Vanessa Reed stood still for a long moment before adjusting the thin straps resting on her shoulders. The gown shimmered under the recessed lighting, expensive but not loud, elegant but not attention-seeking. It had cost more than the imported sedan parked in the underground garage downstairs.
Her husband hadn’t noticed when she purchased it.
He rarely noticed anything that didn’t elevate him directly.
Behind her, the closet door slid open with a soft mechanical whisper.
Trevor Reed stepped out in a midnight-blue tuxedo tailored so precisely it could have been painted onto him. He fastened his cufflinks with sharp, impatient movements—like he was already annoyed by something that hadn’t happened yet.
“You’re wearing that?” he asked, glancing at her reflection.
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Vanessa met his eyes in the mirror.
