The oversized T-shirt smelled of lavender detergent and Chloe. It hung loosely on Lily's frame as she sat at the kitchen island, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea. Her hair was still damp, drying in unruly waves that she hadn't seen in years-Ethan preferred it blown out straight.
Chloe paced the small kitchen, her heels clicking on the hardwood. "We should call Page Six. Seriously, Lily. 'Billionaire leaves wife destitute in rain.' They'd eat it up. We could ruin his reputation by breakfast."
Lily shook her head slowly. "No. If I go to the press, his legal team will bury me. He'll cut off the funding for my parents immediately. And... I don't want to be the 'scorned ex-wife.' I just want to be Lily Miller again."
"Lily Miller needs to eat," Chloe said, leaning against the counter. "You have, what, three hundred bucks?"
"Two hundred and forty."
Chloe grimaced. She pulled her laptop toward Lily. "Okay. Survival mode. Let's find you a job."
Lily opened the browser. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She typed "Interior Designer jobs NYC."
The results flooded in. She clicked on the first application. Upload Resume.
She opened her old file. Education: RISD, BFA Candidate (Incomplete). Awards: Pritzker Youth Nominee.
Experience:
2020-2023: Sterling Estate Management (Unpaid).
She stared at the gap. Three years. In the design world, three years was a lifetime. And the word "Incomplete" next to her education burned like a brand. She deleted the Sterling entry. It looked better to have a gap than to admit she had been a glorified housekeeper.
She sent out ten applications. Then twenty.
An hour later, her inbox pinged. An auto-rejection. Then another.
Dear Applicant, while your portfolio shows promise, we require a completed degree for this associate position...
Lily closed the laptop. She rubbed her temples. "I'm radioactive," she whispered. "I'm an unfinished project in a city that demands perfection."
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Mom.
Lily stared at the screen. The guilt was a physical weight in her stomach. She picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Lily!" Her mother's voice was shrill. "Your father just tried to pay the vendor for the warehouse and the check bounced. What is going on with the foundation transfer? Did you forget to remind Ethan?"
Lily closed her eyes. "I didn't forget, Mom. Things are... complicated right now."
"Complicated? What is complicated about a wire transfer? Fix it, Lily. You know Ethan's lawyers are the only reason your father isn't facing an audit right now. If Ethan pulls his legal team, the wolves will come."
"I know," Lily said, her voice tight. "I'm busy. I have to go."
She hung up before her mother could scream again. She put her head in her hands.
"Hey," Chloe said softly. She placed a hand on Lily's shoulder. "I have an idea. It's not design. But it pays."
Lily looked up. "I'll scrub toilets, Chloe. I don't care."
"You play piano. Like, concert level." Chloe pointed to herself. "I own a French restaurant, remember? Lumière. My pianist just quit to join a jazz band in New Orleans. It's mostly background music, Chopin, Debussy. Fifty bucks an hour plus tips."
Lily hesitated. Lumière. It was trendy, high-end. "What if I see someone I know?"
"You wear a mask," Chloe said, pulling a black silk face covering from her purse. "And glasses. I have a pair of non-prescription chunky frames. People see the uniform, not the person. To them, the help is invisible."
Part of the furniture. The phrase stung, but it was familiar.
"Okay," Lily said. "When do I start?"
"Tonight."
Six hours later, Lily sat at the glossy black Yamaha grand piano in the corner of Lumière. She wore a simple black dress Chloe had lent her, her hair in a tight knot. The black mask covered half her face, and the thick-rimmed glasses distorted her features enough to make her feel like a stranger to herself.
She placed her fingers on the keys. The ivory felt cool, welcoming. She took a deep breath and began to play a Nocturne.
The music flowed out of her, pouring into the dimly lit dining room. It was the first time in years she had expressed an emotion that wasn't filtered through Ethan's approval. The tension in her shoulders began to melt. She got lost in the melody, the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation fading into white noise.
She played for two hours. Her tips jar had forty dollars in it. It wasn't a million, but it was hers.
At 8:00 PM, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant swung open.
A hush seemed to fall over the hostess station. Lily glanced up from the keys, her hands freezing mid-chord.
Ethan walked in.
He looked agitated, his eyes scanning the room with a predator's intensity. He was wearing the same suit from the morning, but the tie was loosened.
And beside him, her hand tucked possessively into the crook of his arm, was Serena. She was wearing the midnight blue dress. The silk shimmered under the restaurant lights, mocking Lily with every step.
Lily ducked her head instantly, her heart slamming against her ribs. She adjusted the piano lid, angling it to create a barrier between her and the room.
"Table for Sterling," Ethan's voice carried across the room. "The usual."
"Of course, Mr. Sterling," the hostess beamed. "Right this way."
She led them to the corner booth. The VIP booth.
The booth directly in Lily's line of sight, though obscured by the raised black lacquer of the piano wing.
Ethan sat down, facing the room. Facing the piano.
"Why are we here, Ethan?" Serena asked, sliding into the seat. "I thought we were going to Nobu."
"She liked this place," Ethan muttered, picking up the menu. He looked distracted, angry. "I just... I wanted to see if she was here."
"She's probably crying in a motel in Jersey," Serena laughed, placing her hand over his. "Relax, darling. Order some wine."
Lily stared at the keys, her vision blurring. Fate wasn't just cruel; it was a sadist.
