The door to the VIP suite was heavy, soundproofed leather. Isadora had to use both hands to push it open. As soon as the seal broke, the music exploded outward, a wall of bass and synth that rattled her teeth.

The room was bathed in low, purple light. Waitresses in corsets moved through the crowd with sparklers attached to magnum bottles of champagne. The air smelled of smoke and expensive vodka.

Isadora scanned the room, her hand clutching the small gift bag containing the cufflinks. Her knuckles were white.

"There he is," Zoe shouted over the music, pointing toward the center of the room.

Grafton was standing on the main banquette, looking like the king of the world. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his hair perfectly messy. He was laughing, holding a glass of champagne high in the air.

Isadora's heart did that treacherous leap again. He looked so happy.

Then she saw who he was talking to.

He wasn't looking at the door. He was looking down at a woman sitting on the couch in front of him. All Isadora could see was a cascade of blonde hair and a backless silver dress that dipped dangerously low.

"Grafton!" one of his friends, a guy named Topher, yelled. "Look who made it! Little Izzy!"

Grafton turned. His face lit up when he saw her. It was the same smile he had given her for twenty years-warm, easy, familiar.

"Izzy!" he shouted, jumping down from the banquette. "You're here!"

He moved toward her, and for a second, Isadora thought he was going to hug her. But he stopped a few feet away. He was holding something in his left hand.

A long, black velvet box.

Aurelia.

Isadora stopped breathing. The world narrowed down to that box. The noise of the club faded into a dull roar. He had it. He had the bracelet. He was holding it right now, walking toward her on the night their lives were supposed to merge.

"I have a surprise," Grafton said, his eyes gleaming. "I've been waiting all night to do this."

Isadora felt tears prick her eyes. She took a step forward. "Grafton, I..."

"Wait," Grafton said, holding up a finger. He turned back to the blonde woman on the couch. "Sweetheart, come here."

The woman stood up and turned around.

It was Bella Sterling.

Isadora felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Bella was everything Isadora wasn't-tall, statuesque, with a face that was beautiful in a sharp, predatory way. She was the daughter of Sterling Capital, their biggest market competitor.

Bella smiled at Isadora. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Come here," Grafton said again, reaching for Bella's hand. He pulled her to his side, his arm going around her waist possessively.

Isadora stood frozen, the gift bag heavy in her hand. Her brain couldn't process the image.

"Everyone!" Grafton shouted, his voice booming over the music. The DJ lowered the volume. The room went semi-quiet.

"I want to make an announcement," Grafton said, looking down at Bella with a look of adoration Isadora had never seen directed at herself. "Our families have finally merged. Everyone, meet my fiancée, Bella."

A cheer went up from the room. Confetti cannons popped from the ceiling. Strips of gold paper rained down, landing in Isadora's hair, sticking to her eyelashes.

Grafton opened the black velvet box.

Inside sat the Eternity Lock bracelet. The diamonds caught the strobe lights, flashing violently.

Isadora watched, paralyzed, as Grafton took Bella's wrist. He wrapped the bracelet around it.

Click.

The sound was tiny, but to Isadora, it sounded like a gunshot. The lock snapped shut.

"It fits perfectly," Bella cooed, holding her wrist up to the light. She looked at Isadora, her eyes glittering with malice. "Oh, hi Isadora. Grafton talks about you all the time. His little mascot."

"Mascot?" Isadora whispered. The word tasted like bile.

Grafton laughed, oblivious. He grabbed a bottle of champagne and poured it into a tower of glasses. He grabbed one and shoved it into Isadora's hand.

"Drink up, Izzy!" Grafton said, clinking his glass against hers so hard champagne sloshed over her fingers. "It's a double celebration. My girl and my best friend. Congratulations to us all!"

He didn't even wait for her to answer. He turned back to Bella, kissing her on the temple.

Zoe stepped forward, her face twisted in rage. "Grafton, are you serious right now?"

Isadora grabbed Zoe's wrist. Her grip was iron-hard. "Don't," she hissed.

"But Isadora-"

"Don't." Isadora's voice was devoid of emotion. She couldn't let them see. She couldn't let Bella see her bleed.

She stood there, the champagne sticky on her hand, the confetti tangled in her hair. She looked at the bracelet on Bella's wrist. It was a shackle. It was a promise. And it wasn't hers.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Bella asked, thrusting her wrist toward Isadora's face. "The salesman said it means 'locked together forever.' Isn't that sweet?"

"Yeah," Isadora said. Her throat felt like it was full of glass shards. "It's... lovely."

Grafton wrapped both arms around Bella from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. He looked at Isadora with that same, stupid, happy grin.

"I knew you'd be happy for me, Izzy," he said. "You're the best."

Isadora gripped the stem of the champagne glass so hard she thought it might snap. She forced the corners of her mouth up. It wasn't a smile. It was a grimace of pure agony.

"The best," she echoed.

The air in the VIP suite had turned into a solid mass, pressing against Isadora's chest, making it impossible to expand her lungs. Every time Grafton touched Bella's hair, every time the diamonds on that bracelet flashed, Isadora felt a physical jolt of nausea.

"I need the restroom," Isadora said. Her voice sounded distant, like it was coming from underwater.

Grafton didn't hear her. He was busy whispering something in Bella's ear that made her giggle.

Isadora turned and walked away. She didn't run, but she walked fast, her heels sinking into the plush carpet. Zoe started to follow her, but Isadora held up a hand, shaking her head. She needed to be alone. She needed to not be perceived for just one minute.

She pushed into the private restroom attached to the suite. It was marble and gold, empty for the moment. Isadora locked the door and slumped against it. Her legs gave out, and she slid down until she was sitting on the cold tiles.

She put her hands over her mouth to stifle the sob that was clawing its way up her throat. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not where they could hear her.

She stood up on shaky legs and moved to the sink. She turned on the cold water, splashing it onto her burning face. Her mascara was running, dark streaks cutting through her perfect foundation. She looked like a ghost.

Above the sink, there was a decorative vent. It must have connected directly to the smoking terrace just outside the suite's side door.

Voices drifted through it. Clear. Unmistakable.

"Dude," a male voice said. It was Topher. "You got balls. Announcing a merger on Isadora's big night? She looked like she was going to puke."

Isadora froze. Her hand hovered over the faucet. She held her breath.

"What are you talking about?" Grafton's voice. He sounded relaxed, amused. "Isadora doesn't care about that stuff. She's not like other girls."

"I don't know, man," another voice chimed in. "The way she looks at you? That's not 'sister' vibes. That's 'I'll sign away my company for you' vibes."

Isadora squeezed her eyes shut. Please, Grafton. Defend me. Or at least be kind.

"Oh, stop it," Bella's voice cut in. It was sharp, annoyed. "It is a little pathetic, isn't it? How she follows you around? It's like she has no life of her own."

There was a pause. A silence that stretched for an eternity.

Then Grafton laughed. It was a dry, dismissive sound.

"Look," Grafton said. "Isadora is... she's great. But yeah, she's dependent. She's like a kid in a lot of ways. She needs me to look out for her. It's a lot of pressure, honestly. Sometimes it's just... a burden. But what am I supposed to do? Kick a puppy?"

A burden.

Kick a puppy.

The words hit Isadora with the force of a physical blow. Her knees actually buckled, hitting the cabinet under the sink with a thud.

She wasn't his partner. She wasn't his equal. She was a charity case. A weight he carried around because he was too nice to drop her.

A wave of humiliation washed over her, hot and prickly. It was worse than the heartbreak. Heartbreak was clean. This was dirty. This was shame.

She couldn't go back out there. She couldn't look him in the face knowing that when he looked at her, he saw a burden.

Isadora grabbed a paper towel and scrubbed her face violently, not caring that she was rubbing her skin raw. She looked at the door. She couldn't go back through the suite.

She saw a second door on the far wall. Service.

She tried the handle. It opened.

Isadora slipped through it, finding herself in a narrow concrete hallway stacked with crates of liquor and bags of dirty linens. It smelled of sour beer and garbage. She didn't care.

She ran. She gathered the skirt of her champagne silk dress in her hands and ran past confused busboys and kitchen staff. She burst through the heavy metal fire exit at the end of the hall.

The night air hit her, but it wasn't the relief she expected. It was pouring rain. A sudden summer downpour that turned the alleyway into a river of grime.

Isadora stepped out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her and locking automatically.

She was in the alley behind the club. Rain instantly soaked her hair, plastering it to her skull. The silk dress darkened, clinging to her body, becoming translucent and heavy.

She walked toward the street, her heels slipping on the wet cobblestones. She was shivering, her teeth chattering so hard her jaw ached.

She reached the corner, looking for a taxi. There were none. Just the endless rain and the dark, slick street. She was alone, wet, and unwanted.

The rain was relentless. It felt personal, like the sky was trying to wash her out of existence. Isadora took a step off the curb to look for a cab, and her right foot slipped on an oil slick.

She flailed, catching herself before she hit the ground, but her right heel snapped. The shoe came off, skittering into a puddle of black water.

"No," she whispered. "Please, no."

She stood there, one foot bare on the freezing asphalt, the other in a broken shoe. She kicked the broken one off. Being barefoot was better than the imbalance. The pavement was rough and gritty against her soles.

She pulled her phone out. The screen flickered green, then went black. Water damage.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to preserve whatever body heat she had left. She was shaking violently now.

A pair of headlights cut through the darkness. Twin beams of white light that illuminated the falling rain like diamonds.

A black car slowed down. It wasn't a taxi. It was the same custom sedan from before.

Isadora tried to step back into the shadows, shame burning in her chest. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. Especially not Kingston's people.

The car stopped right beside her. The rear window rolled down halfway.

Kingston Riddle sat in the back. The interior light cast shadows across his sharp cheekbones. He looked at her-at her wet hair, her ruined dress, her bare feet standing in the gutter.

He didn't look pitying. He looked angry. His jaw was set tight.

The driver was out of the car in a second, holding a massive black umbrella. He opened the rear door.

"Miss Dyer," the driver said. "Please."

Isadora shook her head, her teeth chattering. "I... I can't. I'm wet. I'll ruin the leather."

"Get in," Kingston said. His voice cut through the sound of the rain. It wasn't a suggestion. "Don't make me say it twice."

The authority in his voice triggered an automatic response. Isadora ducked under the umbrella and scrambled into the back seat.

The door closed, sealing out the noise of the city. The silence inside was absolute. The air was warm and smelled of that same cedar and gin scent.

Kingston pressed a button on the armrest. The partition between them and the driver slid up, turning the glass opaque. They were in a private capsule.

He looked at her shivering form. Without a word, he unbuttoned his suit jacket. He took it off and leaned over, draping it around her shoulders.

The jacket was heavy, warm, and lined with silk. It engulfed her. Isadora pulled the lapels tight against her neck, burying her nose in the fabric. It smelled like safety.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, water dripping from her hair onto the pristine leather seats. "I'm making a mess."

Kingston ignored her apology. He opened a small refrigerated compartment and pulled out a bottle of water. He cracked the seal and handed it to her.

"Drink."

Isadora took it, her hands shaking so much the water sloshed. She took a sip.

Kingston watched her for a moment, then reached into a storage cubby near his door. He pulled out a small white box.

He set it on the console between them and opened the lid.

Inside was a single vanilla cupcake with white frosting. It looked simple, almost out of place in the luxury car.

Isadora stared at it, then up at him. Her mascara was definitely smeared under her eyes. She must look like a raccoon.

"It was supposed to be dessert at the dinner I just left," Kingston said, his voice flat. "I doubt you ate."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. He flicked it. A small flame danced in the dim light. He held it over the cupcake, pretending there was a candle there.

"Make a wish," he said.

Isadora looked at the flame. It reflected in Kingston's grey eyes, making them look almost silver.

She thought about wishing for Grafton to love her. But the memory of the word burden rose up, choking her.

She closed her eyes. I wish to be free of him. I wish to find myself.

She blew out the imaginary candle. Kingston snapped the lighter shut. The click was final.

"Happy Birthday, Isadora," he said softly.

He pushed the box toward her. Isadora picked up the cupcake. She took a bite. The frosting was sweet, melting on her tongue, chasing away the bitter taste of champagne and bile.

She ate the whole thing in silence. Kingston didn't speak. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, giving her the privacy to eat like a starving person.

The car slowed to a stop. Isadora looked out the window. They were at her apartment.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was stronger now.

Kingston didn't open his eyes. "Keep the jacket. The driver will walk you to the door."

Isadora hesitated, then opened the door. The cold air rushed in, but she was warm inside the oversized suit coat.

"If you need anything," Kingston said, still not looking at her, "you know where to find me."

Isadora stepped out. She watched the taillights of the sedan disappear around the corner before she turned to face her empty building.