"My Mary. Always so capable."
Dean reached over and pinched her cheek, gaze heavy with undisguised want and smug satisfaction.
"Don't worry. I'll reward you properly tonight."
The car glided through the glittering downtown streets before pulling into the curved driveway of a five-star hotel.
I didn't watch the rest. I closed the feed.
Seven days later. The annual company gala.
The ballroom blazed with light—crystal chandeliers refracting into a thousand prismatic shards, champagne flutes catching the glow as they clinked in endless toasts.
I stood by the head table, exchanging pleasantries with the board members. My gaze, however, kept drifting toward the entrance.
Mary and Dean were the last to arrive.
They swept in side by side. Mary wore a wine-red gown that bared her shoulders, her makeup immaculate. But the flush lingering on her cheekbones was harder to conceal—the telltale remnant of whatever had delayed them.
Dean walked half a step behind her, draped in a midnight-blue velvet suit. The arrogance of youth radiated from him, untempered, almost deliberately flaunted.
I watched from across the room. A soft exhale escaped through my nose—not quite a laugh.