Chapter 2 - The Boss Who Offered His Hand
The first thing Eliza heard was music.
The second was silence.
Not actual silence.
The orchestra continued.
Glasses clinked.
Waiters moved.
But the conversations nearest the elevator died the instant Lucian emerged.
Eliza felt it happen like a wave.
She almost withdrew her hand.
Lucian's fingers closed gently around hers.
“Don't.”
She looked at him.
“Don't what?”
“Make yourself smaller because they're staring.”
The sentence struck somewhere tender.
She lifted her chin.
Then they entered together.
The Halcyon ballroom looked like money had learned architecture.
Crystal chandeliers hung above hundreds of guests.
At the far end, enormous windows overlooked the city.
Eliza had barely taken three steps before she found Ethan.
He stood beside a silver-haired investor named Preston Hale.
Champagne in hand.
Smile polished.
Then he saw her.
The smile disappeared.
Then he saw Lucian holding her hand.
His face became something Eliza wished she could photograph.
Lucian noticed.
“Your husband?”
“The terrified one.”
“I guessed.”
They continued.
Ethan excused himself so abruptly that Preston nearly lost his drink.
“Eliza.”
She stopped.
Ethan looked at Lucian.
“Mr. Valente.”
Lucian said nothing.
Ethan offered his hand.
Lucian looked at it.
Then at Ethan.
The hand slowly dropped.
“Eliza, can we talk?”
“We're talking.”
“Privately.”
Lucian turned to her.
“Would you like privacy?”
The choice was so simple.
Yet it stunned her.
Ethan rarely asked what she wanted when his career was involved.
“No.”
Lucian nodded.
Ethan's cheeks reddened.
“I think there's been a misunderstanding.”
“There has,” Eliza said.
“I was coming back downstairs.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Ethan's mouth opened.
Lucian interrupted.
“After the introductions?”
Ethan went pale.
So he had heard everything.
Eliza almost smiled.
“Mr. Valente, my wife and I had a disagreement.”
“Your wife and you?”
Lucian's voice remained calm.
“Or you and her body?”
Ethan glanced around.
People were listening.
That mattered to him.
Eliza realized suddenly that it had always mattered.
Appearances.
Status.
Rooms.
Who was watching.
She had simply never understood she would eventually become another appearance to manage.
“It's complicated,” Ethan said.
“No,” Eliza replied. “It was actually impressively clear.”
Lucian gestured toward the central tables.
“Come.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“Where are you taking her?”
Lucian finally looked directly at him.
“To her seat.”
Eliza followed.
They reached the front of the ballroom.
Table One.
The people seated there included names Ethan had been rehearsing for weeks.
Lucian pulled out the chair beside his.
A card rested on the plate.
ELIZA HARTWELL.
She stared.
Not Ethan and Eliza.
Not Mrs. Ethan Hartwell.
Eliza Hartwell.
Her name.
Her invitation.
Her seat.
Across the ballroom, Ethan saw it.
The blood drained from his face.
Eliza sat.
Lucian took the chair beside her.
“How?”
“Later.”
“You knew my name.”
“Yes.”
“Before tonight?”
Lucian lifted his glass.
“Yes.”
Eliza's heart began beating faster.
“Why?”
Before he could answer, a woman approached.
Late sixties.
Silver hair.
Black gown.
Lucian stood immediately.
That surprised Eliza more than anything else.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
The woman ignored Lucian.
She stared at Eliza.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, my God.”
Eliza stood.
“I'm sorry. Have we met?”
The woman reached for her necklace.
A small gold key hung there.
Eliza knew that key.
Or thought she did.
Her grandmother had owned one exactly like it.
Mrs. Mercer whispered, “You have Margaret's eyes.”
Eliza's pulse jumped.
“Margaret Hartwell?”
“No.”
The woman shook her head.
“Margaret Ellison.”
Eliza stopped.
Her grandmother's maiden name had been Ellison.
“How did you know my grandmother?”
Mrs. Mercer looked at Lucian.
“You didn't tell her?”
“I wanted confirmation.”
“Confirmation of what?” Eliza demanded.
Mrs. Mercer opened her purse.
She removed an old photograph.
Three young people stood outside a small office.
Mrs. Mercer.
A much younger man Eliza recognized from photographs as Lucian's father.
And Margaret.
On the back were three handwritten words:
FOUNDERS. ELLISON. VALENTE. MERCER.
Eliza looked at Lucian.
“What did my grandmother found?”
Lucian answered quietly.
“The company your husband has spent six months trying to sell me.”
Eliza stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
Her phone buzzed.
Ethan again.
She rejected the call.
Another message appeared from the unknown number.
A new photograph.
This one was old.
Ethan.
Much younger.
Standing outside Margaret's nursing home.
The date in the corner was three months before Margaret died.
Eliza had been told Ethan never met her grandmother during those final months.
Underneath appeared another sentence.
ASK YOUR HUSBAND WHAT MARGARET SIGNED.
Eliza looked across the ballroom.
Ethan was staring directly at her.
Then he saw the photograph on her phone.
His expression changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
He started toward her.
Lucian rose.
But Ethan wasn't looking at Lucian.
He was looking at the old photograph.
“Eliza,” he said. “Whatever you've been told, don't believe it.”
She slowly stood.
“What did my grandmother sign?”
May you like
Ethan stopped.
And behind him, the ballroom doors suddenly locked.
