A few days of determined normalcy passed. Gwendolyn buried herself in her final marketing project, the library becoming her second home. She was researching brand synergy when a shadow fell over her textbook.
Julian, one of the business school's most popular and notoriously wealthy students, slid into the chair opposite her, placing two Starbucks cups on the table.
"I saw the video of you taking down Torres," he said, flashing a smile that usually made girls melt. "It was epic. Let me buy you dinner to celebrate."
"I'm allergic to men," Gwendolyn said without looking up from her book. "Especially the ones who drive sports cars."
Julian was taken aback, but the rejection only seemed to intrigue him more. Before he could try again, Chloe appeared, slamming Gwendolyn's laptop shut.
"No. We are going out," Chloe announced. "There's a major charity gala at The Plaza tonight. I scored us tickets. It's a networking goldmine."
"Chloe, I have nothing to wear to The Plaza except jeans."
"Not an issue."
An hour later, Gwendolyn found herself being zipped into a black velvet, open-back evening gown in a high-end rental shop in SoHo. When she stepped out of the dressing room, even Chloe was speechless. The dress was simple, elegant, and devastating. The deep black made her skin look like porcelain, and the severe cut gave her an aura of untouchable, dangerous beauty.
The Plaza Hotel was a whirlwind of flashing cameras, valet-parked Bentleys, and air kisses. Inside, the grand ballroom glittered under massive crystal chandeliers. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of powerful people making powerful deals.
Gwendolyn immediately felt like an impostor. She grabbed a glass of champagne and tried to blend into the shadows near a marble column.
But her quiet, self-contained presence in a room full of people desperate to be seen acted like a magnet. She didn't have any jewelry on, her hair was in a simple knot, and yet, men were noticing her.
Julian, looking dashing in a tuxedo, found her instantly. "See? I knew you'd clean up nice," he said, positioning himself beside her, a self-appointed bodyguard against the other circling sharks.
Gwendolyn tolerated his presence as the lesser of several evils.
Then, a hush fell over the entrance of the ballroom.
Colette, on the arm of an older, impeccably dressed woman, made her grand entrance. The woman was Hedwig Lambert, Damian Pacheco's ex-wife, and she carried herself like a queen.
Colette spotted Gwendolyn immediately. A venomous fire lit in her eyes. She dragged her mother over towards Gwendolyn and Julian.
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Colette said loudly, her voice dripping with malice. "Did you rent that dress from a costume shop?"
The people nearby turned to stare, their faces a mixture of pity and amusement.
Gwendolyn's chin lifted. "It's a rental, yes," she said, her voice cool and steady. "Better than renting someone else's dignity for a night."
Hedwig's perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together. She looked at Gwendolyn as if she were something vile. "Security," she said in a commanding tone. "How did this trash get in here?"
Julian stepped forward, putting a protective hand on the small of Gwendolyn's back. "She's with me, Hedwig."
High above, on a private, black-glass balcony overlooking the ballroom, Damian Pacheco swirled a glass of whiskey. He watched the scene unfold, his face impassive. But his eyes, cold and dark, were locked on Julian's hand on Gwendolyn's back.
