The annual gala was held in a hotel ballroom. The room glittered with crystal and soft light. Everyone from the firm was there, along with important clients. The air hummed with conversation and the clink of glasses.
Lucien had chosen Ziva’s dress. It was silver. A pale, shimmering fabric that fell straight to the floor.
“To match your new bracelet,” he said, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. He seemed pleased.
The silver of the dress and the band on her wrist were the same shade. She looked coordinated. She looked like part of his outfit.
She stood beside him as people arrived. She smiled when introduced. She nodded at jokes she did not hear. The bracelet felt heavy. The dress felt like a costume.
Then Sasha arrived.
She came through the ballroom doors in a wave of perfume and no
