The grand ballroom of the Corvane Hotel was a sea of chandeliers and champagne and the city’s corporate aristocracy.

I walked in on Marius’s arm, performing the devoted wife with a precision that would have frightened him if he’d known what it cost.

Sena was there, in emerald, watching us across the room with an expression that was not quite jealousy.

It was anticipation.

At nine o’clock Marius took the stage for his keynote, the screens behind him glowing with the company logo, the room hushing to hear him.

“Ten years,” he began, smooth and commanding.