The room goes silent.
Alex glances at the door, then back at me. “You know what she’s doing right now, don’t you.”
I don’t respond.
“She’s recalibrating,” Mark says. “Because she felt the difference.”
Alex grabs the door handle. “You’ve got a window. It’s closing.”
They leave as abruptly as they came.
The door clicks shut.
I stand there alone, heart pounding—not with panic, but with something worse.
Recognition.
Not the sex.
Not the gala.
The omission.
And the way it keeps coming back to the same thing—I thought control would protect me.
Instead, it’s the thing that finally made me visible.
Chapter Twenty-Five
AUDRA
I excusemyself as soon as I’m inside.
Not because anything is wrong.
Because this is the moment I always take. Besides, Evan is immediately pulled into conversation—greeted by more people than I can keep track of—so I have time. Enough to primp without it looking like retreat.
The ladies’ room is quiet, insulated from the low roar of voices and clinking glasses. Marble counters. Warm light. Mirrors designed to reassure more than reflect.
I step to the sink and set my clutch beside it.
For a moment, I just look.
Not critically.
Not emotionally.
Assessing.
My hair is still pinned neatly, smooth at the crown, nothing loose that might read careless. Makeup intact—balanced, restrained. The diamonds at my ears and throat catch the light softly, a gift inherited from my mother. I like bringing her with me when I can.
My designer dress fits cleanly. No pulling. No obvious seams. Navy—my favorite color. Understated. Correct.
I don’t want to look beautiful.
I want to look like I belong.
I straighten slightly, watching the shift register in the mirror. Shoulders back. Chin level. The version of myself I learned to inhabit young—quietly competent, unremarkable in the safest way.
