She laughed. Too loud, too bright. Fake.
"I'm just a sucker for good art."
He smiled. Let it go. Didn't push.
"There's a dinner tonight," he said. "Artists, collectors. The usual crowd." He paused, watching her. "Come with me."
Her face stayed neutral. Inside? Yes. God, yes.
"I'd like that."
They left together. His hand on her back again—just barely. Light. Enough to feel.
Outside, Lagos was loud. Traffic, voices, the smell of suya from somewhere down the street. They crossed over to the building opposite. Private dining room. Fancy.
Crystal chandeliers. White tablecloths that probably cost more than her rent. Waiters in bow ties gliding between tables like ghosts.
They walked in together. Close. Arms brushing. His hand still hovering at her back, like it belonged there.
The room noticed. She felt it. That shift when someone important walks in.
Or maybe just him. Maybe they only saw him.
She straightened anyway. Chin up. Eyes moving. Scanning.
Faces first. Clothes second. Energy last.
She could already tell who mattered. Who was faking it. The realization steadied her. She'd been in rooms like this before. Not many. But enough.
A rush of excitement hit her. Nerves too. That thrill in her stomach.
All these people. And she was here. With him.
Designer everything. Tiny gestures that meant something. Invisible hierarchies she could read like a map.
She noticed who belonged. Who was pretending.
And God, she felt alive.
"Let me get you a drink," Alex said.
He moved easy. Confident. Didn't have to ask permission to exist here.
He came back with white wine. Handed it to her without asking what she wanted.
"Hope that's okay."
She smiled. "Perfect."
They stood close. Talking about nothing. Art. A piece he was working on but wasn't ready to show yet.
He leaned in when he spoke. Voice low. She caught herself wondering if this was how it started. Stranger to something else. That slow slide.
She was about to say something when the room shifted.
His attention pulled away. Face lit up—genuine, unguarded. Already moving.
Toward a woman who'd just walked in.
Stephanie's stomach dropped.
The woman's laugh came first. Low, easy. The kind that made people look.
Then Stephanie saw her.
Natasha.
Gucci gown. Hair slicked back. Confident in every step. The room seemed to tilt toward her.
"Longest time, Nat!" Alex reached her. Pulled her into a hug that lasted too long.
They laughed. Private. Warm.
Stephanie caught pieces.
"Remember that night on the rooftop?" Natasha teased, eyes sparkling.
"How could I forget?" Alex grinned. "You tripped over your own heels."
"You're terrible." But she was laughing. Easy. Familiar.
The kind of laugh that made it obvious she belonged.
He guided Natasha toward a group of collectors. Hand on her back. The same way he'd touched Stephanie earlier.
Stephanie's grip tightened on her glass.
She was still standing there. Invisible. Drink in hand. Like the air had forgotten she existed.
She tried to shrink. To disappear without leaving. But her eyes kept tracking them.
Every glance. Every joke. The tilt of his head toward her.
It cut.
Worse—she realized she'd actually thought they were connecting.
She sipped her wine. Tasted like nothing.
The room blurred. Laughter. Chandeliers. None of it mattered.
All that mattered was the easy, unguarded space he was giving someone else.
Stephanie stayed by the bar. Just out of their orbit. Glass in hand like it could ground her.
She told herself she could fade into the edges. But every laugh pulled her eyes back. Gravity.
Then—for a split second—Alex's eyes flicked her way.
Not fully. Just the corner of his gaze. Brief.
Should've been comforting.
It wasn't.
It was worse.
Her chest tightened. Stomach twisting.
He didn't see her. Not really.
He saw someone in the periphery. Still there. Still visible.
But optional.
A whisper floated from nearby. A collector. Low voice.
"…she's always around when he's in town. Don't know how he puts up with it."
Stephanie froze.
The glass almost slipped.
Then she laughed. Quietly. To herself.
The night was still young. She was still standing.
But standing where? And for how long?
She sipped again. Let the wine burn away the hesitation.
She didn't know what came next.
But she knew one thing.
This was far from over.