After my mother seated me near the kitchen for my sister's wedding, my terrifying boss volunteered to be my fake date.

The main dining hall of the Naperville Country Club was bathed in warm, soft chandelier light. Long tables covered in white linen were decorated with crystal stemware, pink roses, and silver cutlery.

As Sadi and Roman took their seats at Table 4, the atmosphere around the table grew uncomfortably tight.

Derek and Amber sat directly across from them. Helen sat two seats down, nervously watching Roman as if she expected him to pull a weapon out from beneath his tailored jacket at any moment.

"So, Roman," Helen began, her voice high and fluttering as she raised her wine glass. "Sadi tells us you're in... international logistics?"

"Investments," Roman corrected smoothly, swirling the sparkling water in his glass. "Real estate, shipping, security. I acquire underperforming assets and restructure them."

"Restructure them?" Amber asked, trying to sound intelligent.

"I eliminate the waste," Roman said flatly, looking Amber dead in the eye. "I strip away the parts that don't add value and focus entirely on what matters."

Derek cleared his throat loudly. "Right. Well, Sadi worked in art history before she... well, before she took her current path. Sadi, are you still doing that... cleaning service thing?"

The question was loaded, designed to bring Sadi back down to earth, to remind everyone at the table that despite the emerald dress and the handsome date, she was still the girl who cleaned other people's houses for a living.

Sadi felt a sharp sting in her chest, but before she could speak, Roman’s heavy hand covered hers beneath the table. His long fingers interwoven with hers, squeezing gently.

"Sadi manages my primary estate," Roman said calmly, his voice carrying clearly across the table so that the neighboring guests turned to listen. "A property worth twenty-two million dollars. She handles security access, internal operations, and staff protocols. Her art background means she understands the value of the antiquities in my home better than any curator in Chicago."

Roman leaned back, placing his elbow on the arm of his chair. "She doesn't work for a 'cleaning service,' Derek. She runs my life. And I pay her accordingly."

Derek’s jaw twitched. "Is that so? Must be a demanding job."

"It requires loyalty, discretion, and absolute competence," Roman replied. "Qualities that are remarkably rare in modern society. Wouldn't you agree?"

Derek opened his mouth to reply, but Amber cut in, her eyes fixed on Sadi’s hand. "That's a lovely ring, Sadi. Is it new?"

Sadi looked down at her right hand.

Roman had slipped a massive, emerald-cut diamond ring onto her middle finger while they were in the SUV—a piece of jewelry he had pulled casually from his jacket pocket as if it were pocket change.

"It's a vintage piece," Roman answered for her, his thumb stroking the back of Sadi’s hand. "1920s Cartier. I found it at an auction in Paris last month. It reminded me of her—bold, priceless, and impossible to replace."

Sadi looked at Roman. His profile was carved from granite, completely unreadable, yet the words felt so heavy, so real, that her heart skipped a beat. For a terrifying second, she wondered if he was still playing a part or if the lines between the lie and the reality were beginning to blur.