knew then. Not everything, but enough to feel the floor change beneath her.
For the first hour, she survived by counting exits. Two double doors near the bar. A side door beside the stage. A service corridor hidden behind drapery. She had never been a woman who looked for exits before Adrian.
People congratulated her on the baby. Adrian answered for her.
“Early September,” he said when a board member asked her due date.
“A boy,” he said when an investor’s wife asked if they knew.
“Naomi has been tired,” he said when someone asked whether she was still doing her design consulting.
Naomi smiled until her cheeks ached. When she tried to speak, Adrian touched the small of her back, a warning disguised as affection.
Across the room, Camille watched everything.
At dinner, Naomi was seated at the front table beside Adrian, but Camille sat on his other side. Adrian laughed at something Camille whispered. His shoulder leaned toward hers. Twice, their hands disappeared below the white tablecloth at the same time.
Naomi looked down at her untouched salmon and felt the baby roll slowly beneath the silver dress.
“Are you all right?” asked the woman seated to her left.
Naomi turned, startled by the kindness. The woman was older, with cropped gray hair and a navy suit instead of a gown. Her place card read Evelyn Hart.
Naomi recognized the name. Chairwoman of Westbridge Capital. Adrian had spoken about her for years with reverence and fear.
“Yes,” Naomi said. “Just tired.”
Evelyn’s eyes moved briefly to Adrian and Camille. Then back to Naomi.
“Tired is not the same as all right,” she said.
Naomi did not know what to do with that sentence. It was too direct. Too gentle. She lowered her gaze and pressed her napkin flat.
Before dessert, Adrian excused himself to take a call. Camille left thirty seconds later.
Naomi sat alone at the table, listening to cutlery and polite laughter. Something inside her hardened, small but real. She rose carefully, one hand on the chair for balance, and followed the hallway beyond the ballroom.
She did not know what she expected to find. A kiss. A whispered plan. Nothing.
Halfway down the corridor, she heard Adrian’s voice behind a partially closed service door.
“No,” he said sharply. “Tonight. It has to happen tonight. Once she is discredited publicly, she will sign anything.”
Naomi stopped.
Camille answered, too low for Naomi to catch every word.
Adrian snapped, “You wanted security. This is how we get it. Westbridge cannot question my stability if she looks unstable first.”
A cart rattled behind Naomi. She turned too quickly, knocking her shoulder against the wall. A server apologized. The service door opened.
Adrian stepped out.
For one terrifying second, neither of them spoke.
Then his expression softened into something rehearsed.
“Naomi,” he said. “You should not be wandering around.”
Camille appeared behind him, eyes bright and unreadable.
“I needed air,” Naomi said.
Adrian looked at her face, searching. “Did you hear something?”
There it was. Not concern. Assessment.
Naomi placed both hands under her belly and made herself shrug. “Only you being important. As usual.”
Camille smiled.
Adrian did not.
He took Naomi’s elbow and guided her back toward the ballroom with fingers just tight enough to hurt.
“Do
