Chloe’s POV
Hilda, in her protective zeal, had found the perfect venue for my supposed rehabilitation: the annual summer collection launch at the Renwick Gallery. It was a well-known stop on the city’s high-society circuit, predictably attended by anyone with a trust fund and a corporate title. In short, it was exactly the kind of place where Drake Humphrey and his wife, Margaret, would be standing like two perfectly preserved marble statues.
It was a risk, a calculated infiltration of his territory, and that was precisely why I agreed.
I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, feeling the material of the dress slide over my curves. It wasn't the simple black sheath of our first rendezvous. This was war paint. It was a slip dress made of deep emerald silk, cut on the bias, clinging unforgi
