Kristen
I weave through the crowd with my tray balanced perfectly, smile fixed in place like it's been painted on.
Smile. Nod. Be invisible.
The mantra loops through my head on repeat. Same one I used for years with Jack.
A woman in head-to-toe black dress plucks a glass without acknowledging me. She turns back to her companion, laughing at something that definitely isn't funny, because rich people laugh differently. Louder. Like they're performing for an invisible audience.
God, I hate these events.
Not the work itself. It's the pretending that grates against my bones. Pretending I'm happy to serve. Pretending these people aren't looking right through me.
A man in a tailored tuxedo brushes past, too close, his hand grazing my hip. His eyes never meet mine as he rejoins his wife.
I swallow the familiar bitter taste and keep moving.
You're furniture. You're wallpaper. You don't exist.
The ballroom is gorgeous, I'll give it that. Fresh flowers everywhere. White roses and lilies.
I pause near a pillar to let a group pass, adjusting the weight of my tray.
Jack would have loved this.
The thought slithers in before I can stop it.
He would have thrived here. Working the room with that easy smile, shaking hands, making everyone feel like they were the most important person he'd ever met. Jack had a gift for that. Making people adore him. Making them see exactly what he wanted them to see.
"You look tired, Kris. Maybe skip the lipstick tonight. It's making you look washed out."
His voice echoes in my skull, soft and concerned. Always so concerned.
"I just want what's best for you, baby. You know that."
Behind closed doors, he'd spend an hour checking my flaws. My hair was wrong. My dress was cheap. I talked too much at dinner. I embarrassed him in front of his friends.
But in public? In public, Jack Walker was perfect.
The first time it happened I convinced myself I'd imagined it. Misunderstood. Maybe I had been annoying at dinner. Maybe the dress was unflattering. He was only trying to help me improve.
It took three years to realize the truth: there was no improvement good enough. The goalposts moved every time I got close. And the smiling, charming man everyone else saw?
He didn't exist.
A waiter bumps my elbow, snapping me back to the present. "You okay?"
"Fine." I paste the smile back on. "Just needed a second."
He nods and disappears into the crowd.
I scan the room, looking for empty glasses to collect. Near the bar, an older woman holds court with two younger men, her laugh sharp as broken glass. She gestures with a champagne flute, dismissing whatever one of the men just said.
Power move. I recognize it.
Across the room, a cluster of men in dark suits stand apart from the crowd.
One of the men catches my attention. Younger than the silver-haired one, maybe late twenties. Dark hair pushed back.
