The flashbulbs were blinding. They popped in rapid succession, a strobe light effect that turned the red carpet into a disorienting tunnel of white noise.
Casper Stuart looked at home in the chaos. He wore a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, the black fabric absorbing the light. On his arm, Sienna was a vision in sheer lace and crystals. She leaned into him, her body angled to maximize the exposure of her thigh through the slit in her dress.
"Mr. Stuart! Over here! Mr. Stuart!"
Dosha stood in the shadows of the ballroom, near the service entrance. She was wearing a black dress from three seasons ago, the neckline high, her face partially obscured by a decorative Venetian mask that allowed her to blend in with the catering staff and the event coordinators.
She was on the guest list, of course. Her attendance was mandatory. But Casper's instructions had been clear: 'Be seen, but not heard. Stay on the perimeter.' It was a new form of humiliation, forcing her to witness his infidelity while being a ghost at the feast.
But Zachary, the indie film producer, was here. And Zachary had a script.
She clutched her clutch bag tightly. Inside, folded into a small square, was her acting resume. It was a desperate move. A humiliating move. But the voiceover work wouldn't cover the interest on her mother's medical debts.
"Look at him," a voice drawled nearby.
Dosha stiffened. It was Charlie, one of Casper's investment banker friends. He was holding a flute of champagne, swaying slightly. He was talking to a group of men in expensive suits.
"Casper's got the model on the carpet and the invisible wife at home," Charlie laughed. "I bet the little actress is sitting in that penthouse right now, crying into her pillow."
"I heard she's a method actor," another man sneered. "Maybe she's method acting a doormat."
The group erupted in laughter.
Dosha felt the heat rise up her neck. She kept her eyes forward, willing herself to be invisible.
Sienna breezed past the group, having momentarily detached herself from Casper to preen for a photographer. She heard the comment. She stopped and giggled.
"Oh, don't be mean," Sienna said, her voice carrying. "She is technically my senior. In age, anyway."
Casper had been speaking to a senator a few feet away. He turned.
The movement was sharp. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. He walked over to the group, his strides long and purposeful. Sienna brightened, turning to loop her arm through his, expecting him to join the joke.
For a fraction of a second, his eyes flickered toward the shadows where Dosha stood, a flicker of recognition so brief it was almost imaginary. He didn't break stride, but a muscle in his jaw tightened.
Casper walked right past her.
He stopped in front of Charlie. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.
"Watch your mouth," Casper said.
Charlie's smile faltered. "Casper, come on, we were just-"
"She is a signatory on the Stuart family trust," Casper cut him off. His eyes were cold, devoid of any human warmth. "She is a legal entity within my portfolio. When you insult her, you question my judgment. You question my asset management."
The circle of men went silent.
Dosha, hidden in the alcove, felt a strange, twisted sensation in her stomach. He wasn't defending her honor. He was defending his brand. He was protecting the stock price.
"Apologize," Casper commanded.
"I... I apologize," Charlie stammered.
"To the air," Casper said dismissively. "Since she isn't here to hear it."
He turned on his heel. He looked agitated. He tugged at his bowtie, a rare sign of discomfort, and signaled to his security detail. He was leaving. He was leaving Sienna on the carpet.
Dosha saw her window closing. If he went home now, he would beat her there.
She turned and slipped out the side exit, abandoning the resume, abandoning Zachary. She ran down the service corridor, her heels clicking on the concrete.
She made it back to the penthouse with four minutes to spare. She had just scrubbed the makeup off her face when the front door slammed open.
Casper stormed in. He brought the smell of the city and stale champagne with him.
Dosha was standing in the hallway. She hadn't had time to change out of the black dress.
Casper stopped. His eyes swept over her, taking in the formal wear. His brow furrowed.
"You went out?"
Dosha's heart hammered against her ribs. "I took the dog out."
Casper let out a short, sharp laugh. He took a step toward her. "You walked the dog in a floor-length gown? Since when does the Asset require formal wear to relieve itself?"
Dosha took a step back. Her shoulder blades hit the cool marble of the wall.
Casper didn't stop until he was looming over her. He placed a hand on the wall beside her head, boxing her in.
"Or were you there?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Were you spying on me, Dosha? Checking up on your investment?"
Dosha could smell it now. Beneath the alcohol and the cold air, there was the cloying, sweet scent of Dior poison. Sienna's perfume. It clung to his lapel.
Nausea rolled in her gut.
She tilted her chin up. She forced her eyes to meet his.
"I have no interest in your private life, Casper. I only have an interest in my check clearing."
Casper's eyes narrowed. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. His skin was rough.
"Is that so?" he whispered. "Best keep it that way."
