Tell them you tripped!”

I didn’t say a word. I picked up my champagne with my left hand, lifted it a few inches in his direction, and took a slow sip.

By nine, the house was empty.

The executives had fled, desperate to put distance between their firm and the crater of Marcus’s reputation. His parents had left without a goodbye, crushed by the public ruin of the family name.

The catering crew had packed their silver, leaving the remaining food neatly stored in the refrigerator, and the private chef tipped his hat to me before locking the back door.

I walked to the foyer and stood beneath the dim chandelier where I’d come apart the night before. The pain in my arm was still there, a dull throb that would take months to heal.