“Appearances matter,” he had said earlier that evening.
But the moment his investors arrived, I realized appearances only mattered for him—not for me.
Daniel barely acknowledged me once his guests filled the room. Instead, he spent most of the night laughing beside a woman in a red dress named Vanessa. I had seen her before—too many times to pretend I didn’t understand what she was.
When a waiter accidentally knocked over a glass of wine near our table, the red liquid splashed across the floor beside my feet.
Daniel glanced down, then looked at me with an amused smile.
“Well,” he said loudly enough for nearby guests to hear, “you’re not doing anything important tonight.”
Before I understood what he meant, he grabbed a mop from a passing staff member and placed it into my hands.
