The sharp wind off the harbor bit into my bare shoulders as I stepped out of the black town car. I shivered, pulling my thin silk shawl tighter around my chest. Above me, the towering glass facade of the Grand Hawthorne Hotel scraped against the starless night sky. Camera flashes burst like lightning near the entrance, illuminating the polished faces of the city’s financial elite as they handed their keys to valets and glided up the velvet-carpeted steps.

Tonight was the night.

I rested a hand flat against my stomach to settle the nervous fluttering beneath my emerald dress. Under the fabric, hidden against my collarbone, a silver chain held a simple, unadorned platinum ring. The metal felt warm against my skin. It was the only warmth I had out here in the cold.

Six months. We had hidden for six long months.

I closed my eyes and let the memory anchor me. I could still smell the sterile floor polish of the courthouse. I could still see the fluorescent lights reflecting in Tristan’s steel-gray eyes as he signed the marriage certificate. There were no cameras, no guests, no white dresses. Just a tired clerk and the heavy silence of an empty room.

“Just give me time, Mina,” he had said, holding my hands in his. His grip was firm, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my chest. “The board is breathing down my neck over the new acquisitions. If the media catches wind of this right now, the stock will tank. We keep it quiet until the end of the fiscal quarter. Then, at the autumn gala, I will introduce you to the world. I will give you the wedding you deserve.”

I had nodded. I had trusted him. I loved him enough to live in the shadows, waiting for the day he would pull me into the light.

That day had arrived. The Johnston Group’s annual autumn gala. He promised to call me to the stage tonight. He promised to end the whispers, the lonely nights in the empty penthouse, the forced distance whenever we attended the same events. Tonight, the chain would come off, and the ring would go on my finger.

I took a deep breath, let the chill clear my head, and walked toward the entrance.

The lobby of the Grand Hawthorne was a cavern of gold and marble. Crystal chandeliers hung suspended from the vaulted ceiling like frozen tears. A string quartet played in the corner, their notes drowning in the hum of expensive voices. I bypassed the main cluster of paparazzi. They ignored me. To them, I was just another face in the crowd, a mid-level strategy consultant who managed to score an invite. They were looking for the titans. They were looking for my husband.

I approached the check-in desk flanked by towering arrangements of white hydrangeas. A woman in a tailored black suit offered a practiced smile.

“Good evening. Name, please?”

“Minerva Hayes,” I said.

I hated using that name tonight. I wanted to say Minerva Johnston. I wanted to see the shock on her face. But Tristan told me to follow the standard protocol until his speech. I had to play the part for one last hour.

The woman scanned her tablet. Her manicured finger scrolled down the screen. She frowned, tapping the glass. “Hayes. Hayes. Ah, yes. Minerva Hayes. General admission, table forty-two.”

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