The gala is Thursday night.
Two days after the photos went viral.
Adrian adjusts his tie in his penthouse. “Ready?”
I smooth my navy silk dress—Eleanor’s armor against the cameras.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The New York Architecture Foundation Gala is cameras everywhere. Whispers following us.
“Smile,” Adrian murmurs on the red carpet. “They’re watching for cracks.”
Inside, the ballroom is stunning. Every eye on us.
“Champagne?” A waiter appears.
I take two glasses.
“Mr. Knight!” A woman approaches. “Diana Morrison.”
Adrian’s hand tightens on my waist. “Mrs. Morrison.”
“And this must be the famous Zara. The photos were quite intimate.”
“We’re very happy,” I say.
“I’m sure.” She leaves.
“That’s the woman whose project fired you,” Adrian says.
“I know. We’re here to survive
