The McLaren unveiling was at a private gallery in Chelsea. All glass walls and concrete floors. The kind of place where sound echoed and everyone's voice carried. Ashton had been talking about this event for weeks. A limited-edition 720S in a custom cobalt blue. Only fifty made worldwide. He'd put a deposit down months ago.
I wore a cream silk dress. Simple. Elegant. The kind of thing that didn't compete for attention but still looked expensive enough to belong. I'd chosen it carefully.
The gallery was packed with Ashton's circle. Men in tailored suits clustered around the McLaren, talking about horsepower and carbon fiber. Their dates stood in small groups near the champagne table, scrolling phones and checking makeup.
Kimora arrived twenty minutes after we did. She always arrived late. It was her thing. She wore a red jumpsuit that hugged every curve and heels so high I didn't understand how she walked. Ashton's face lit up when he saw her.
"Kim!" He waved her over. She weaved through the crowd and threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, lifting her slightly off the ground. I stood three feet away, holding my untouched champagne flute.
When they finally separated, Kimora turned to me with a bright smile. "Averie! You look so cute."
Cute. Not beautiful. Not elegant. Cute.
"Thanks," I said. My thumb pressed against my wrist.
The three of us moved toward the McLaren. Ashton launched into a detailed explanation of the car's specs, his hand gesturing at the hood, the doors, the exhaust. Kimora leaned in close, nodding like she understood every word. Maybe she did. I stood slightly behind them, listening.
Someone called Ashton's name from across the room. He turned, distracted, and stepped away to shake hands with a man in a navy suit. That left Kimora and me standing beside the car.
She picked up a fresh champagne flute from a passing tray. Held it delicately between two fingers. Turned toward me with that same warm smile.
"It's so great that you come to these things," she said. "Even though they're not really your scene."
I opened my mouth to respond, but she was already moving. Her hand tipped. The champagne arced through the air in slow motion. Cold liquid splashed across the front of my dress, soaking through the silk instantly. The fabric clung to my skin. The stain spread dark and wet from my chest to my waist.
"Oh my God!" Kimora's voice rang out, loud enough to turn heads. "Averie, I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz!"
Everyone looked. Conversations stopped. I stood frozen, champagne dripping onto my shoes.
Kimora grabbed a cocktail napkin from a nearby table and pressed it against my dress. The gesture was theatrical. Useless. The napkin was too small, the stain too large. She kept apologizing, her voice bright and distressed, drawing more attention with every word.
"I can't believe I did that. You poor thing. That dress is ruined."
Ashton returned, his eyes moving from Kimora to me. He frowned at the stain, then looked at Kimora's hand.
"You okay, Kim?" He handed her a clean napkin. "Did you get any on yourself?"
She dabbed at her wrist where a single drop had landed. "I'm fine. I just feel terrible about Averie's dress."
Ashton nodded. Turned back to the man in the navy suit. Kept talking about the McLaren's suspension system.
I stood there, wet and cold, the silk clinging to my skin. No one asked if I was okay. No one offered to help me find a bathroom. Kimora had already moved on, her apology complete, her attention back on the car.
I pressed my thumb hard against my wrist and walked toward the restroom sign at the back of the gallery.
The bathroom was empty. All white marble and gold fixtures. I locked the door and stood in front of the mirror. The stain covered most of my torso. The silk was ruined. I'd never get the champagne out.
I gripped the edge of the sink. My knuckles went white. I stared at my reflection until my breathing slowed. Until the heat in my chest cooled into something manageable.
I stayed in that bathroom for ten minutes. When I came out, the event was still going. Ashton was sitting in the driver's seat of the McLaren, Kimora leaning through the open window, both of them laughing. I walked past them and waited by the exit.
---
The drive home was quiet. Ashton's hands moved over the steering wheel of his Lamborghini like he was touching something sacred. The city blurred past the windows. I sat in the passenger seat, my ruined dress still damp against my skin.
I waited until we were on the highway. Until the silence felt stable enough to break.
"Ashton," I said softly. "Can we talk about something?"
He glanced at me, then back at the road. "Sure. What's up?"
I pressed my thumb against my wrist. "The other night. At your poker game. The video."
His jaw tightened slightly. "What about it?"
"It hurt me," I said. The words came out smaller than I wanted. "Seeing it on the screen like that. Hearing them talk about me. You promised it was just for us."
Ashton sighed. He didn't look at me. "Babe, the guys aren't going to say anything. It's not a big deal. They were giving you compliments."
"It didn't feel like compliments."
"Because you're being dramatic." His voice was patient. Like he was explaining something obvious to a child. "They thought you looked hot. That's a good thing. You should be flattered."
My throat tightened. "But you told them not to joke about Kimora."
His hands flexed on the wheel. "That's different."
"How?"
"Because Kimora's my friend. She's off-limits. You know that." He reached over and turned up the stereo. Music filled the car, loud enough to end the conversation. "Stop killing the mood, Averie. We were having a good night."
I looked out the window. Watched the lights streak past. My thumb pressed harder against my wrist until I felt my pulse hammering beneath the skin.
I didn't bring it up again.
