stunning."

Bile rose in my throat. He never talked to me like that anymore. Never looked at me with that warmth in his voice.

His phone rang. He answered immediately.

"What do you mean the Shanghai deal fell through? I specifically told them we'd match their offer." His voice sharpened. "No, don't accept that. Get them back on the line. I don't care what time it is there."

Business.

Always fucking business.

"I need to take this," he told Chloe. "Go back to the party. I'll find you later."

"Don't work too hard." Her voice turned sultry. "I have plans for you tonight."

Footsteps approached the door. I ducked into a darkened conference room across the hall and pressed against the wall. Chloe emerged in that red dress, checked her phone, then headed toward the stairs.

Liam's voice continued from the terrace, sharp and commanding as he tore into whoever was on the other end about quarterly projections and market positioning.

I slipped away before he finished, taking the back staircase down to avoid Chloe.

The ballroom felt smaller now, walls pressing in. Too many people, too much perfume, too many eyes that might have witnessed my husband disappear with his pregnant mistress.

I needed another drink. Something stronger than champagne.

The bar was three deep with people. I waited for my turn, ordered a double vodka tonic, and drained half of it in one swallow.

"Rough night?"

I turned. Alexander Davenport leaned against the bar beside me, with that knowing look in his eyes.

"Thought you had a date," I said.

"I did. She found better company." He signaled the bartender for a refill.

"Apparently, I'm too focused on work and not enough on her needs. Her words, not mine."

"Sounds familiar."

"Does it?" He accepted his scotch from the bartender. "Your husband doesn't appreciate what he has."

"You don't know what he has."

"I know you walked into this party looking like you'd rather be anywhere else. I know you disappeared for twenty minutes and came back looking worse. And I know your husband hasn't been by your side once tonight." He sipped his drink.

"So either your marriage is in trouble, or you're very good at hiding happiness."

"Why do you care?"

"Professional curiosity. I like understanding people. What motivates them, what breaks them,what makes them tick." His eyes held mine. "You're an interesting puzzle, Mrs. Vance."

"I'm not a puzzle."

"Everyone's a puzzle. Some are just more complex than others." He set down his glass.

"I looked you up after our conversation earlier. Columbia Law, top five percent, junior partner. Then you married Liam Vance and disappeared from the legal scene."

"I chose family over career."

"Did you? Or did he choose for you?"

The question hit too close. I finished my vodka and set the glass down harder than intended. "I should find my husband."

"He's still on the terrace taking business calls. Probably will be for another hour." Alexander pulled a card from his jacket pocket and held it out.

"Take this."

I stared at the embossed paper. "Why?"

"Because you're going to need help soon. I can see it in your eyes." He pressed the card into my palm when I didn't take it. "I have resources. Connections.

Lawyers who specialize in the kind of problems women like you face when marriages go south."

"You're assuming my marriage is going south."

"I'm observing facts. Your husband brought another woman to this gala. You've been alone all night. And you look like you're about five seconds from either crying or throwing something." He stepped closer, voice dropping. "When you're ready to stop pretending everything's fine, call me. I help people who need it."

"Why would you help me? You don't even know me."

"Let's call it enlightened self interest. Your husband's been a thorn in my side for years. Anything that weakens his position strengthens mine." His smile turned sharp. "Plus, I genuinely hate seeing intelligent women waste their potential on men who don't deserve them."

"That's mercenary."

"I'm a businessman. Everything's a transaction." He finished his scotch.

"But I'm also fair. You call, I help, no strings attached. What you do with that help is your choice."

The card felt heavy in my hand. Alexander Davenport. Private number printed below his name.

"I should go," I said.

"Probably.But you won't forget this conversation." He straightened his cuffs.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mrs. Vance."

He walked away, disappearing into the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what kind of chaos he left behind.

I looked down at the card again. Part of me wanted to tear it up, throw it away,pretend this conversation never happened. The other part, the part that was tired of being invisible and ignored and treated like an accessory, slipped it into my clutch.