Tracy stared at her reflection in the mirror the following evening, applying her makeup with a steadiness she didn’t feel. Every brushstroke, every touch of gloss was practiced, automatic. She could hear Alex in the living room, talking on the phone in his measured, commanding tone—probably confirming details for the investor dinner.
Her stomach twisted. Tonight was supposed to be about investors, about appearances. But for her, tonight was about something else entirely.
The message from Sophie still glowed in her mind: I’ll be there. 8 PM. Don’t be late.
Tracy adjusted her dress, sleek and simple, nothing extravagant that would draw unnecessary eyes if she slipped out. She had mapped the timing carefully: the dinner didn’t officially start until later in the evening, and if she left ju
