Chapter 2

Ms. Albright was the first person I told.

"Paris? Ethan, that's wonderful!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up.

"I always knew New York was just a stepping stone for you, though perhaps not in this... dramatic fashion."

She squeezed my arm. "You have the talent. Go show them."

Her belief was a small, warm ember in the cold I felt.

I booked my flight.

The departure date was two weeks away.

It was also the date of Victoria's annual Devereaux Foundation Gala, her biggest night of the year.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

I had been designing a gown for her, a custom piece for the gala. It was meant to be a surprise, a gift.

A testament to... what? My foolishness?

I took the half-finished gown, the yards of midnight blue silk she' d personally sourced for me, and stuffed it into a charity bin down the street.

Let someone else wear my broken dreams.

The days leading up to my departure were a blur.

I packed my few belongings, arranged for Mom to stay with her sister upstate for a while.

The stress, the heartbreak, it all caught up.

A fever took hold, leaving me shivering and weak.

Probably psychosomatic, Ms. Albright had said gently. The body' s way of processing trauma.

I was lying in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, when my phone rang.

It was Victoria' s driver, Michael.

"Mr. Miller? Ms. Devereaux asked me to pick you up. She's at the pre-gala reception at The Plaza."

"I'm sick, Michael," I managed, my voice hoarse. "I can't make it."

"She was very insistent, sir. Said it was important."

I was still her employee, her... whatever I was.

Too weak to argue, I dragged myself out of bed.

At The Plaza, the air buzzed with money and champagne.

I felt out of place in my simple clothes, my face pale.

I was looking for Victoria when I overheard them.

A group of her socialite friends, dripping in jewels.

"Victoria seems quite taken with that young designer, Ethan, doesn't she?" one said, a sly smile on her lips.

"Oh, darling, it's just a phase," another replied, waving a dismissive hand. "A distraction. She always has a pet project. Remember the sculptor last year?"

"He's rather handsome, though. A nice little toy for her."

Their laughter grated on my raw nerves. A toy. A pet project.

Then I saw Victoria. She was across the room, radiant in a gold dress, Marcus Thorne at her side.

She spotted me and beckoned me over.

Her smile was dazzling, but it didn't reach her eyes. Not for me.

"Ethan, darling, you look dreadful," she said, her voice carrying a note of annoyance rather than concern. "I was expecting you hours ago."

"I told Michael I wasn't well."

"Nonsense. A little fresh air will do you good." She looped her arm through mine, pulling me closer.

"Besides," she purred, her eyes flicking towards Marcus, "I need my most talented protégé by my side tonight, don't I?"

A tool. That's what I was. A prop in her game with Marcus.

Marcus watched us, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

He raised his glass in a mock toast. "To Victoria's excellent taste."

The humiliation burned.

Victoria squeezed my arm. "You came just in time. They're about to announce the youth design grant recipient. I pulled a few strings for you."

She was still playing the benefactor, even now.

She turned to me, her eyes searching mine. "You've been so distant lately, Ethan. And what happened to your hand? It looks bruised."

She was referring to a scrape I' d gotten when I stumbled, feverish, earlier in the week.

Her concern felt superficial, a performance for Marcus, perhaps.

I looked from her to Marcus, and the truth hit me with sickening clarity.

I wasn't just a substitute for Marcus.

Tonight, I was a pawn.

A way for Victoria to prove to Marcus that she was desirable, that she could still command loyalty, even from a "pet project" like me.

My illness, my feelings, they meant nothing.