The days after Evan’s call were a study in tense anticipation. It was the quiet of a drawn bowstring, the air before a lightning strike. We didn’t speak of it, but the ghost of his voice—“I’m not giving up on us”—haunted the corners of our hard-won peace.
The invitation to the Cross Hotels Annual Children’s Charity Gala arrived on heavy, cream cardstock, embossed with a holly-leaf border. It was addressed to Ms. Maya Chen and Guest. It wasn’t an invitation; it was a summons, a gauntlet thrown directly onto my polished entryway table. As a rising star in the luxury events sphere, not attending would be a professional snub. Attending alone would be a vulnerability. Attending with Derek would be a declaration of war on Evan’s home turf.
Derek picked up the card, his expression unreadable. “
