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I stared at the closed door. Two weeks of barely speaking, eating breakfast in my room, and only touching whatever he cooked or bought once he’d left the kitchen. Now he wanted us to spend a whole evening together playing a happy couple. I should’ve told him I wasn’t going and to go fuck himself, but he’d probably threaten to kill my mother, and I’d end up going anyway.

I got up and went to the closet.

Maybe I could use this opportunity to get some insight into his world and figure out how to make this situation work in my favor. I didn’t know what my angle would be yet, but I needed to tell myself I had control over something before I started spiraling and ended up killing this man.

I looked through the dresses they’d brought over from my condo. If I was going to be paraded around, I was going to look like I belonged there whether I wanted to be there or not. I pulled out the LaQuan Smith dress I had bought last summer. It was burnt orange and red, with asymmetrical draping and a corseted bodice. I took a quick shower, curled my bundles, and beat my face. Then I put on the engagement ring I hadn’t touched since I moved in.

When I came out, he was in the living room in black pants and button down shirt. I watched him try to keep his face neutral as he took me in, but his eyes widened before he steadied himself.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let’s get this over with.” I walked past him and to the elevator.

I was surprised when we didn’t take the Lucid, and even more surprised by the Aston Martin Vantage he walked us to instead.

“You just have an Aston Martin down here?” I asked as I opened the passenger door.

“I own the building, all the cars down here are mine,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Of course they are,” I muttered. I’d only been down to the garage one other time and never really taken stock of what else was parked there. I glanced around and saw the Lucid I’d become familiar with, along with three BMWs, and a Mercedes.

“We’re going to meet some members of the High Table my family is part of,” he said as he started the car. “Their wives will be there, along with my father.”

“You telling me this to make sure I play nice?”

“So you’re not walking in blind.” He sighed. “I don’t care about their opinions, but this is just how this part of my life goes.”

“Do they know what I did?”

“No.”

I looked out of the window and watched the Manhattan skyline fade behind us as we headed towards Long Island.

An hour later, we pulled up in front of the Gates Country Club. Cardez handed the key to the valet and came around to help me out.

Inside looked like every other country club I’d ever been in—dark wood, carpeted floors, jazz music playing. There were about eight other people standing around with champagne, and I spotted Orlando at a table nursing a glass of something brown, probably bourbon if he was anything like his son.

All heads turned to us as we entered the room.

I've been to enough high-brow events to know how to read a room in the first ten minutes. It was easy to figure out who had the real power, who was there for show, and who was going to make it their business to let you know you weren’t welcome.

Cardez kept his hand at the small of my back and walked me through the introductions.

“Luther Duvall,” he said, stopping in front of a balding older man in a suit that cost more than my car note. “My fiancée, La’Belle Evans.”

Luther took my hand in both of his. “Ahh, the mystery woman. It’s a pleasure.”

Gilberto Castro came next. He was solidly built in a way that reminded me of Orlando. He shook my hand and dismissed me entirely, launching into a conversation with Cardez about shipments.

Then there was Maxwell Haynes.

“Max. This is La’Belle,” said Cardez.

Maxwell smiled tightly and touched my hand like he was being asked to hold a wet napkin.

“My wife, Patricia,” he said, turning to the woman next to him.

It was clear by the stank ass look on her face that she had made up her mind about me before Cardez had finished introducing us.