Page 43 of The Valentine Agenda

Now, walking into the Morrison's annual gala, that feeling of reality was slipping away.

The women around her wore outfits that probably cost more than her monthly salary. They moved differently too—all effortless grace and calculated gestures. Hannah watched one laugh at something, noting how the sound carried exactly far enough to be noticed by the right people.

"Champagne?" James's hand was warm on her lower back as he guided her through the crowd.

"Yes, thank you." She took the glass, more for something to do with her hands than any desire to drink.

A group of executives passed, their eyes sliding past her like she was part of the decor. One woman's gaze caught on her dress for a fraction of a second—just long enough to dismiss it.

"The Sinclair merger is looking promising," someone said nearby, and Hannah watched James's attention sharpen. She recognized that focus—had seen it in the lobby countless times when he'd walked past her, too busy with his phone to notice anything else.

But that was the old James. He was different now.

Wasn't he?

"You okay?" he asked, and the gentle concern in his voice steadied her.

"Fine." She managed a smile. "Just taking it all in."

He squeezed her hand, and for a moment, Hannah let herself believe this could work. That the gap between their worlds wasn't as vast as it felt.

Then she heard someone nearby: "Is that James Park? With... who is that?"

Hannah took a sip of champagne to hide her expression. The liquid felt too sharp, too expensive.

Just like everything else in this room.

Just like everyone else in this room.

Except her.

She let James guide her through the crowd. But with each step, each dismissive glance, each conversation that flowed around her like she wasn't there, Hannah felt herself becoming more transparent.

More invisible.

Stop it, she told herself firmly.This isn't Nero's. He's changed. You've both changed.

But as she watched another group part around them—greeting James warmly while ignoring his introduction of her—Hannah felt the first crack in her careful hope.

She hadn't changed at all.

She was still the woman who didn't belong here.

And no amount of expensive champagne could change that.

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"Just one quick thing." James's smile was apologetic as he squeezed her hand. "I'll be right back."

Hannah nodded, the gesture automatic. "Of course. Go ahead."

She watched him cross the room to join a group of men in expensive suits. Even from here, she could see how he fit—the easy confidence, the perfect posture, the way he commanded attention without seeming to try.

It's fine, she told herself, smoothing her dress.He's working. This is his world.

The champagne sat on the table in front of her, catching the light. Hannah studied its perfect bubbles, trying not to count the minutes. Trying not to remember another glass of expensive champagne, another empty chair across from her.

This is different, she reminded herself.He's different.

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