The interior of the Maybach was a sanctuary of soundproofed silence, smelling of rich leather and the faint, intoxicating scent of Victor Sterling’s cedarwood cologne.

Clara sat in the passenger seat, staring out the tinted windows as the chaotic, gray streets of Manhattan blurred past. It had bee

The Pierre Hotel ballroom was a monument to excess, dripping in crystal chandeliers and overflowing with imported white orchids. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner, their notes floating over the low, melodic hum of clinking champagne flutes and the sycophantic laughter of New York’s elite.

Clara looked down at Julian’s hand resting on her stained lapel.

For five years, she had allowed this man’s words to dictate her worth. She had believed him when he told her she was too rough around the edges, too scarred by her past, too invisible to ever stand in the spotlight. She had let him c