Chapter 1

Nadia’s POV:

Today was my husband, Dorian's twenty-third birthday.

It should have been a happy day. But it wasn't. Happy days didn't really exist inside the Hargrove mansion… at least not for me, anyway.

I woke up early. The morning sun came through the curtains and landed on my face, and for one single second, before I was fully awake, I thought: today might be different. Then I heard the voices outside my bedroom door and I remembered where I was and who I was married to and nothing was different at all.

It was barely past seven when the stylists arrived.

Vivienne had sent them. She always sent them before any Hargrove event, because she didn't trust me to dress myself. I'm not sure she trusted me to do anything, if I'm honest. Except breathe, maybe. And even then she was probably watching to make sure I did it correctly.

I was sitting at my vanity in my robe when the bedroom door opened without a knock. Three women walked in, carrying bags and cases. Vivienne walked in behind them. She was already dressed. She stopped in the center of the room and looked at me. She didn't say good morning.

She just looked at my hair.

“Careful with her hair,” she said, to the stylist. “It's a bit thin, isn't it?” She tilted her head slightly, as if she were studying a problem that needed solving. “Add extensions. Lots of them. I won't have her walking around today looking like a peasant. My son is turning twenty-three. This party matters. I won't have guests thinking I let him marry a woman who can't even grow a decent head of hair.”

The stylist nodded. She didn't argue. She just agreed, which was what everyone did around Vivienne.

“Yes, Mrs. Hargrove. I see exactly what you mean. We'll fix it.”

I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and said nothing.

What was there to say? I had learned, a long time ago, that saying anything only made it worse. Silence was my armor.

I sat in that chair for four hours.

My neck ached from holding still. My head felt heavy from all the pins and clips they were pressing into my scalp. Every time I opened my mouth to say anything… even something harmless, like asking for a glass of water… Vivienne found a way to cut me off.

“Don't move your mouth, Nadia,” she said at one point. “The lipstick needs to be set perfectly. If you keep moving, we'll have to start over. And we don't have time to start over.”

Then she looked at my waist in the mirror. She pressed her lips together.

“That dress,” she said. “Well. It's the best we could do, given your figure. It's a shame you haven't managed to lose that extra weight I mentioned to you in August. The silk is pulling at the waist. It makes you look…” She paused, as if searching for a word that was just polite enough to say out loud. “...fat and desperate. But then, I suppose that's always been your problem. You've always tried a little too hard to belong in spaces that weren't built for you.”

I stared at my reflection. There was absolutely nothing wrong with my figure.

The woman looking back at me looked expensive. Her hair was thick and glossy, her makeup was flawless, her dress was simple but elegant. She looked like she belonged at an event like this.

But her eyes were empty. She looked like a doll that had been dressed by someone else.

I didn't recognize her at all. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

~~~

The party began at noon.

The Hargrove garden had been decorated beautifully. The tables were covered in white linen and flowers that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Servers in white jackets moved between the guests, offering champagne and tiny food arranged on silver trays.

It was beautiful. Everything about the Hargrove world was beautiful. That was the worst part of it.

I moved through the crowd slowly, holding a small box wrapped in gold paper. Inside was a watch, a vintage one I had spent three weeks searching for. I heard Dorian mentioning it once, almost a year ago. I remembered because I always paid attention to him more than he ever paid attention to me. I had thought it would mean something to him. I had thought that maybe, on his birthday, he might actually pay attention to me a little bit.

I found him near the fountain.

He looked good. He always looked good. His tuxedo was perfectly fitted. I walked up to him and touched his arm.

“Dorian,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended. “Happy birthday, honey. I got you something. I spent a long time finding it. I thought maybe we could find a quiet corner for a minute so you could open it?”

He didn't look at the box. He didn't look at me. His eyes were scanning the crowd over my shoulder, searching for someone or something more important.

“Not now, Nadia.” He said. “Don’t try making today all about you please.”

“But it's your birthday. I just…”

“I said not now.” His voice was firm. “My mother is standing in the sun. She might get a headache. I need to bring her a drink before she asks me twice. Just put the gift on the table with the other ones.”

I looked at him, and tried to keep my voice even.

“Dorian, there are over fifteen people here in white jackets whose entire job tonight is to carry drinks. Can't you stay here for one minute? It's your birthday. I just want to give you your gift.”

His face tightened.

“Don't be selfish,” he said. He lowered his voice, not because he was worried about hurting my feelings, but because he didn't want to create a scene. “She's my mother, Nadia. Now stop making this about yourself and move out of the way. You're blocking the path.”

He walked right past me.

He didn't even brush my shoulder. He just stepped around me like I was a potted plant.

I stood there with the gold box in my hands, and I breathed. In, out. In, out. I had gotten very good at breathing through moments like this. It was either that or cry, and I refused to give this garden the satisfaction of seeing my tears.

I turned around to go find somewhere to sit, and that’s when I saw her.

Lena was standing about ten feet away, right where Dorian was heading. She was tall, with cheekbones. She had been introduced to Dorian by Vivienne a few months ago… a model from a good family, Vivienne had said, as if she were presenting a business proposal. I smiled at that introduction. Because I knew exactly what she was trying to do.

Lena was laughing at something now, her head thrown back, her hand reaching out to touch Dorian's arm. He was laughing back. He looked alive in a way I hadn't seen in three years of being married to him.

Something moved through my chest. And I walked over to them.

I wasn't going to stand in the shadows and watch my husband laugh with another woman at his birthday party. I wrapped my arm through Dorian's and stepped in close. I made sure my wedding ring was visible.

“There you are, honey,” I said. My voice was softer than I expected. “I was starting to wonder where you disappeared to.” I turned to look at Lena, still smiling. “Oh, hello, Lena right? I didn't see you standing there. You look very... shiny today.”

Lena looked at me like I was a bug on her shoe. Then she smiled and tilted her head.

“Nadia. How sweet. I was just telling Dorian how great he looks.” She glanced at me from head to toe. “Some people just keep improving, don't they? And others just... stay the same.”

Before I could respond, a woman I didn't know appeared at my elbow. She was older, elegantly dressed, and she was looking at my dress with a genuine smile.

“Oh, my dear,” she said to me. “What a stunning color. That shade of blue is absolutely beautiful on you. Is it a designer piece?”

I opened my mouth. But suddenly, Vivienne materialized from the left.

I didn't see her coming. She looked at my dress and then looked at the guest with a fake smile.

“This old thing?” Vivienne said, touching the fabric of my sleeve with one finger, as though checking it for stains. “It's a sweet little dress, isn't it? We had it pulled together quickly. Nadia doesn't really have a strong eye for fashion. She tends to gravitate toward things that look expensive but aren't, if you know what I mean.” She laughed softly. “It's difficult to teach taste to someone who didn't grow up surrounded by it. Some women are just born with the instinct, and others have to try much harder and still don't quite get there. Don't you think, Lena?”

Lena covered her mouth with her manicured hand. She made a sound that was supposed to be a polite laugh.

“Absolutely," Lena said. “Fashion is practically a language. You're either fluent or you're not.”

The woman who had complimented me looked slightly uncomfortable. She glanced between me and Vivienne and said nothing else.

I felt heat rise in my face, then I looked at Dorian.

I waited for him to say something. To tell his mother to stop. To defend me, even once. To say: that's my wife you're talking about.

Instead , he looked at the ground. Like he had nothing to say.

I took a sip of my wine. “Actually, Vivienne,” I said. My voice was calm. I kept my smile exactly where it was. “Dorian chose this dress for me. He picked it himself. He told me it was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in years.” I looked at her steadily. “So if you think the dress has no taste, perhaps the conversation you need to have is with your son. He might be the one with the fashion problem.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

The guest looked down at her champagne. Lena's mouth fell open. Vivienne's expression didn't change exactly, but something in her eyes shifted. She went very still.

Then I felt a hand on my arm.

Dorian.

He grabbed me just above the elbow, his fingers pressing hard into my arm. He didn't pull me away properly because that would have been too visible. He just gripped me and leaned in, his face still arranged into a pleasant expression for anyone watching from a distance.

“What is wrong with you?” he said against my ear. His voice was low and firm. “Do not talk to my mother like that. Do you understand me? This is her event. These are her guests. You do not embarrass her in front of them. Not tonight. Not ever.”

I kept my eyes forward. I kept my smile in place.

“She basically called me a peasant this morning, Dorian,” I said, very quietly. “In front of the stylists. She said the dress makes me look fat and desperate. I have been sitting and smiling through this all day.”

“She's trying to help you.”

“That's not helping.” My voice was still quiet but my jaw was tight. “She is cruel. And you stand next to her every time and say nothing. You have never once…”

“Because she's right!” he snapped. The words were out before he could take them back. He pressed his lips together. “She knows how this world works. You don't. And instead of being grateful that she tries to show you, you stand here and make scenes and make me look like I can't control my own household. Now you will smile, you will say nothing else, and at the end of the night you will apologize to her. Are we clear?”

He let go of my arm.

I looked down. There were red marks where his fingers had been.

I didn't say anything because I didn't trust my voice.

From across the garden, I heard my father in law, Richard's voice cut through the music and the crowd noise.

He was standing near the oak trees, at the head of a large table surrounded by men in dark suits. Richard himself was tall and broad, he was the kind of man who had never once in his life needed to raise his voice to be heard.

He raised his glass.

“A toast,” he said. “To my son, Dorian. Twenty-three years ago he arrived in this world, and I'm pleased to know that he’s become such a fine young man.” He smiled. “He has a great deal still to learn, about business and about life. But he is a Hargrove. And that means he will always have the best of everything.”

The garden erupted.

“To Dorian!”

Everyone cheered. Everyone raised their glasses. I raised mine too, because I was very good at doing what was expected of me.

Richard didn't join the cheering, he didn’t immediately sit back down also. He stood for a moment, the glass still in his hand, and his eyes moved across the garden like he was searching for something.

They moved past Past the fountain and the people who had come to celebrate his son.

They landed on me.

It lasted less than two seconds. He didn't look at me with hate, or with contempt like the others did. His eyes were warm. It was the only warmth I had felt all day. Then, just as quickly as it happened, he moved his gaze away and went back to his business partners, raising his glass again to the men at his table.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

~~~

I walked to the gift table.

I set the gold box down at the end of the row. It landed among the huge, perfectly wrapped gifts from jewelers and designers and the kinds of people who bought presents as statements. My box looked small and lonely. Just like me.

Nobody would know that it was from me. Nobody would care.

“I'm sick of this,” I said quietly, to nobody. My voice was barely a whisper. “I am so sick of all of you.”

I turned around and looked at the party. I looked at Vivienne, who was standing with Lena's mother now, deep in a conversation, probably planning a wedding that didn't include me. I looked at Lena, who was at Dorian's side again, her hand on his arm, her laugh rising above the music.

Then I looked at Dorian.

He was laughing. He was having, by all appearances, a wonderful birthday.

I had given him three years. Three years of my life. I had given up the one thing I loved doing because his mother said it was beneath the family name. I had given up the friends who made me feel like myself because they didn't fit the Hargrove social calendar. I had given up the person I was before I walked into this garden for the first time, on Dorian's arm, believing that love was enough to make a life.

It wasn't enough. It had never been enough. It wasn't even love anymore, if I was honest. I had no idea what we were doing anymore.

I took a fresh glass of wine from a passing server.

I didn't care if Vivienne saw me drinking. I didn't care if Dorian decided to grip my arm again. I stood in the middle of the beautiful, glittering Hargrove garden and I drank my wine and I watched the trees.

They were beautiful. Everything here was beautiful. But it was so easy to mistake beautiful for good. It was so easy to look at marble and crystal and think: this must be a place where people are happy.

I looked at Richard one more time. He was deep in conversation with one of his business partners, gesturing with his champagne glass. He didn't look my way again.

But he was the only one who had looked at me like I was a person.

“Happy birthday, Dorian,” I said, under my breath.

The party was supposed to run until 4pm. It was barely three o'clock.

I had one more hour of standing up straight and holding my glass correctly and laughing at the right moments.

I could do it for one hour.

I had done it for three years. What’s one hour compared to that?