After my divorce left me with nothing, I applied to become Benedict Fox's tenth contract girlfriend.
Survive three months, and the payout was ten million dollars.
People online were already placing bets that I'd flame out like the last nine and walk away empty-handed.
One month later, Benedict held a press conference and set that ten million right in front of me.
I tore up the contract on live camera.
What they didn't know was that I wasn't just after the money. I was after justice.
A "contract girlfriend" wasn't really a girlfriend. She was a workhorse for Fox Group.
Regular livestreams with the CEO, hit the performance targets, last three months, and the ten million was yours.
"I... my family was awful to begin with. Then after I got married, my ex beat me, cheated on me, and took my child away..."
The young woman ahead of me in line had dewy, pitiful eyes, reciting her script with practiced sincerity.
"I just... want a better life."
Tears spilled down her cheeks like rain.
I glanced down at my own suit and let out a dry laugh.
I didn't have the luxury of feeling sorry for anyone else. Everything I owned was stuffed inside a beat-up suitcase in a stairwell.
This outfit was the only thing I had that was even presentable. Ironed? Not a chance.
The creases pressed into the fabric by that suitcase, deep in some places, faint in others, matched my life perfectly. A wrinkled mess.
"Thelma Summers." The secretary called my name.
I stood and reached instinctively to straighten my collar, but my fingers met nothing but crumpled fabric and, in my pocket, the cold bite of a necklace against my knuckles.
A voice surfaced from memory: You're good, Thel. So you deserve the best.
The face behind those words gave me all the courage I needed. I squared my shoulders and walked in.
Benedict Fox stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me.
Tall, lean frame. A charcoal designer suit that fit like it cost more than most people's rent. Even his hair looked expensive.
"Give me the basics." His voice carried across the room, cold and clipped.
"Former project director at a Fortune 500 tech company."
"Your previous marriage."
"That's irrelevant," I said, straightening my spine. "Just another sob story from another bad marriage."
He turned slowly to face me, one brow lifting.
His gaze swept over me. My face first, then the wrinkled collar, and finally my hands hanging at my sides.
His eyes lingered for less than a second.
But I knew he'd seen the scars.
A crease flickered across his brow, so faint it was barely there.
"What, you're not going to sell me a sob story?" His tone carried a blade of sarcasm.
"After all, you'd need to prove you're worth ten million of my money."
He looked at me the way you'd appraise merchandise.
The difference was, this particular piece of merchandise wasn't as polished or pretty as the ones waiting outside.
I smiled, closed the distance by one step, and went straight for the jugular.
"Mr. Fox, just being a contract girlfriend doesn't interest me. How about we talk business instead?"
He tilted his head slightly, signaling me to continue.
I handed over the folder I'd prepared. "Pick me, and I can double the profit on your contract girlfriend program."
He took it and started flipping through.
"Mr. Fox, as far as I can tell, this contract girlfriend gimmick has generated considerable revenue for your company."
"The data from the first nine livestreams shows some fluctuation but overall stability." His expression gave away nothing. "Go on."
"But the program has hit a ceiling. The numbers are already showing fatigue."
I held his gaze without blinking.
"You need me, Mr. Fox."
He folded his arms. "What makes you better than the rest of them?"
I didn't answer right away. Refusing to step into his little comparison trap, keeping my own footing steady. That was rule number one when negotiating with someone who held all the power.
Benedict frowned. "Most of them poured their hearts into fabricating the perfect tragic backstory for me."
"The ones who couldn't spin a good story started peeling off their clothes instead, inching closer one step at a time."
His narrow eyes held nothing but contempt.
"If I'm not interested in your business proposal, how many layers are you willing to take off?"
I swallowed the fury rising in my chest. Not because I felt personally insulted, but because he was sitting up there on his throne, reducing every woman in the room to the same demeaning punchline.
"Mr. Fox." I looked him dead in the eye. "I'm here for the money. Not for you."
And for one other person.
Chapter 2Benedict paused when he heard my pitch, caught off guard for a moment. Then he laughed.
"Interesting."
I pressed the advantage. "Mr. Fox, what you're after is the money. So can we be results-oriented here and let me give it a shot?"
He tilted his head, studying me with a mix of curiosity and appraisal.
A few seconds passed. Then he looked away, cleared his throat.
"Let's discuss the penalty clauses."
"I accept."
I answered before he'd even finished, clean and decisive.
He looked slightly surprised but continued anyway.
"If either party develops feelings, the contract terminates immediately. The penalty for that is also ten million."
I nearly laughed out loud.
Catching feelings? With me, a freshly divorced woman? Mr. Fox was overthinking this.
I agreed without a word and extended my hand.
The wounds from last night were still on it.
He took my hand.
Maybe I imagined it, but his thumb pressed gently against the back of my hand, right where the deepest cut was.
The moment I stepped out of the office, I gripped the contract tight. Ten million dollars. Three months. Worth it.
But for some reason, the spot on my hand where his thumb had pressed still burned.
Contract in hand, I walked out through the front doors of Fox Group with my head held high.
Then I slipped quietly into the parking garage next door, heading for the familiar stairwell.
That dark stairwell was the home I'd found for myself last night.
I carefully pulled the necklace from my pocket and looked at it, my talisman.
I remembered what Cindy had told me. "Keep this. Whenever you're in trouble, you can go to my family for help."
She had been that gentle. That kind.
My phone chimed. I opened the message on reflex.
"You're living like a dog right now. Isn't that exhausting? Come crawling back and beg me, and I'll toss you some scraps."
"I didn't cheat! Stop making things up! The divorce was YOUR fault!"
"The house was just a bad investment! And going to your company wasn't even my idea!"
"You'll never get rid of me! If I go down, you're coming with me!"
My ex-husband.
Since the divorce, he'd been cycling endlessly between insults, threats, and pleas for reconciliation.
I never replied. The most effective way to deal with someone like him was to cut all contact, to give him nothing to work with.
I took a long, deep breath, drank the last of the broth from my cup of instant noodles, and got up to throw out the trash.
I pushed open the heavy fire door, and a tall shadow swallowed me whole.
My heart seized.
I didn't need to see his face. It was my ex-husband. He'd found me.
My body moved before my mind caught up, slamming into him with everything I had, trying to run.
But his hand clamped down on my arm.
His voice came from above my head, laced with amusement. "You really made me work to find you, sweetheart."
Every hair on my body stood on end.
"Come here, come here. Let me hold you. It's been so long."
He wrenched me around and crushed me against his chest.
I went rigid. I didn't dare move.
His voice came again, slow and low. "Hug me back."
It wasn't a request. It was a threat.
I raised my arms slowly, stiff as boards, and placed them against his shirt.
"There's my girl." He rubbed his chin against the top of my head. "Still mad at your husband?"
I said nothing.
He waited a few seconds. I could hear his breathing and my own heart hammering out of my chest.
Then the back of my skull cracked against the fire door.
His hand closed around my throat, and his voice exploded.
"I asked you a question! Are you deaf?!"
The back of my head throbbed, pain splintering out from the point of impact.
His fingers dug into my neck. I couldn't breathe.
My vision started to blur. I bit down hard on my own tongue, forcing myself to stay conscious.
Because this was the opening I'd been waiting for.
I gathered every ounce of strength I had and drove my foot up between his legs.
He doubled over, howling, and I threw myself past him and ran.
Shoes would only slow me down. The second I cleared the door I kicked them off and sprinted barefoot.
My only possession clutched tight in my fist: my phone.
I ran for my life out of that building.
Chapter 3I ran like a cornered mouse spotted by a cat, panicked and blank-minded, stumbling onto the brightly lit main road.
Only then did I realize my hands had been clenched so hard they'd gone numb.
The gleaming "Fox Group" sign loomed ahead. I steeled myself, smoothed the wrinkles on my clothes, and walked barefoot toward the entrance.
People make reckless decisions when they're desperate.
I walked and wrestled with myself at the same time, trying to figure out how to get inside, how to talk my way into staying one night.
The stairwell was out of the question now. Derek had probably torn through everything I owned in a rage.
What was I supposed to do tomorrow?
My head was so full of how to survive the next few hours that I didn't notice the group of people walking toward me.
"Thelma Summers?"
My head snapped up at the sound of my name.
"It really is you?"
Of all people, it had to be Benedict Fox.
I swallowed hard, scrambling for an excuse, but my mind came up empty.
What came out instead was, "Benedict, help me!"
He moved fast, pressing his hand over my mouth and giving a slight shake of his head.
My heart went cold. Right. No one saves you but yourself.
But the next second, I was pulled into his arms.
He was so tall. His long coat wrapped around me from head to toe.
He was so warm. His heat seeped through my thin clothes and settled against my skin, and something in my chest thawed, just a little.
His voice rumbled above my head, low and magnetic.
"It's getting late. Let's wrap up tonight's livestream here. The rest of the evening belongs to me and my new girlfriend."
The crowd around us began to disperse.
Once everyone was gone, Benedict took off his coat and draped it over me. It was so long it covered the tops of my feet.
"Let's go."
I followed him. My bare feet made soft slapping sounds against the floor with every step.
A few paces in, I heard quick footsteps behind us.
His assistant set a beautiful pair of heels on the ground in front of me.
"Mr. Fox asked me to find these the moment he saw you."
"He keeps women's shoes in the car, all different sizes. You're a size seven, right?"
Wait. How did he know my shoe size?
A flash of memory cut through me: my sister's pretty feet. Could he still remember her size?
"Put them on. The floor's cold."
Benedict crouched down, lifted my foot, his movements practiced, like he'd done this a hundred times before.
He slipped my foot into the shoe.
His hands were warm too.
So this was how a man could treat a woman.
But for some reason, that effortless tenderness, so polished it felt rehearsed, sent a faint chill through me that I couldn't quite name.
In the car, a paper bag sat on the passenger seat.
"What's this?"
He didn't answer, but he didn't stop me from looking.
Inside was a to-go cup of warm ginger tea.
"You were running around barefoot for a while out there." He kept his eyes on the road, not on me. "Drink some. Warm up."
I didn't know how to react. This man seemed like an entirely different person from the one I'd met in the CEO's office that morning.
"Thank you."
He gave a quiet hum.
I drank the tea slowly, one small sip at a time.
The warmth of the ginger spread from my stomach into my limbs.
But what struck me more was the temperature of the tea itself. Not too hot, not too cool. Just right.
As if someone had timed it perfectly.
I didn't know how to begin talking without shredding what was left of my dignity.
That afternoon I'd been sitting across from him, bold as anything, pitching him on how I'd boost the commercial value of his "contract girlfriend" arrangement.
And now, just hours later, here I was: disheveled, panicked, a complete wreck outside his building.
What lie could I possibly tell that he'd believe?
"That wasn't the livestream account for the contract couple thing," he said, his tone easy. "If you're chasing clicks, you don't have to go this hard."
I looked at his profile. There was the trace of a smile, but I couldn't tell if it was mocking or teasing.
"I didn't do it on purpose." Honesty was all I had left.
"Ms. Summers," he began, slow and measured, "I've had a few women in difficult circumstances come through this arrangement. You're the only one who dared to pitch me on business value the same day she signed."
Chapter 4I couldn't tell whether Benedict's words were a compliment or a cut.
"But I never expected," he turned his head, his gaze sweeping over me with a trace of scrutiny, "that your image would crumble in a single afternoon."
The words landed like a slap. My face burned.
"So, is this your sob story? I'm in the mood to listen. Go ahead."
I bit down on my lip. How was I supposed to explain?
That my ex-husband was a narcissist, a gold digger who'd leeched off me while pretending otherwise, a serial cheater. That he'd burned through every cent I had, sold my property out from under me, and torpedoed my career.
That I'd come here carrying the keepsake Cindy left me, hoping to ask for his help.
But in the daylight, pride had stopped me.
Was it melodramatic? Absurdly so. Would he believe any of it? Not a chance.
"Can't say it?" He let out a quiet laugh. There was no malice in it, but something else that made me flinch. Pity.
"Then let's try a different question." He pulled out a pack of wet wipes and held them out to me. "Your hands are covered in blood. You didn't even notice?"
I looked down. My palms were a mess. The crescent wounds my nails had dug were already dried over.
I'd been clenching my fists the entire time, hard enough to break skin.
"Clean up first." He pressed the wipes into my hand and started the car. "Here's the real question: where are you going?"
I said nothing.
He glanced at me, searching my eyes as if trying to confirm something, then pulled away from the curb.
"I happen to have a spare house."
Less than fifteen minutes later, Benedict dropped me off in front of a detached villa.
Miles was already waiting at the door. He and Miles went inside for about ten minutes, then came back out, texted me the entry code, said "Make yourself at home," and left.
I stood at the front door in a daze, clothes torn and filthy, feet still in those impossibly elegant heels.
From the terror of facing my ex, the desperate scramble to escape, to crossing paths with Benedict Fox.
My fate, it seemed, was being rewritten.
I slipped off the beautiful shoes, wiped the soles of my feet with a wet wipe, and tiptoed inside to look around.
Benedict had said I could stay here for the duration of the contract.
I was anxious, elated, and conflicted all at once.
Whose house was this? Could I really use it? If I lived here, my ex would never find me, right?
I looked down at myself, grimy and disheveled, standing in the middle of this pristine, immaculate house. I didn't know where to put myself.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Benedict.
"On loan. Return it in the same condition. Consider it an advance on your contract investment."
The moment I read those words, the tension drained out of my body. Tears slipped down my face and hit the phone screen before I could stop them.
A second message popped up almost immediately.
"There's food in the fridge. Don't starve. It'll hurt the project's bottom line."
I blinked, got up, walked to the kitchen, and opened the fridge. It was fully stocked.
He'd guessed I had no money, no time, and probably no energy to go grocery shopping, so he'd sent Miles ahead.
Before long, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door, but no one was there. A paper bag sat on the step.
Inside was a pair of slippers. Cotton, soft-soled, brand new.
No note on the bag. Nothing at all.
I picked up my phone and sent Benedict a message.
"Mr. Fox, slippers received. Thank you."
Three minutes later, a reply: "Mm. Floor's cold."
I stared at those two words, trying to picture his expression as he typed them.
Completely blank? Or the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth?
I realized I couldn't imagine it. But the strange thing was, I wanted to know.
I looked down at my bare feet, then at the soft-soled slippers.
My feet were starting to warm up. And my heart, I think, had gotten a little warmer too.
Cindy's family was just as kind as she had been.
Chapter 5That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
My mind was a tangle of low-grade unease and that sticky note. Nothing else could get in.
I climbed out of bed and padded back to the kitchen just to look at it, to confirm it was still there.
Once I saw it, I stood there confused by my own behavior. What exactly was I trying to confirm?
My phone screen lit up. Another message from Benedict Fox.
"Can't sleep?"
How did he know?
I didn't even think before typing back: "How'd you know?"
The screen glowed again. "Surveillance cameras."
I tensed up and started scanning the room, eyes darting to every corner.
Another message popped in: "Kidding. Just a guess."
I stared at those words, and my heartbeat tripped over itself. This man could joke? And why was he joking with me?
"Mr. Fox, you're up in the middle of the night just to guess whether I'm asleep or not?"
This time, the wait stretched on. Long enough that I was sure he wouldn't reply.
"Mm."
One syllable. But it carried more weight than everything he'd said before, like a small stone dropping into still water somewhere inside my chest.
Twelve years of single-minded work, of taking care of my ex-husband and his family, and I'd forgotten what it felt like to be on someone's mind.
Turns out, that feeling could be captured in a single word.
But why me? Why him? If he knew I was Cindy's friend, would he still treat me this way?
I couldn't figure it out. I buried my face in the pillow and told myself: Thelma, stop overthinking. He's just worried you'll bolt and hurt his bottom line.
But my pulse wouldn't settle.
I got up to turn off the light. Outside the window, a pair of headlights flashed once.
I didn't go look. But I knew that car had been parked there for a long time.
The next day, walking into Benedict's office again, I'd pulled myself together from yesterday's mess and exhaustion.
He glanced up, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe, and said quietly,
"The clothes in the house are yours to wear too. They should all fit."
"Except the gowns." He added that specifically.
Then he shot a look at his assistant, and Miles scrambled out the door.
I walked up to Benedict. "Understood, Mr. Fox. I'll play the part of a beautiful girlfriend."
I pointed at the proposal he'd been reviewing.
"But as your highest-value current girlfriend, I'd suggest you rethink your brand positioning for the fashion label."
Benedict laughed in spite of himself and tossed the folder onto the desk. "And you're back at it."
"Never stopped." I raised an eyebrow, stepped around the desk, and stood right in front of him.
"Whether my suit has wrinkles or a dress doesn't quite hug my figure, I know who I am, and I know what I bring to the table for you."
Benedict leaned forward, barely perceptible. "There's a cocktail reception tonight. Livestreamed, start to finish. Show me what you bring to the table."
He'd invaded my personal space, so I smiled and leaned in to match him, pressing both palms onto the armrests of his chair, letting my lips hover near his right ear. I whispered,
"I don't know if it's what you want. But it's what I want to give. Mr. Fox."
As I slowly pulled back, I saw that his ears had turned the color of ripe cherries.
Made me want to take a bite.
That was when Miles rushed back in carrying two garment bags.
"Mr. F—"
"Since when do you walk in without knocking!" Benedict's voice cracked like a whip.
Miles froze in place, completely lost.
"It's because you didn't hear him earlier." I winked at Miles. "I heard it."
Benedict waved his hand, agitated. "Take her back to get styled. Don't be late tonight."
Miles gestured toward the door with an "after you."
I gave a small bow in Benedict's direction, but before I left his desk, I caught his index finger in a quick squeeze and let go. "See you tonight, Mr. Fox."
Benedict turned his head away and wouldn't look at me.
But his ears were even redder.
Before I could finish admiring the view, a sharp female voice cut in from outside. "Who's going to be late?" The staccato click of high heels followed.
A stunning woman walked straight up to Benedict and me without so much as a greeting.
I looked at Benedict. He clearly had no intention of making introductions. Irritation was written all over his face.
Out of courtesy, I extended my hand to her, ready to introduce myself.
"As if you're worth it," that beautiful face said, dripping venom.
Before I could react, she pulled a stack of photos from her bag and flung them onto Benedict's desk. "Take a look at your new girlfriend's explicit photos." She leaned against the desk, her expression pure mockery. "I have to say, she's quite the performer."
"With this kind of PR liability, I'd say the contract can be terminated right now, don't you think?"
Chapter 6My mind went blank. Explicit photos? Of me?
The previous nine contract girlfriends had all been terminated without warning. The woman standing before me made it obvious why.
Athena Simmons. The sole heiress of the Simmons family. Benedict Fox's childhood sweetheart.
I picked up one of the photos, studied it carefully, then looked up at Benedict's expression.
"Well, isn't this entertaining. That's twice now your image has fallen apart, Thelma." He was mocking me.
Athena stood with her arms crossed, watching me with the satisfied look of someone who'd already won.
"Mr. Fox, there's no rebuilding without something falling apart first."
"I can handle this two ways," I said, unhurried.
"Quick thinker. No wonder you ran a project division." Benedict tapped the desk. "Let's hear it."
"First, confirm whether these have spread online. If they have, we hire a lawyer and pursue legal action. We document the entire process and make it the content of our first livestream: a woman fighting back against defamation."
"You look like that and you still want to go live?"
Athena's voice dripped with disbelief.
"Ms. Simmons, the rougher the seas, the bigger the catch. Surely you understand that?"
"And if you don't, let me spell it out. Thanks to the stir you've created, all eyes are already on me. A doubled livestream impact is guaranteed."
"How do you know my last name?" Athena's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And who created any stir?" Her fair complexion flushed red with irritation.
Of course I knew who she was. In Cindy's case files, Athena's name appeared more times than I could count.
"If there hasn't been any public spread, then we move to the second option."
"Which is this: Ms. Simmons, you gather up these AI-generated photos and walk out of here."
I stepped toward her, looked her straight in the eye, and seized the wrist she'd rested on the edge of the desk. I squeezed. Hard.
"Ow ow ow, that hurts!" She let out an exaggerated shriek. "Ben, do you see what this woman is? Are you really going to sign her?"
"So tell me, which option works better, Athena?" Benedict leaned back in his chair and asked her, his tone perfectly flat.
I didn't let go. I stared Athena down. I hadn't even begun to settle accounts for what happened to Cindy, and here she was, delivering herself right to my doorstep.
Athena wrenched her hand free and rubbed her wrist, humiliation curdling into fury.
"You dare claim you don't have a single skeleton in your closet?"
Derek's shadow flickered through my mind. But no. There was no way.
"Feel free to dig, Ms. Simmons. After all, you do have a talent for fabricating things out of thin air."
"You—!" Athena choked on her own words. Then she pivoted, her whole demeanor softening as she turned to Benedict. "Ben, she's violent! Look what she did to me!"
"Thelma. Apologize to her." Anger flashed across Benedict's face, edged with impatience.
"Then she owes me an apology for slander," I fired back.
"Athena isn't like that. Someone under her probably dug these up, and she rushed over to tell me." Benedict was making excuses for her.
"Then she should apologize for throwing unverified photos in your face," I pressed, refusing to yield.
"If you still want this contract, apologize." Benedict's voice hardened into a command.
I looked at Athena standing there, triumphant. Then at Benedict, her willing accomplice. Then I remembered why I'd come here in the first place.
A smile slid onto my face in an instant. I'd perfected that skill during years of corporate servitude.
I took Athena's wrist, the same one she claimed I'd bruised, and said gently, "Athena, my temper got the better of me. I'm sorry." Then I turned to Benedict with a warm smile.
"And Mr. Fox, please don't be upset. Athena is just so trusting, she's bound to make mistakes sometimes. I'll help you keep an eye on her from now on."
Athena opened her mouth to find fault but couldn't land a single blow. She stood off to the side, fuming in silence.
"Head back. I'll see you at the gala tonight." Benedict's voice turned gentle again.
I walked out of the office. Miles fell into step beside me, his voice low. "Ms. Summers, Mr. Fox treats you differently than the others."
"Differently?"
"The previous nine. He never let any of them stay in that house. And he never personally delivered shoes to anyone."
I paused mid-step. "That house. Whose is it?"
Miles hesitated, then swallowed whatever he'd been about to say. "Just be careful tonight at the gala. Ms. Simmons will be there too."
Of course she would. Some people you just can't shake.
Chapter 7"Athena's just being childish. Don't take it to heart."
I'd barely walked back through the door when Benedict's message came through. Whether he was making excuses for Athena or trying to comfort me, I couldn't tell.
I didn't reply. No point picking a fight I couldn't win yet. Athena and I had a running tab, and I intended to collect every last cent.
The stylist unzipped the garment bag the assistant had delivered. Inside was a black evening gown.
"Ms. Summers, let's get you into this first."
I changed into the gown and stood before the mirror.
Elegant. Polished. Every curve in exactly the right place.
The stylist pushed her glasses up her nose. "Ms. Summers, you look stunning."
I smiled, but before I could say a word—
"Oh no!" She pointed, voice rising. "There's a snag in the fishtail!"
I twisted to look. A long, ugly pull ran through the fabric like a scar across a beautiful face.
The stylist grabbed her phone. On the other end, the assistant's voice was tight with frustration. "How is that possible? How does someone make that kind of amateur mistake?"
"I know what happened..." The assistant trailed off, clearly afraid to finish.
"Spit it out." I could hear the hesitation in his voice plain as day.
"The gown... Ms. Simmons asked to see it earlier..."
That said it all. This kind of petty sabotage, and she really thought it would rattle me?
"I'll find something similar in the closet here."
"But Ms. Summers, Mr. Fox said the gowns were off-limits."
"It's fine. I'll explain it to him myself."
I hung up and walked toward the closet.
I pulled open the wardrobe doors. Women's clothes filled every rack, all styles, all sizes, price tags still dangling.
As if someone had bought them in bulk, waiting for the right person to come see them.
My gaze drifted to a jewelry drawer tucked in the corner. I pulled it open gently. In the most prominent spot, a butterfly necklace lay waiting.
I knew this design better than anyone. It was identical to the one I kept pressed against my chest every single day.
Beside it sat a yellowed slip of paper. I recognized the handwriting.
To the best big sister in the world, Cindy. Love, Ben.
Ben. Benedict Fox. Cindy. Cindy Pruitt.
This had been her house. Her beautiful house. And Benedict had let other women live here?
He truly didn't care about her at all. No wonder he'd never said a single word after she died.
"Pruitt family heiress and her con-artist husband defraud investors, destroying multiple families."
"Pruitt heiress caught on camera assaulting impoverished college student."
The comment sections back then had been vile beyond description. Three days after those headlines broke, I saw the news of Cindy's death.
All she left me was this one necklace.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
The black dress. It looked so much like the one Cindy had worn in those news clips.
I picked up the butterfly necklace and fastened it around my neck.
The stylist froze. "Ms. Summers, that's..."
"I know exactly what it is." I met my own eyes in the mirror. "I'm wearing this one."
The stylist opened her mouth, then closed it.
I gave her a small smile. "Relax. I know what I'm doing."
Tonight, plenty of people would see it.
Including Benedict.
Including Athena.
Athena, you gave me a ruined dress. I'll give you this necklace.