POV: Sandra
I'm halfway through a story about the charity gala's flower budget when the room goes quiet behind me, and I know before I even turn around that the silence means Vivian.
The private dining room is all soft linen and low chandelier light, the kind of room built to make women feel comfortable enough to gossip freely, and I've spent the last hour holding my spine straight and my smile easy, playing the part everyone here expects from Mrs. Ashford. My water glass sweats a ring onto the tablecloth in front of me. I set my fork down slowly, already bracing before I turn.
She's standing in the doorway of the private dining room in a dress that costs more than she claims to have left, chin lifted like she owns the building. Her hair is loose, styled with the kind of care that sugge
