“At the penthouse,” he said lightly. “He seems intense. Does he come home at midnight every night, or is that only when the markets are ugly?”
She watched his face carefully. “Why?”
“Curiosity.”
“You’re curious about Roman’s schedule?”
Miles laughed. “I’m curious about your life.”
“My life is not his schedule.”
“Of course not.” He lifted his glass. “Sorry. Bad question.”
But ten minutes later, he asked whether the penthouse had private elevator access to every floor.
Then whether Roman kept guests overnight.
Then whether the service staff used badges or codes.
Lena’s stomach slowly tightened.
She set down her champagne untouched.
“Miles.”
“Yes?”
“Why did you invite me here?”
He looked wounded too quickly. “Because I wanted to see you.”
“Or because you wanted to see what I could tell you.”
His smile faltered.
There it was.
A hairline crack in the charm.
“Lena, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn a nice evening into an interrogation.”
“I was about to say the same thing.”
He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You work for one of the most powerful men in New York. You must hear things. Names. Deals. Visitors. I’m not asking you to steal anything.”
Her skin went cold.
“No,” she said. “You’re asking me to betray the household that pays me.”
“I’m asking you not to be naive.” His voice lost some of its warmth. “Men like Roman Vale don’t see women like you. They use your silence. Why shouldn’t you use what you know?”
The words hit too near a bruise.
For one foolish moment, she almost thought of Roman in the hallway, seeing her, saying her name.
Then she remembered eleven months of “Morning.”
Lena picked up her clutch. “Because my integrity is not for sale just because my rent is overdue.”
Miles’s mouth tightened.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m leaving.”
He caught her elbow.
Not hard.
Not painfully.
But with entitlement.
“Lena, wait.”
She looked at his hand. “Let go.”
“Just listen.”
“I said let go.”
A quiet voice behind them said, “She shouldn’t need to say it twice.”
Miles released her.
Roman Vale stood at the edge of the gallery crowd in a black overcoat, rain still shining on his shoulders. He was not alone. Tomas stood near the door. Beside him was Amara Singh, Roman’s chief counsel, sharp-eyed and calm in a cream suit.
The room had gone silent in the strange way wealthy rooms did when money recognized power.
Miles tried to recover first. “Mr. Vale. This is unexpected.”
Roman did not look at him.
He looked only at Lena.
“Are you all right?”
“I was handling it.”
“I know.”
The answer struck her harder than if he had argued.
He knew.
He trusted that she could stand.
Then Roman turned to Miles, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“Miles Waverly is not your legal name,” Roman said. “It is Miles Ward. You were dismissed from Elbridge Holdings for falsifying acquisition notes and selling donor lists. Two weeks ago, you accepted payment from Gideon Shaw’s private account.”
Miles went pale.
Lena stared at him. “Gideon Shaw? Your finance director?”
Roman’s eyes did not leave Miles. “Former finance director by morning.”
Miles lifted both hands. “This is a misunderstanding.”
Amara stepped forward and opened a slim folder. “Then you won’t mind explaining why your messages include requests for Miss Marlow’s badge number, shift pattern, and access to the private library.”
The gallery seemed to tilt around Lena.
Her dress, her careful makeup, the courage it had taken to say yes to one evening outside the servant’s corridor—all of it had been turned into bait.
Miles looked at her then, and there was no charm left.
“You’re acting like I hurt you,” he said. “I only asked questions.”
“You pretended to see me,” Lena said.
His silence was worse than an answer.
She stepped closer, before Roman could speak for her.
“You thought because I clean floors, I would be grateful for attention. You thought a compliment could buy my loyalty. You thought being invisible made me cheap.” Her voice shook, but it did not break. “You were wrong.”
Miles looked away first.
Roman’s expression shifted as he watched her. Pride. Anger. Regret. Something more dangerous because it was softer.
Amara signaled to the gallery’s private security.
Miles tried to laugh. “What, am I being arrested for flirting?”
“No,” Amara said. “You are being escorted out while I decide how many laws you broke.”
Roman finally moved. He held out his hand to Lena, then stopped before touching her.
Waiting.
That mattered.
Lena looked at his hand for a long second.
Then she placed hers in it.
The ride back to the penthouse was quiet.
Roman sat beside her in the back seat, not across from her like an employer, not too close like a man claiming comfort he had not earned. The city slid past in silver and black. Lena watched raindrops chase each other down the glass.