All dressed to showcase rather than cover.
All wearing expressions that range from serene acceptance to barely concealed terror.
One girl can't be more than twenty.
She's in a white dress that's practically transparent.
Being led on a leash—anactualfucking leash—by a man old enough to be her grandfather.
She keeps her eyes down. Follows two steps behind him. The perfect picture of submission.
Eden's hand tightens in mine.
"That could have been me," she whispers.
"No. Never. I wouldn't have—" I stop because it's a lie.
Two months ago, I might have done exactly that.
Might have put her in something revealing and led her in here and displayed her like property.
Before I knew her.
Before I loved her.
Before I understood that some people are worth more than any amount of power.
"But it could have been," she insists. "If things had gone differently. If you hadn't—if we hadn't?—"
"I know. Come on. Let's get this over with."
We climb the wide marble steps to the entrance.
The massive front doors are open, spilling light and the sound of chamber music and conversation.
Inside is even more opulent than outside.
The foyer is three stories tall, crowned by a chandelier that must weigh a ton.
Crystal and gold catching light and scattering it like diamonds.
The floor is polished marble with an inlaid design that probably cost more than most houses.
Twin staircases curve up to the second floor on either side.
Everything is excessive. Everything is designed to intimidate.
To remind you that the people who move in this world have more wealth than God and fewer morals than the devil.
Staff circulate with champagne on silver trays.
I take two glasses, hand one to Eden. "Drink," I say quietly. "It'll help."
She takes a sip. Makes a face. "I don't like champagne."
"Neither do I. Drink it anyway."
She does.
