Power has a scent.
Inside, the noise is immediate. Laughter too loud. Voices layered. Music that’s meant to be elegant but functions like a veil. Chandeliers throwing light across polished floors. Men in tuxedos. Women in gowns that cost more than my car did when I had one. Everyone shining, everyone smiling.
Everyone watching.
The first thing I feel is how wrong I look. Not because the dress is ugly. It’s fine. Clean. Simple. But simple reads like poverty here. Simple reads likeoutsider. I can feel it the way you can feel someone staring at the back of your neck.
Heads turn as Marco steps in. Not because he’s beloved. Because he’s interesting. Because he’s a spectacle with a story attached.
And I’m attached to him.
Whispers ripple, soft as silk and just as sharp.
“Is that her?”
“Marco’s ex.”
“Court case.”
“Who does she think she is?”
“She looks… nervous.”
“Of course she does.”
Marco’s hand tightens around my arm as if to anchor me. Or claim me.
“Smile,” he murmurs without looking at me. “Don’t make it weird.”
As if weirdness isn’t baked into the bones of this.
I smile. A small curve of my mouth that doesn’t reach my eyes. Customer-service warm. Event-planner friendly. The kind of smile that saysI’m fineeven when your throat is closing.
Marco begins parading. That’s the only word for it. He moves through the room with purpose, steering me like a prop, pausing when someone important appears, making introductions like he’s showing off a prize he didn’t earn.
“Lucia,” he says smoothly, as if my name is part of his brand. “We’re making it work. For our son.”
He saysour sonloud enough for people to hear. He says it like a badge.
My stomach twists. I don’t correct him. I don’t react. I nod. I smile. I say, “It’s nice to meet you,” in a dozen variations.
A woman with diamonds at her throat looks me up and down and smiles like she’s tasting something bitter. “Aren’t you brave,” she says.
I’m not sure if it’s a compliment.
Marco laughs, charming. “Lucia’s always been resilient.”
Resilient.
That’s what people call you when they want to acknowledge damage without admitting they contributed to it.
We move on. A man with a political face shakes Marco’s hand too long, his eyes sliding to me and away.
“Good to see you out,” he says to Marco. “The family appreciates stability.”
Marco squeezes my arm, a quiet warning not to flinch. “We’re committed,” Marco says. “Right, Lu?”
I tilt my head, flash a soft smile. “Of course.”
