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.

The next morning, Isadora woke up with a headache that throbbed behind her eyes. She saw Kingston's jacket hanging on her chair. It was dry now, but still smelled like him.

She checked the pockets before putting it in a bag for the dry cleaners. Her fingers brushed against something hard.

She pulled it out. It was a single cufflink. Silver, engraved with the Riddle family crest-a wolf holding a spear. She ran her thumb over the raised metal. It felt heavy, substantial. She put it in her jewelry box, right next to her pearl earrings.

She went to her office early. She had a board meeting at the company café.

Zoe met her there, slamming a coffee down on the table.

"He called me three times," Zoe said, her eyes blazing. "Asking where you were. I told him to go to hell. He's an idiot, Isadora. A blind, selfish idiot."

Isadora stirred her tea. "It's okay, Zoe. I'm over it."

"You can't be over it in a day."

"I can," Isadora said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, battered cardboard box. "I have to be."

Inside was a silver chain with a cheap heart pendant. Grafton had won it for her at a carnival when they were eighteen. She had worn it every day for four years until the metal started to turn her skin green.

Later that afternoon, Isadora sat with Alex, a junior analyst from her Econ department. Alex was nice. He had messy brown hair and a laugh that made his eyes crinkle.

"So, the elasticity of demand," Alex was saying, using a french fry to point at the financial report. "It's basically like dating. The more available you are, the less value you have."

Isadora laughed. It was a real laugh, surprising her. "That is a terrible analogy, Alex."

"But accurate!"

"Isadora?"

The voice came from behind her. Isadora stiffened. Her laugh died instantly.

Grafton was standing there. He was wearing a cashmere sweater, his briefcase slung over one shoulder. He looked tired. He looked at Alex, then at Isadora, his brow furrowing.

"Where did you go last night?" Grafton asked. "I looked everywhere for you."

Isadora turned in her chair. She didn't stand up. "I wasn't feeling well."

Grafton's eyes flicked to Alex again. "Who's this?"

"I'm Alex," Alex said, extending a hand.

Grafton ignored the hand. He stared at Isadora. "We need to talk. Come outside."

It was the tone he always used. The 'I'm the main character' tone.

"I'm busy, Grafton," Isadora said, turning back to her report. "We have a deadline."

Silence. Grafton stood there, stunned. Isadora never said no.

"Isadora, don't be like this," Grafton said, reaching out to grab her arm. "You're acting weird."

His fingers touched her bicep.

Isadora jerked her arm away. The movement was sharp, violent.

"Don't touch me," she said. Her voice was ice cold.

The chatter in the café stopped. People turned to look. Grafton recoiled as if she had slapped him. His face flushed red.

"Whoa," Grafton said, holding his hands up. "Okay. You're still mad about Bella. Look, don't be so petty, Isadora. It's not a good look on you."

Petty.

Isadora stood up. She reached into her bag and pulled out the cardboard box. She slammed it onto the table. It made a dull thud.

"I'm not mad," Isadora said. "I'm done."

"What is that?" Grafton asked, looking at the box.

"It's the necklace," Isadora said. "I don't want it. I don't want anything from you."

Grafton looked at the box, then at her face. Panic flickered in his eyes. "You're giving it back? Why? That's... that's ours."

"There is no 'us', Grafton," Isadora said. "I'm not your little sister. I'm not your mascot. And I'm definitely not your burden."

She saw the recognition in his eyes. He knew.

"Isadora, wait-"

"Let's go, Alex," Isadora said. She grabbed her bag.

Alex scrambled up, sensing the tension. "Uh, yeah. Let's go to the conference room."

Isadora walked away. She didn't look back.

Grafton stood there, his hand hovering over the cardboard box. He looked at her retreating back, and for the first time in his life, he felt a gnawing emptiness in his gut. She was walking away. She wasn't supposed to walk away. She was supposed to stay.

Across the street, a white Range Rover was parked. The window was down an inch.

Bella lowered her sunglasses. She watched Grafton staring after Isadora. She saw the desperation in his posture.

Her fingers dug into the leather steering wheel. Her perfectly manicured nail snapped.

"She has to go," Bella whispered.