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Ms. Ella Hart.

Beside Quenton Stanley.

I go rigid. But why? I knew where she would be sitting. Still, seeing her name next to his turns the idea into something physical.

A pretty young woman.

An old man with wandering hands.

A room full of people paid not to notice anything inconvenient.

I take Samson’s place card first. Then Delaney’s. I set them aside.

One of the event assistants hurries over. “Mr. Vexley? Do you need help with the seating adjustment?”

“No. I’ll manage this table personally. Just make sure the place settings are taken away.”

“Yes, sir.”

I look at the circular table and calculate quickly. Ella must sit beside Stanley. That’s the whole point. But a round table gives her another side.

I remove my own place card from its original position and place it beside hers.

Close enough that if Quenton Stanley forgets he’s at a charity gala instead of in whatever private room he usually uses to humiliate women, he’ll remember my wrath.

I rearrange the remaining cards.

Ms. Ella Hart. Mr. Nathaniel Vexley. Side by side.

For the first time since my father saddled me with the Vexley Foundation and its endless parade of bullshit events, I’m actually looking forward to one of these dinners.

13

ELLA

The servants’ entrance is quiet when I let myself in. I hurry to my room, unlock the door and⁠—

“Oh my God!” I gasp.

Sitting on my bed is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. It’s a sheath, and it’s silver. Not gray trying to pretend it’s silver, but truly silver, with rhinestone straps, a thigh-high split, and a plunging neckline.

The fabric is so soft it feels like it may break beneath my fingertips.

I can’t wear this. I can’t.

Though I admit it will flatter me. It’s exactly the right design to bring out my best features.

Nathaniel must have known when he chose it…

“Stop,” I say out loud.

First things first. I need to get it to Hazel and see if any alterations are necessary. Nathaniel gave her the rest of the day off too, so I pick up the dress, go straight to her room, and knock.

“Come in before I get too old to thread a needle.”

I smile despite myself and open the door.

Hazel sits near the window, her silver hair pinned in its usual soft twist, her reading glasses perched low on her nose.