Page 108 of Bitter Confessions

“You don’t understand. The people attending this event, they’re the one percent of the one percent. First impressions are everything. Most of them are sticklers for tradition. They take their reputation and those they do business with very seriously. They won’t respect someone dressed like this any more than my father would.”

When he stopped in front of the elevator and tried to slip her into the midnight coat Daiyu had included, she sidled away.

“I’m sure there’s a dress code. What if they ask me to leave? Did they mention anything about that on the invitation?” she babbled.

He pinned her against the wall and forced her arm into the sleeve.

“Listen to me!” she shouted.

“I am listening.”

“Then hear me,” she pleaded as he did up the buttons of her coat, too hysterical to notice he paused to finger her curls before fixing her collar. “This dress is going to give everyone the wrong impression. That business you want to do tonight? People might brush you off and say they’ll get back to you later, because they won’t want to be associated with someone with a wife who looks like this. Is that what you want?”

He didn’t respond. He just stared at her with that arrogant, implacable gaze that had brazened out countless awkward situations. But she knew better, and it was her job to warn him. He had no idea they were walking into a viper’s nest.

“You should go alone or let me find something more appropriate...” Her voice trailed off when he typed in the code to call the elevator. “You’re making a mistake.”

As he shrugged into his coat, she considered making a run for it and saving him from his own folly. He shook his head, easily reading her intention to flee.

“You aren’t getting out of this.”

“I’m trying to save you from being humiliated!”

“I won’t be.”

“So, you don’t care if I am?” Her nerves stretched to the breaking point. “I grew up in this world. I know how these people think. This won’t go over well. Daiyu should have known better. This isn’t how you want to be introduced to high society—trust me.”

When he considered her thoughtfully, she felt a flash of hope. The light above the elevator flashed, announcing the car’s impending arrival.

“It would be better if you went alone,” she said quietly. “For your own sake.”

When he didn’t say anything, she went limp with relief and took a step back, only to find her arm shackled in a steely grip.

“Roth?” she whispered as the elevator doors opened. She clutched his arm in a death grip. “Please.”

He dragged her into the elevator and nodded to the operator before shuffling her to the back. Her heart thundered as the doors closed, cutting her off from the safety of the penthouse. This couldn’t be happening.

It was a busy evening. The elevator stopped with annoying regularity on what felt like almost every floor. As the elevator filled, Roth placed her before him and wrapped his arms around her. She was as stiff as a board.

With Christmas just around the corner, everyone was dressed festively, with red scarves, glitter eye shadow, even blinking reindeer antlers. Several residents were carrying bags filled with presents or had bottles of wine or champagne tucked under their arms. Everyone was in high spirits, talking and laughing. Jasmine wanted to scream.

When they stopped on the seventy-second floor, a man made his way to the back of the elevator and paused when he caught sight of them.

“Roth,” he acknowledged.

“Phin,” Roth replied.

Apparently, that was all that was required, because neither said anything more.

As the elevator halted once more, Roth buried his face in her hair. His appreciative hum made several people turn. The man quickly looked away, but one woman beamed at her while the other mimed fainting. They assumed he was a besotted husband, when he was anything but.

“You’re wearing the perfume I like,” Roth murmured.

She didn’t know he had a favorite perfume since he’d never mentioned it before. Was he telling the truth or softening her up for their performance? She knew from experience what a great actor he was.

While hairdressers, nail techs, estheticians, and makeup artists worked on her body, she worked on her mind. She reinforced her mental shields, buried her emotions, and got into character. The fact she looked nothing like herself helped, but between the dress and Roth’s behavior, she was already off-kilter. He was touching her again, scrambling her thoughts and making her emotions pitch and roll, when she desperately needed control. He knew touch was sacred to her; that she craved connection. He was indulging her weakness, so she’d play her part more convincingly. Bastard.

Several couples exited on the twelfth floor to dine at one of the restaurants in the building, leaving some gaps in their wake. She stepped forward, hoping he’d let her go. Instead, he hauled her back and further mocked her need for space by nuzzling her cheek.

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