The sound from the entryway was sharp in the silent house, but Krystle didn't move.
Her spine was a rod of ice. She had been sitting in the exact same position all night.
Damion walked into the living room and stopped, his form a dark silhouette against the faint light from the hall.
"Why are you sitting here in the dark? It's creepy." His voice was rough with annoyance, not concern.
The air shifted as he moved past her. He brought with him the scent of expensive cologne, whiskey, and something else. A sweet, cloying perfume that wasn't hers.
Dana's scent. She remembered it.
"I was waiting for you," Krystle said. Her own voice sounded foreign, hollowed out.
He wasn't interested. He loosened his tie, walking to the wet bar to pour a glass of water. "I was out with clients. You should have gone to bed."
He drank the water in one long swallow. Then, as if remembering a chore, he reached into the pocket of the suit jacket he'd tossed on the sofa.
He pulled out an Hermès scarf.
It had no box, no bag. The tag was still attached. He threw it onto the coffee table in front of her.
"Here. For you."
His tone was the same one he used when tipping a valet.
Krystle's gaze fell to the silk. It was a beautiful, intricate design, but it was crumpled into a ball, a forgotten afterthought. A handout.
Was this his compensation for her waiting all night? A piece of charity he'd forgotten in his pocket.
She reached out, her fingers closing around the cool, smooth fabric. She didn't say thank you. She just looked at it.
Her silence seemed to irritate him. He hated things he couldn't control.
"What's with the long face? You don't like it?" The question was an accusation, heavy with condescension.
Krystle finally lifted her head, meeting his eyes for the first time. The adoration he was used to seeing was gone. In its place was a deep, unreadable calm that unsettled him.
"No, it's beautiful. Thank you," she said, her voice flat. She folded the scarf into a neat, precise square and set it aside.
He stared at her for a moment, a flicker of unease in his eyes. He dismissed it as fatigue. Without another word, he turned and went upstairs.
She heard the master bedroom door close. The sound of the shower running.
He hadn't asked her about the gala. He hadn't asked why she hadn't slept. He hadn't come to the guest room, where she had slept for the past four years.
Her mind was unnervingly clear. Dana had returned to the U. S. two weeks ago. In those two weeks, Damion had barely been home. His coldness had sharpened into a blade. It all fit.
She stood and walked to the trash can, staring down at the velvet box. Her gaze hardened.
When morning came, Krystle made breakfast as she always did. But she only made one portion.
She ate, washed her plate, and left nothing for Damion.
She changed into a simple blouse and slacks, ready for her "cover job" at Sharpe Industries. He had arranged the meaningless administrative assistant position for her, a low-paying job to "keep her busy."
This identity, once a shield to hide her real work, was now the brand of her humiliation.
She picked up her purse. As she passed through the living room, her eyes fell on the perfectly folded Hermès scarf.
She picked it up and put it in her bag.
Krystle drove her modest Toyota Camry out of the wealthy suburb and toward the downtown skyscraper that housed Sharpe Industries.
The morning sun streamed through the windshield, but it brought no warmth. Her heart felt frozen.
At a red light, she took out her phone and opened a financial news app. She typed in "Dana Warren."
The screen filled with articles. Dana Warren, the brilliant young scientist, returning from overseas with groundbreaking research. Dana Warren, on the verge of a major partnership with a top research institute.
Krystle stared at the photo of Dana's confident, elegant face, then switched off the phone.
She remembered Damion's words from the night before: "I support valuable talent." On his scale of value, Krystle Winters was worth nothing.
The light turned green. She pressed the accelerator, merging into the relentless flow of traffic.
She had just settled into her cubicle at Sharpe Industries when her colleague, Amy, leaned over the partition, her face alight with gossip.
"Krystle, did you hear? The biotech lab our company is funding just got a new external expert. A total superstar!"
