Chapter 38
Corine
I was still reeling.
Seeing Allen at the Louis Vuitton show had knocked the breath out of me like a cold gust of wind through a broken window. I hadn’t expected it. I hadn’t prepared for it. I thought I had tucked that part of my life so far behind me that it could never reach me again—not while I was standing in my power, striding down a runway in front of the world.
But his eyes had found mine, and everything I’d fought to bury—the tears, the screaming, the loss—came surging back.
I stared blankly at the wall of my penthouse, the soft lighting from the vanity casting a delicate shadow across the room. I hadn’t said a word since I got home, too overwhelmed by my own silence. Astrid was already down for her nap, curled up in her little princess bed after exhausting herself trying to apply my foundation with a fluffy brush earlier. Kyle was at pre-school. I had no distractions.
Except the ringing of the doorbell.
"Cor! Open up, I know you’re in there sulking!" Brittany’s voice rang through the hallway.
I pulled myself off the couch and walked over to the door, opening it to see her standing there, arms folded, sunglasses still on, and looking far too fabulous for someone who barged into people’s emotional breakdowns.
"You saw him," she said flatly, walking in without waiting for an invitation. "You’re spiraling. And I’m not letting you ruin all that damn progress we’ve made."
I didn’t say anything. My throat felt tight.
"You wanna cry? Cool. We’ll cry together for five minutes. But then we’re getting dressed and going out."
I raised an eyebrow. "Out? Where?"
"My brother’s birthday dinner."
I blinked. "Jasper’s?"
She gave me a look. "Yes. Jasper’s. You like his texts, don’t you? Don’t act. I see the way your cheeks go red like you’re sixteen again. You might as well come with me. Don’t make me go alone to a dinner where my mother will absolutely try to ruin my mood."
I snorted. "You could take someone else."
"Don’t make me emotionally blackmail you. You know I will. I’m not above using Astrid’s little drawings against you."
I rolled my eyes and laughed despite myself. Brittany had that effect. Even when I was drowning, she threw me a lifeline made of sarcasm and eyeliner.
"Fine."
"Yes!" she spun around like she just won the lottery. "Be ready in an hour. And wear something that says ‘I’m the woman you lost, and you’ll never find another like me.’"
That struck a nerve. But maybe I needed it.
I walked back into my room once she left, letting the quiet settle over me again. I opened my closet and scanned my options. There it was—an off-the-shoulder navy velvet dress, cinched perfectly at the waist. Sophisticated, elegant, and a little dangerous.
It made me feel like myself again.
I pulled it on, did my makeup with practiced care, and gave my hair a soft wave. I looked in the mirror and forced myself to breathe. This was who I was now. A mother, a survivor, a woman with a thriving company—Luxe Beauty was blossoming, orders flooding in every day. Our "Get Ready With Me" videos had gone viral, especially when Astrid would wobble in wearing a little robe and try to put on blush with the wrong side of the brush.
I was proud of it. Of me.
And I wasn’t going to let one ghost from my past ruin everything I had built.
The black car Brittany sent was already waiting downstairs. As I stepped out, the doorman smiled and held the door open.
"Big night, Miss Corine?"
"Something like that," I smiled softly.
The car glided through the New York streets, heading toward the Upper East Side. When we stopped, I stepped out and was immediately greeted by Brittany standing under a crystal-lit archway at the entrance of what looked more like a private museum than a restaurant.
"Finally! Damn, you clean up nice," she whistled.
I smiled faintly. "You said classy, so I showed up."
"This crowd? You’re gonna make them forget they came for my brother. Come on, you need this."
She handed me a sleek black invitation. It shimmered with golden print.
"This is the kind of dinner party where the wealthiest of the wealthy discuss art auctions, off-market properties, and why the caviar was flown in from the wrong sea," Brittany whispered as we walked in.
And she wasn’t wrong. The place was decadent, gold fixtures everywhere, servers gliding across the room with trays of champagne and amuse-bouches I couldn’t pronounce.
I took a breath and stepped inside with her, letting the hum of conversation and the soft clink of crystal glasses pull me out of my head.
"You okay?" Brittany murmured, squeezing my hand.
"Ask me after my third glass of champagne," I replied.
She laughed and looped her arm through mine. "Now you’re talking. Let’s survive my mother, smile politely at billionaires, and you might even get a text from a certain someone before the night ends."
I rolled my eyes, but deep down, I hoped she was right.
To be continued…