Chapter 4

A week later, I attended the Hall Hotels charity gala one last time, as a hired restoration consultant.

The gala was held every year in memory of Alexander's mother. For five years, I had checked the clasps on the auction jewelry, updated dozens of guest lists, and memorized the dietary restrictions of the older donors. Last year, one elderly woman had a severe pollen allergy, and I was the one who swapped out the lilies on the head table at the last minute. Afterward, Alexander joked that the hotel probably couldn't run without me.

"Hardly," I'd told him. "There just wouldn't be anyone handing out tissues when the guests started sneezing."

He'd wrapped an arm around me, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. And I'd been foolish enough to believe those little everyday moments belonged only to the two of us.

But tonight, the moment I walked into the hall, I found my VIP pass had been swapped for an ordinary staff badge.

Lydia stood in front of the donor wall wearing an organizer's badge, and she mispronounced two elderly donors' last names in a row. When I handed in the final handover checklist, as my contract required, she immediately looped her arm through mine as if we were close.

"Irene knows this event inside out," she told the guests gathered around us. "It's my first time running things, and I'm still finding my feet. You wouldn't mind helping me a little more, would you?"

The guests laughed and agreed. Everyone said that with me showing her the ropes, Alexander wouldn't need to worry.

"She has her own job to do today." Alexander came over and caught a folder that was about to slip. "Don't keep bothering her."

I looked up at him, and a little warmth rose in me before I could stop it. That tone was so familiar. Whenever anyone at a cocktail party was rude to me, he would quietly put himself in front of me, just like that.

But a moment later, as the banquet manager confirmed the VIP seating, Alexander pulled out the chair that used to be mine and seated Lydia in it. The manager turned and gestured for me to use the staff corridor. A temporary workstation had been set up for me backstage.

I tightened my grip on the folder. The edge of my staff badge rubbed against my skin, making it itch.

During the first half of the evening, an elderly donor noticed one of Alexander's mother's memorial pieces was missing from the display case and asked where the antique brooch was. Lydia smiled sweetly. "Alexander has entrusted it to me. When the right occasion comes along, I'll wear it for everyone to see."

The guests praised her for being so thoughtful. Alexander heard every word and simply reached over to smooth her skirt, without correcting a thing.

I bent to check the lock on the display case, and I found myself remembering the day his mother died. He had sat in his study clutching that brooch, his face twisted with grief. He didn't want anyone else to see him like that. I was the only one who stayed with him, watching the tea in his cup slowly go cold.

Whatever was true and whatever was a lie no longer concerned me. But I couldn't forget the missing solder mark on the back of that brooch. Something about it still bothered me.

Toward the end of the night, the staff backstage were busy bringing fresh hot tea for the older guests. My job was to sign off on the display pieces once they were sealed and packed. I was about to pick up the receipt forms from the service desk when Lydia stepped out and blocked my way at a bend in the hallway.

"I'm still missing contact info for two donors," she said under her breath. "You have their numbers. Why won't you call them for me?"

"I already handed every contact over to the manager. It's all clearly laid out in my contract."

"Oh, don't act like none of this concerns you." Her eyes flicked to my staff badge. "You used to involve yourself in every little thing around here. Now suddenly you're all professional? Who are you trying to impress?"

"The people paying me." I closed the form. "If you need more help, talk to HR. Not me."

The sweetness vanished from her face. I turned to step around her, but she seized my wrist, digging her fingers straight into a scabbed cut I'd gotten while working with my tools.

"You're not going anywhere. I'm not done talking."

I jerked away on instinct, and my arm bumped her. The tea tray beside us tipped. Scalding water poured down my sleeve and straight onto my skin.

Pain shot through my arm, and I sucked in a sharp breath. She dropped back onto the floor as if on cue, clutching the back of her hand and crying out, "It burns!"

Broken teacups littered the floor. Two staff members came running. I pulled my soaked sleeve away from my arm. A wide patch of skin was already turning red and blistering.

Alexander was the first one through the crowd. When he saw Lydia on the floor, he didn't hesitate for a second. He crouched down and pulled her into his arms.

"Get a doctor. Check her hand," he ordered.

I stood there, my burned fingers trembling uncontrollably. Lydia had only gotten a few drops of hot water on the back of her hand, yet Alexander was already carefully dabbing at it with his handkerchief.

"Alexander," I called. "Could you look at me first?"

He turned his head. His eyes landed on my soaked sleeve, and his expression faltered.

Some foolish part of me still hoped he'd ask what had happened.

"Tonight is my mother's memorial gala," he said. "Irene, please don't make a scene."

His words left me speechless. Lydia hadn't even started crying or accusing me yet, and he had already decided it was my fault.

"The water spilled all over my arm." I pulled back my sleeve, exposing the red, swollen skin. "Can't you see what happened to me?"

His frown deepened. "I'm taking Lydia to the lounge. We'll talk about the rest later."

Lydia nestled against him and buried her face in his shoulder. He hurried away, and he never once looked back at me.

For several seconds, I couldn't move. Then I heard a staff member asking if I needed help. I didn't blame them. They knew nothing about my history with Alexander. All they could see was a woman with a badly burned arm.

"Cold water," I managed. "Please take me to a sink."

I held my arm under cold running water, but the burning wouldn't let up. Claire finished her shoot and came looking for me, camera still in hand. When she saw the burn, her expression darkened.

"Hospital. Now." She took off her coat and draped it over my shoulders. "And don't you dare tell me it can wait until tomorrow."

"I just need to give the manager my final checklist."

"You're hurt this badly and you're still worried about paperwork?"

"This is the last one." I gripped the pen and signed my name through the pain. "Once it's done, no one can ever use this job to summon me back here again."

Claire fetched a first-aid kit, then pointed out the security cameras mounted high along the hallway.

"The footage could be overwritten. Have your lawyer send a preservation notice immediately."

I nodded, took photos of the burn, and wrote down the names of the staff on shift and the time it happened. At the hospital, the doctor dressed the wound and scheduled a follow-up. The burning pain kept me up all night. Then Alexander texted, "Lydia's still young. Don't hold it against her." A money transfer came right after.

I stared at the screen for a long time, then forwarded the text to my lawyer and added, "Please inform Mr. Hall that all contract handover work is officially complete. Starting tomorrow, I will not take part in any of his personal or charity events."

I didn't send a single word back to Alexander.

Two days later, I carried the last box of my personal things out of the Manhattan apartment.

My new place was in Brooklyn. It had only one bedroom, but the south-facing window let in plenty of light. The landlord handed me an ordinary metal key. I tried it in the lock twice before it sank in that this door was mine and mine alone.

While I was moving, Claire looked at the two big boxes of jewelry and asked whether I was going to give it all back to Alexander.

"Why would I?" I opened one box and picked out a few pieces to sell. "When he gave them to me, he knew perfectly well I would keep them. We've broken up. I don't need to make myself poor again just to prove anything to anyone."

The second box held the things I'd chosen to keep. Some were valuable. Others were worn around the edges, worth far more to me for the memories they carried than for what anyone would pay.

The old prescription was still tucked beneath my restoration sketches.

I didn't unfold it again.

My lawyer was handling the apartment sale, though nothing had been finalized yet.

That afternoon, I went back to collect the last of my restoration tools and paperwork. I'd barely stepped outside with the box when a familiar stench hit me. Cheap liquor.

A man was leaning against the wall, the cuffs of his worn jacket frayed and faded, his eyes swollen and puffy.

The moment he looked up, every muscle in my back went rigid.

It was Victor.

Ten years had passed. He was thinner now, but he still looked me over like he was sizing up merchandise. When I was younger, whenever he lost money gambling, he would dig through my drawers for loose change. Later, when his gambling debts piled up, he even tried to hand me over to his creditors as payment. That was the night I ran away.

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to acknowledge me." Victor sneered. "Living it up in a fancy apartment, and you can't even spare your old man a hello?"