2. Hannah
— ? —
Hannah
The ballroom is dripping with money.
Not the tasteful, quiet money that whispers old wealth and restraint. This is aggressive money, loud money. Crystal chandeliers the size of compact cars, ice sculptures shaped like the Myer family crest, waiters in white gloves carrying champagne that probably costs more than my first car.
Richard Myer doesn’t do subtle. Neither, apparently, does his daughter.
I spot Julie before she spots us. She’s holding court near the bar, blonde hair gleaming under the lights, green eyes scanning the room with the lazy confidence of someone who’s never been told no in her entire pampered life.
Her dress is emerald silk, cut low enough to be a statement and high enough on the thigh to be a declaration of war.
She’s beautiful. I’m not insecure enough to pretend otherwise.
What I am is observant. And what I’m observing right now is how her whole body orients toward the door the moment Griffin and I walk through it. Like a predator catching a scent.
“Griffin!” She materializes beside us like she teleported, champagne in hand, smile wide enough to show all her teeth. “I’m so glad you could make it. Daddy’s been talking about you all week.”
She leans in to hug him. It’s not a professional hug, nothing stiff-armed or pat-on-the-back about it. She presses her whole body against his front, her cheek against his jaw, her hands lingering on his shoulders as she pulls away. One of those hands trails down his arm before finally letting go.
“And Hannah!” Julie turns to me like an afterthought, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “So nice of you to come. Love the dress.”
I’m wearing navy, simple and elegant, the dress a wife wears to a business function when she knows she’ll spend the night in the background while her husband works the room.
“Thank you.” I keep my voice pleasant. “I was just admiring yours. Valentino?”
“Custom, actually.” The correction is smug. “Daddy knows a designer in Milan. He flew her in last month just to do my fittings.”
“Of course he did.”
Griffin’s hand finds the small of my back, but his attention is already drifting, scanning the room for Richard Myer, calculating angles, working the play. This is what he does. It’s who he is. I’ve spent years loving that ambition, feeding it, building my life around supporting it.
I just didn’t expect to become invisible in the process.
“Come on.” Julie loops her arm through Griffin’s, casual as breathing, like she has every right to touch my husband. “Daddy’s in the back. He wants to talk about the product timeline. You don’t mind, do you, Hannah? Business stuff. So boring.”
She says it sweetly, like she’s doing me a favor by excluding me.
“Of course.” I extract Griffin’s arm from hers with a practiced smile and take his hand instead. “I’ll come with. I’ve been managing the timeline, so I can answer any questions about the schedule.”
Something flickers in Julie’s eyes. Annoyance, maybe. Recalculation.
“Perfect,” she says, and the word sounds like a challenge.
Richard Myer is exactly what I expected, big personality, bigger ego, a man who takes up all the oxygen in a room and expects everyone else to be grateful for what’s left.
He’s holding court in a private alcove near the back of the ballroom, surrounded by men in expensive suits who laugh too loudly at everything he says.
We approach just as Richard is finishing a story about some golf trip to Scotland, something about a bet gone wrong and a caddy who didn’t know his place. The men around him erupt into laughter, slapping each other’s backs like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.
“And then I told him,” Richard continues, pausing for effect, “I said, ‘Son, in my world, we don’t lose bets. We renegotiate terms.’” More laughter. He’s practically glowing from the attention.
“That’s brilliant, Richard,” one of the suits says. “Absolutely brilliant.”
“It’s called leverage, gentlemen.” Richard takes a sip of his whiskey. “Everything in life comes down to leverage. Who has it, who wants it, and who’s willing to do what it takes to get it.”
I watch Griffin nod along, his expression a perfect mask of engaged admiration. He’s so good at this. Sometimes I forget that the man who holds me at night and whispers promises into my hair can also become whoever a room needs him to be.
“Griffin!” Richard breaks away from his circle to clasp my husband’s hand in both of his. “There’s the man I’ve been waiting for. Get over here, let me introduce you to some people.”
He draws Griffin into the group, one arm slung over his shoulder in a gesture of possessive camaraderie. I move to follow, but Julie steps into my path with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Hannah, why don’t you grab us some drinks? I’m sure the men will be a while.”
I stare at her for a beat. “I think I’ll stay. Griffin might need me to clarify some of the timeline details.”
“Oh, I’m sure Daddy has people for that.” Her smile sharpens. “But if you insist.”
I do insist. I step around her and position myself at Griffin’s elbow, just close enough to be part of the conversation without interrupting.
Richard makes introductions, rattling off names and companies like he’s reading from a Rolodex.
Real estate, finance, a silver-haired man who could apparently buy and sell half of Chicago if the mood ever struck him.
I don’t retain any of it, and none of them retain me.
Their eyes slide over me and settle back on Richard, waiting for the next thing worth laughing at.
They laugh a lot. Griffin laughs with them.
“And Griffin here,” Richard continues, “is the next big thing. Mark my words. I’ve been in this game forty years, and I know talent when I see it.”
“That means a lot, sir,” Griffin says. “Really.”
“Don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.” Richard’s attention drifts, landing on me like an afterthought. “And who’s this? Griffin, you didn’t tell me you’d hired a new assistant. Pretty one, too.”
The words hit me like a slap.
I wait for Griffin to correct him. To explain that I’m not his assistant. I’m his wife, his partner, the person who built half the systems that keep his company running. I wrote the business plan that got us our first investment. I’ve spent seven years being his equal in every sense of the word.
Griffin smiles. “This is my wife, actually. Hannah. She runs most of our operations.”
“Wife!” Richard’s eyebrows shoot up, but his gaze doesn’t change, still appraising, still dismissive. “Well, well. Good for you, son. Nothing like having a pretty little thing to come home to after a long day. Keeps a man motivated, am I right?”
He elbows Griffin like they’re sharing a private joke. The other men chuckle.
I wait for Griffin to push back. To say anything at all that acknowledges I’m more than a pretty thing who keeps him motivated.
“She’s the best,” Griffin says.
Four words. That’s the whole of the defense he mounts on my behalf, and then he’s back to smiling at Richard.
Richard has already moved on, gesturing for a waiter to bring more champagne. Julie materializes at her father’s side, and I watch her hand find Griffin’s arm again, a casual touch, like she’s done it a hundred times before.
“Griffin was just telling me about the launch timeline,” she says, even though he wasn’t. “I think we should move the preview up by a week. Create more urgency.”
“That’s actually not feasible,” I say, keeping my voice level. “We have vendor contracts locked in for the original date. Moving it would cost us significantly and create logistical problems we don’t have time to solve.”
“I’m sure you can figure it out.” Julie waves a dismissive hand. “That’s what assistants are for, right?”
The word lands like a second slap.
“I’m not his assistant.” I keep my voice steady even though I’m shaking inside. “I’m his wife. And I built half the company you’re trying to partner with.”
Julie’s smile sharpens into near-pity. “Of course you are. My mistake.”
She doesn’t look like she thinks it was a mistake. She looks like she knows exactly what she’s doing, and like she’s enjoying every second of it.
There’s a brief moment, while Richard is pulled away by one of his suits, when Julie excuses herself to refresh her drink. Griffin turns to me, his hand finding mine, squeezing gently.
“You okay?” he asks. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “Is it the Richard thing? The assistant comment? Because I can…”
“It’s nothing.” I force a smile. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”
He studies my face, and for a moment I think he’s actually going to push. Actually going to ask what’s really wrong. Actually going to see me.
“I love you,” he says quietly. “You know that, right? Whatever happens in these rooms with these people, it doesn’t change who we are.”
I want to believe him. Standing here, his hand in mine, his eyes soft with concern, I almost do.
“I know,” I say. “I love you too.”
Then Julie reappears with fresh champagne and a smile that’s all teeth.
“Griffin! Daddy wants to show you something in the private gallery. Some new acquisition he’s very proud of.” She barely glances at me. “You don’t mind if I steal him for a bit, do you, Hannah?”
I mind so fucking much my jaw aches from clenching.
“Of course not,” I say.
Griffin presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
He’s gone for forty-five.
I spend the time alone, drifting along the edges of the party like a ghost at a feast I wasn’t invited to. I find a spot near a pillar where I can watch the door to the private gallery without being obvious about it.
At the bar, two women about my age are chatting over martinis. Their voices carry just enough for me to catch fragments.
“…can you believe what she’s wearing? I mean, emerald is so last season…”
“…heard Richard’s daughter is making a play for that new tech guy. Griffin something? He’s gorgeous.”
“Isn’t he married?”
There’s a pause, then a laugh. “Since when has that stopped anyone in this crowd?”
My stomach turns. I grip my champagne glass so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
A server drifts past with a tray of fresh flutes, and I trade my warm, untouched glass for a cold one I won’t touch either, just to have a reason to move, to look like a woman doing anything other than waiting.
That’s the truth nobody tells you about parties like this one.
They’re endless when you’re not the one being celebrated.
Every conversation in this room is a transaction, and I have nothing anyone here wants to buy.
I’m not rich enough to court, not single enough to flirt with, not important enough to impress.
I’m the wife. I came in on the arm of someone who matters, which means I matter exactly as long as I’m on his arm.
And his arm is behind a closed door with Julie Myer.
I check my phone. Twenty minutes since they disappeared, then thirty, then thirty-five.
The door to the gallery stays closed. I imagine what’s happening behind it. Julie leaning close, her hand on his arm, her laugh echoing off priceless paintings. Griffin being charming, being impressive, being everything Richard Myer wants him to be.
Forty minutes becomes forty-five.
When they finally emerge, Julie is laughing at whatever he just said, her hand on his chest, her body angled toward his like a flower toward the sun. He’s smiling that easy, confident smile I fell in love with years ago.
He doesn’t see me watching. He’s too busy basking in her attention.
Later, in the car home, I stare out the window at the city lights blurring past and try to decide what to say.
I’ve rehearsed a dozen versions in my head, calm and rational, hurt and accusatory, cold and distant.
None of them feel right. None of them capture the tangle of emotions churning in my chest.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. Griffin’s hands are tight on the steering wheel.
Finally, I say it.
“Julie Myer wants to fuck you.”
Griffin nearly swerves into the next lane. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. She spent the whole night with her hands on you. She called me your assistant. Twice, Griffin. She looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of her custom Valentino heel.”
“Babe.” He reaches across the center console for my hand. “She’s just friendly. That’s how those people are, the Myer crowd. It’s all air kisses and touching and over-the-top everything. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something to me.”
“Hannah.” He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “You’re the only woman for me. You know that. Julie Myer is a business contact. That’s it. Nothing more.”
It would be so easy to let him settle me. His voice is so earnest, his eyes so soft in the passing streetlights.
“Her father called me your assistant and you didn’t correct him. He called me a ‘pretty little thing’ and you just smiled and agreed.”
Griffin winces. “I know. I should have said something. I just… in the moment, I didn’t want to make things awkward. Richard can be sensitive about being contradicted, and I…”
“You what? You decided his comfort mattered more than mine?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer at all. The city slides past outside the windows, lights blurring into streaks of gold and white.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “You’re right. I should have defended you. I should have made it clear who you are and what you do. I fucked up.”
I wait for more, for a real explanation, a genuine reckoning with what happened tonight. But he just holds my hand and drives, and the silence stretches between us like a held breath.
“She’s going to be trouble,” I say quietly. “I can feel it.”
“Then we’ll handle it together. Like we handle everything.” He squeezes my hand. “You and me against the world, remember?”
I look out the window at the city sliding past. The skyline is the same one we stood under six years ago, when he got down on one knee and promised me forever.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I remember.”
“Don’t worry, babe.” He kisses my knuckles one more time, and his smile is so confident, so sure, so completely Griffin that I almost believe him. “You’re the only woman for me.”
I let him hold my hand the rest of the drive home, and I don’t say what I’m thinking: that being the only woman for him doesn’t mean much if I’m not even the first thing on his mind.