44. A Request
A Request
Natalia
Isee Kiri the second I enter the party.
The ballroom is packed, but my eyes still find him without permission.
He stands near the far end of the room in black, one hand wrapped around a glass, his hair falling over his eyes as he listens to Radhika say something beside him.
A deep green silk looks poured over her body, elegant without trying, obviously.
She rests one hand against Kiri’s forearm as she speaks.
He looks down at her with an expression I can’t read from this distance.
I turn toward Kasia as though nothing across the room has just driven a blade straight through my heart.
“This place is insane.”
The label has transformed the hotel ballroom into a shrine to The Riven Altar’s success.
Giant photographs from the tour rise between black columns.
Footage from sold-out arenas rolls silently across screens suspended above the bar.
The centerpieces are built from black flowers, melted candles, and twisted gold branches designed to resemble pieces of a ruined altar.
It’s beautiful and dramatic. It looks exactly like something Rafe would insist on.
Kasia studies my face. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
I smile and smooth one hand over the front of my dress. Black, fitted, short but high at the throat, with the entire back open almost to my waist. The kind of dress that says I’m not trying too hard while requiring tape, engineering, and a personal agreement with God to stay on.
“I’m here. I’m employed by no one. There’s free champagne. Everything's perfect.”
“You’re still upset about Lustre.”
“I’m devastated. Where else will I find terrible lighting and coworkers actively plotting my downfall?”
Kasia laughs, but she keeps watching me. Before she can ask anything else, Rafe appears. He looks happier than he did the entire time we were in Japan. Kasia barely has time to turn before he catches her around the waist and lifts her off the floor. She laughs into his shoulder.
“You saw me this morning.”
“That was hours ago.”
He sets her down but doesn’t release her. Then he notices me. He pulls me into a hug before I can stop him. It’s quick but genuine.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Your label paid for the flight and hotel. I’m not an idiot.” I pull back and inspect him. “Kasia said there would be useful people here.”
“There are hundreds of useless people too. You’ll have to sort them yourself.”
“Finally, a skill set I possess.”
Rafe smiles. The three of us stand together easily as Kasia asks about the final shows.
Rafe complains about press. I tell him the altar centerpieces look like haunted wedding decorations, and he becomes obsessed with the concept.
Then Rithy calls his name from across the room.
I hear Kiri laugh at something. My body reacts without warning.
A pull low in my stomach. Heat and hurt mixed together until I can’t separate them. Kasia touches my wrist.
“We’re heading over.”
“Go ahead.”
She pauses. “You’re not coming?”
“I need a drink.”
“There are servers everywhere.”
“I want a fancy one. Celebrating, see?”
Rafe’s eyes move over my face. He knows something is off.
“We’ll be over there,” he says carefully.
Kasia still hesitates, but Rafe guides her toward the others with one hand at her waist. She looks back once. I’m already walking in the opposite direction. The next twenty minutes become an exercise in strategic avoidance.
I visit the bar even though I take champagne instead of ordering anything.
I compliment the flower arrangements to a woman wearing a headset.
I stop to speak with a beauty publicist I recognize from Instagram and accept her card.
When Kasia waves me toward the group, I point toward the restroom and disappear into it for long enough to make the lie convincing.
Every time I return, Kiri and Radhika are still blissfully together.
After another lap around the room, I settle at the end of a long velvet couch near the windows.
It gives me a clear view of the city and a terrible view of everything else.
I cross one leg over the other and lift my champagne.
Completely unaffected by the fact that Kiri Chhim apparently needed less than a month to rediscover the love of his life.
A man takes the empty seat beside me.
“I’ve been trying to work out whether you’re hiding or observing.”
I turn.
He’s handsome in a polished, expensive way. Dark blond hair brushed back from his face, pale gray suit, no tie. Probably late thirties. His smile is confident without being careless, and the label pin at his lapel suggests he belongs here more than most of the people pretending they do.
“Are those my only options?”
“They’re the most interesting ones.”
He holds out his hand.
“Julian Mercer.”
The name is familiar. I’ve seen it attached to press releases and interviews about digital strategy, touring, and artist development. I take his hand.
“Natalia Sawadzka.”
“I know.”
My eyebrows rise.
“That sounded threatening.”
“It wasn’t intended that way.” His gaze moves briefly over my face, but not with the empty appraisal I’m used to. “You were the one who posted from Mizuha.”
I stare at him. Julian smiles.
“We keep track of media accounts around the band. Security, promotional opportunities, potential leaks.”
“You tracked my spa day?”
“Our digital team did. You made Mizuha look better than their own campaign managed to.”
A tiny spark of pride survives the wasteland inside me.
“I’m very talented.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
I take a sip of champagne to hide how much I enjoy hearing that from someone whose job it is to understand the difference between attention and skill.
“What do you do?” I ask, even though I already know some of it.
“International President of Artist Strategy.”
“That sounds made up.”
“Most executive titles are. Roughly translated, it means helping musicians make money while convincing them they haven't sold their souls.”
I laugh. The sound feels strange after weeks of forcing it.
Julian glances toward the center of the party. “Are you represented?”
“For what, content? Not currently.”
“You should be.”
“I’m working on making myself worth the trouble.”
His eyes settle on mine.
“I don’t think that’s the issue.”
The compliment lands smoothly. No exaggerated look at my body. Just enough interest to make his intention clear without demanding I respond to it. I like him for that. Or I might, if liking men didn’t currently feel like a design flaw.
Across the room, Radhika laughs. I refuse to look. Julian follows the sound anyway, then glances back at me. He looks toward Kasia beneath Rafe’s arm.
“She's your sister, correct? Doctor Sawadzka.”
“Everyone knows Kasia.”
There must be more bitterness in my voice than I intended because Julian studies me for a moment.
“I noticed you first. You know how to make people look where you want them to.”
My fingers tighten slightly around the stem of my glass.
Watching changes people.
Kiri’s voice moves through my memory. I push it down. Julian checks the time.
“I’m supposed to make rounds before half the senior execs leave.” He stands, smoothing one hand over his jacket. “Don’t disappear.”
“That sounds like an order.”
“A request.” His smile warms. “I’ll come back.”
He takes two steps, then turns.
“And Natalia? You don’t belong at the edge of any room.”
Before I can answer, he disappears into the crowd.
I watch him go. I feel almost nothing. But almost is more than Ryder managed.
I settle deeper into the couch and tap one nail against my glass.
Across the room, Kiri and Radhika laugh with the others.
I turn my attention toward the windows before either of them can catch me looking.