Chapter 4

The banquet finally ended. The last of the guests drove away. Amy walked out of the hall, her hand securely wrapped around Howard's arm.

The New York night air was biting. Amy took off her wrap and draped it over Howard's shoulders. She tried to keep her posture straight, but her bones felt heavy with exhaustion.

They stood at the street corner, waiting for the valet to bring their car.

Across the street, a black Maybach glided slowly to a stop.

Amy's breath caught in her throat. She knew that license plate. She knew the custom tint on the windows. Her eyes locked onto the vehicle.

The car was parked directly in front of the Sotheby's auction house. A valet in a crisp uniform rushed forward and pulled the rear door open.

Brigham stepped out onto the pavement. He was wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. The streetlights caught the sharp angles of his face.

He did not walk toward the entrance. Instead, he turned back to the open car door. He extended his hand inside.

A slender arm reached out. The hand was covered in a long, black velvet glove. It rested delicately on Brigham's palm. Giselle stepped out of the car.

Brigham moved closer to her. He reached up and gently adjusted the fur shawl around her shoulders. Giselle looked up at him and smiled. Brigham smiled back. The intimacy in their body language was undeniable.

Amy stood frozen on the corner. Howard stood right beside her. Both of them saw everything.

Howard's face turned a dark, angry red. The hand gripping his wooden cane began to shake violently.

The air around Amy vanished. Her chest tightened so hard she thought her ribs might crack. The cross-border conference call. The lie she had told fifty people tonight to protect his image. It was all a joke. He skipped her father's seventieth birthday to take Giselle shopping for jewelry.

A few relatives who had just walked out of the hall stopped behind them. They followed Amy's gaze. A collective gasp went up. Whispers started immediately.

"Look at that. Poor Amy."

Every whispered word felt like a needle driving straight into Amy's spine.

Howard slammed his cane against the concrete. "I am going to kill him." He took a step off the curb.

Amy grabbed his arm with both hands. She pulled him back with all her weight. "No, Dad. Please. Don't." She shook her head frantically. The tears she had held back all night finally broke free, spilling hot and fast down her cheeks.

She could not handle a public screaming match. She could not let these people watch her beg for dignity on a street corner.

Across the street, Brigham suddenly stopped. The sharp, echoing crack of Howard's wooden cane hitting the concrete pierced through the ambient city noise. It caught his attention instantly. He turned his head and squinted across the four lanes of traffic. A sudden flash from a passing tourist's camera illuminated the opposite corner for a split second. His heart stopped. He recognized the familiar silhouette of Howard leaning on his cane, and the rigid, trembling posture of the woman beside him. It was Amy.

Brigham's body went completely rigid. The soft smile vanished from his face. A flash of pure panic crossed his features. His jaw clenched tight.

He immediately dropped his hand from Giselle's waist. He took half a step forward, toward the street, toward Amy.

Giselle noticed the shift in his attention. She followed his line of sight and saw Amy crying. A tiny, triumphant smirk flashed across Giselle's lips before disappearing.

"Ah!" Giselle let out a sharp, breathless cry. Her ankle suddenly gave out. She collapsed sideways, falling directly into Brigham's space.

Gravity forced Brigham to react. He spun back around and caught her by the waist before she hit the pavement. He held her up, his face close to hers as he checked if she was hurt.

When Brigham finally looked back across the street, the corner was empty.

Amy had shoved Howard into the back of a yellow taxi. She slammed the door shut. The cab sped away from the curb.

Inside the taxi, Amy stared at the rearview mirror. She watched the reflection of the street shrink. Brigham was still holding Giselle.

Amy closed her eyes. She leaned her head against the cold window.

Howard reached over and rubbed her back. His hand was warm and heavy. "Amy," he said, his voice thick with sorrow. "Stop doing this to yourself. Stop bending over backwards for a man who doesn't see you. You always have a home with me."

Amy slid down in the seat. She rested her head on her father's shoulder. She opened her mouth and let out a silent, agonizing sob. The last string holding her heart together snapped completely.