is more striking than any bling she could wear, though.
She’s the epitome of beauty, strength, and power. Dangerous power at that, if all the stories about her are to be believed, even though she’s been nothing but kindness itself to me. But, for some reason I notice the wedding band on her ring finger has a dark red rock. The color of passion and blood, and anything but traditional, just like Cora and her intimidating husband themselves.
“Congratulations on everything,” Cora gushes. She’s stunning in a silvery blue sheath that complements her eyes. Her beauty is goddess-like, bright and stunning.
“Congratulations,” her husband, Marcus Ubeli, echoes. He’s the yin to Cora’s yang, dark and handsome. A touch of grey at his temples only adds to his aura of prestige and power. Most of the people hovering around us probably want to talk to him instead of me.
“And where’s your charming fiancé?” Cora asks, pretending to look behind me as if Adam is hiding there.
I wince. By not facing up to Adam sooner, I’m lying to these people. I hide my dismay but the way Cora’s blue eyes rove over my face, I’m fooling no one. “Uh, we arrived separately. I’ve been holed up for a while, working on...a project.” Because that’s what I’m calling sex games with Logan. A project.
“Of course,” Cora’s gaze softens. She’s going to let me off the hook. “You look so young, I forget you’re a brilliant researcher.” She catches my hand and squeezes it. I want to curl up in the warmth of her smile and purr like a cat. “The world needs you. But I hope you’ll take some time off for yourself.”
“Yes,” Marcus hands his wife a flute of champagne. “Time off is important.” He and Cora share a private look. “This building, for example. Did you know there’s a floor dedicated to an art gallery?”
“Um, no. Adam chose it. I didn’t get to explore it that much,” I say.
“You should.” His dark eyes twinkle. “There’s a staircase and a fountain that’s...quite fascinating.”
Cora chokes on her champagne. Marcus puts a hand on her back and excuses them both. There’s a lull while guests wait for the power couple to leave before rushing to greet me.
I staple a smile to my face and murmur thanks over and over. The guests fall into a few categories. There are older men with thinning hair and bespoke suits cut to hide their paunch who represent ninety-nine percent of New Olympus’ net worth. A bevy of plastic looking celebrities whose smiles don’t crease their Botoxed foreheads. Reporters in off-the-rack dress clothes who circle me slowly. I keep my comments vague about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing. Any dropped hint would be blood in the water.
My throat is dry from fake-laughing and my face is sore from fake-smiling. Why did I ever dream about fitting in with these people? But I did. I saw this script for my life and I wanted to play the part written for me. Not that of the socialite. I was never going to be that.
But a respected CEO and researcher who hobnobs with the rich and influential? It was what my dad did and I assumed it was my path too. A respectable husband along the way was a given, just part of the picture that needed filling out so that my life was screen-ready.
But the truth is, all that takes is a robot. I could’ve stayed asleep my whole life and done exactly what they told me.
Without Logan, I might have let this all happen to me and only twenty years or more down the road had regrets about my hollow life and empty marriage.
A commotion behind me makes me turn.
It’s Adam. My fiancé is surrounded by admirers. His hair is frosted like a singer in a boy band, and his smile is toothpaste-model white.
Did I ever think he was handsome? Or even cute? He’s a plastic Ken doll compared to Logan’s rugged good looks.
“There she is,” Adam bursts out. As if he’s surprised to see me at my own engagement ball. “My beautiful Daphne.”
Inwardly I bristle. Not yours. But I take his hand and let the photographers swarm us. Behind them, I spot a fourth type of guest—flocks of stunning women, camera-ready with poreless skin and skin hugging dresses that leave them more naked than if they were actually naked. They alternate between gazing adoringly at Adam and shooting death glares at me. I barely stop myself from laughing.
Ladies, you