The wife is watching me. Watching Marcus’s hand on my waist, the way he answers for me, the way I’ve stopped trying to speak.
And she smiles.
Not sympathetic. Not concerned.
Approving.
Good girl,her smile says.You’re learning how this works.
My stomach turns. Because she’s not part of Alaina’s network. She’s not slipping me business cards or escape routes. She’s one of the ones who made it. Who survived by becoming part of the machinery.
Is that my future?
Standing next to Marcus at fundraisers in twenty years, watching him parade some new girl, smiling because I learned to stop fighting?
The thought makes me want to vomit.
He’s answering for me again. Around me. Through me.
“Actually—” I try.
“We should discuss that development project,” Marcus pivots to the man. His hand still locked on my waist. “The one on Delaware Avenue. Dylan’s reviewed all the zoning compliance. Everything’s in order. Right, Dylan?”
It’s not a question. It’s a cue.
“Right,” I manage.
Third group. Mayor’s aide and Councilman Edwards from the River Wards—nervous energy, always checking his phone.
“Councilman Edwards, this is Dylan?—”
“We’ve met.” Edwards smiles at me. Actually acknowledges me. “At the budget hearing. You asked that question about the pension fund’s unfunded liability that made everyone squirm.”
Oh thank god. Someone who remembers I have a brain.
“Yes, the actuarial assumptions seemed—” I’m going to finish a sentence. For the first time tonight, someone is actually listening to me. “—optimistic given the demographic trends. The thirty-year projections assume workforce growth that contradicts Census Bureau forecasts. If you factor in the pension fund’s current asset allocation?—”
Edwards is nodding. Taking mental notes. Looking at me like I’m a professional. Like I’m a person.
I’d forgotten what that felt like.
“That’s exactly what I’ve been—” Edwards starts.
“Aggressive.” Marcus’s voice cuts through. Smooth. Easy. His arm tightening around me like a leash being pulled. “Dylan’s always finding the angles. It’s what makes her so valuable.”
Edwards blinks. Looks between us.
I watch the decision form. The question he’s weighing:Is she being silenced? Should I push back?
And then I watch him decide:Not my problem.
“Well,” Edwards says, turning back to Marcus. “We should definitely discuss this further. Have your people call my people.”
Your people. Not Dylan. Not the person who actually had the analysis. Your people.
I amerased.
And Edwards knows it. Knew it the moment Marcus cut me off. Made his choice anyway.
