“That’s legally different.”

Sarah handed her a fresh glass of champagne. “We can leave through the kitchen. My car is downstairs.”

Harper’s fingers tightened around the stem. She was thirty-one years old, a senior corporate litigator, one of the youngest women ever considered for partnership at Davies, Croft and Mercer.

She had dismantled hostile witnesses in federal court without raising her voice. She had negotiated eight-figure settlements while men twice her age shouted across conference tables.

Yet Connor’s arrival made her knees feel hollow.

Leaving would be easier. It would also give him exactly what he wanted.

“No,” Harper said. “If I leave, tomorrow’s story will be that I couldn’t handle seeing him happy.”

“He isn’t happy. He’s performing.”

“I know.”

Connor started toward her. The crowd separated as he crossed the ballroom — not out of respect but curiosity. People wanted an unobstructed view. Harper straightened her shoulders.

Her emerald silk dress suddenly felt less like clothing and more like armor.

Connor stopped three feet away. His navy tuxedo was perfect. His smile was patient and concerned, the expression he used when firing employees and telling them the decision had been difficult.