Chapter 2

The PR directors ushered the guests toward the main dining hall. The room smelled of expensive perfume and roasted truffles.

Aubrey walked toward the head table with Sloane by her side. Her steps were perfectly measured, but her spine was stiff as a board.

She found her name card on the right side of the long table. Dominick's name card sat diagonally across from hers.

Dominick guided Veronica to her seat. He pulled the heavy chair out for her with smooth, practiced ease.

The socialites at the neighboring tables immediately started whispering behind their hands. Portia Vaughn caught Aubrey's eye and let out a cold, mocking smirk.

Aubrey sat down. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending the stares didn't feel like needles pricking her skin.

Sloane reached under the table and squeezed Aubrey's cold hand.

"I just got promoted to editorial director," Sloane whispered, desperately trying to change the subject.

Aubrey raised her glass. "Congratulations, Sloane," she said, forcing a genuine smile onto her face.

But a media executive sitting across from them instantly dragged the conversation back to the elephant in the room.

"Dominick!" a Vanity Fair editor called out loudly. "What brings you back to New York so suddenly?"

Dominick looked up. His face was a blank mask. "Annual evaluations for the Carrillo Group."

Veronica leaned in, her shoulder brushing his. "He's really here to support my new charity initiative," she giggled.

Aubrey pressed her knife into her truffle steak. The metal blade scraped against the porcelain plate with a sharp, high-pitched screech.

Dominick's eyes snapped to her hands. He caught the sound instantly. His gaze dragged up to her face.

Aubrey looked right back at him. Her eyes were entirely dead, filled with nothing but pure mockery.

Dominick's brow furrowed. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He clearly didn't like the coldness radiating from her.

A waiter stepped forward to pour Dominick more wine. Dominick lifted his left hand to move his glass.

The platinum Patek Philippe watch caught the light of the crystal chandeliers. It gleamed with a cold, hard shine.

Aubrey stared at the watch. The three days of lies dug into her pride like a rusted blade.

Veronica suddenly leaned closer to Dominick. She whispered something directly into his ear.

Dominick didn't pull away. He nodded slightly, his posture relaxed and intimate.

Camera flashes erupted from the press pit nearby. They had just captured the perfect scandalous shot.

Bile rose in the back of Aubrey's throat. She dropped her knife and fork and grabbed her water glass, gripping it with both hands to hide her shaking.

Sloane kicked Aubrey's shin under the table. It was a silent demand to fight back.

Aubrey took a deep breath. The air filled her lungs. She turned to a Wall Street investor sitting to her left.

She pitched her voice perfectly-loud enough for the table, loud enough for Dominick. "The recent tech acquisitions have been an aesthetic disaster."

She dissected the exact user interface failures and brand positioning flaws in the Carrillo Group's latest Asia-Pacific tech merger. She used precise, brutal design critiques to point out how the outdated visual identity was actively tanking the merger's market valuation.

Dominick's hand froze around his wine glass. His dark eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

He finally spoke. His voice cut across the table, heavy and demanding. "Aubrey Middleton. When did you suddenly develop an interest in Wall Street?"