Chapter 2 - The TransformationI didn't call a stylist. I didn't need one.
Opening the second, deeply concealed compartment of my closet, I revealed a garment bag that had been delivered that very afternoon from Paris. When I unzipped it, a midnight-blue velvet gown by Schiaparelli caught the light, embroidered with subtle silver constellations that shimmered like a stormy night sky. It was fierce, dramatic, and utterly commanding—the exact opposite of the soft pastels Dominic always preferred me to wear to make himself look taller by comparison.
By 8:30 PM, my hair was pinned back into a sleek, severe chignon, and my lips were painted a bold, dangerous crimson. I slipped my feet into Jimmy Choo crystal-encrusted heels that gave me an extra four inches of height, ensuring I would look every bit his equal—or his superior—when we finally locked eyes.
My phone buzzed on the vanity. It was a text from an unsaved number.
“Town car is waiting at the service entrance. Don't keep Richard waiting.”
I smiled, grabbed a vintage diamond-encrusted clutch that had belonged to my grandmother, and walked out of the penthouse. I didn't lock the door behind me. Let him come home to an empty shell of a life.
The ride down in the service elevator felt like a descent into the arena. When the doors slid open at the subterranean level, a sleek, matte-black Maybach waited idling in the shadows. The rear door swung open automatically, and a gloved hand extended to help me inside.
Inside the leather-lined interior sat Richard Mercer himself.
At fifty-five, Richard possessed the quiet, terrifying composure of a man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make nations tremble. Silver temples framed sharp, intelligent eyes that crinkled slightly as he looked at me.
“Evelyn,” Richard said, his voice a low, gravelly purr. “You look breathtaking. Though I must admit, navy blue suits you far better than the chains Dominic kept you in.”
“Thank you, Richard,” I said smoothly, settling onto the plush leather seat beside him. “I trust you brought me my invitation to the party?”
Richard chuckled, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a solid platinum guest badge engraved with the master crest of the Meridian Board.
May you like
“Not just an invitation,” Richard corrected, handing it to me. “You’re sitting on the executive dais tonight. Right beside me. Exactly where the real power in this city belongs.”
The car surged forward into the Chicago night, carrying us toward the grand ballroom where Dominic Vance was currently sipping champagne with his mistress, blissfully unaware that his entire world was about to collapse.
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