Just enough.
She explained the laughter she'd overheard and the way Evan's friends had spoken about her.
Isaiah's face hardened.
"Don't go."
"Isaiah—"
"They want to humiliate you."
"I know."
"Then why would you even think about it?"
Naomi had no answer.
Lorraine did.
"Because staying home gives them exactly what they expect."
Naomi turned toward her mother.
Lorraine studied the invitation.
"What would Grandma Ruth say?"
Naomi sighed.
"Please don't."
Lorraine smiled faintly.
"She'd put on her best dress and make every person in that ballroom regret underestimating her."
Isaiah laughed.
"Grandma would've shown up in red."
Naomi smiled despite herself.
Their grandmother Ruth had been fearless.
But Naomi wasn't Ruth.
Not anymore.
She looked toward the small bookshelf beside the living-room window.
On its highest shelf sat a framed photograph she rarely touched.
Naomi at twenty-three.
Graduation day.
Northwestern University.
A master's degree in applied economics.
Magna cum laude.
Beside the photograph was another reminder of a different life: an award engraved with the words Emerging Financial Innovator.
Isaiah followed her gaze.
"You know you're smarter than half those people."
"Intelligence doesn't pay medical bills automatically."
"It should."
Naomi smiled sadly.
After graduate school, she had joined Halston Capital as a junior analyst. Within three years, she became one of the firm's youngest strategy directors.
Then everything collapsed.
Her father died suddenly.
Her mother's health deteriorated.
And Naomi discovered something at Halston that she wasn't supposed to discover.
Financial irregularities.
Millions of dollars moved through shell companies.
She had reported it internally.
Two weeks later, confidential documents appeared to show that Naomi herself had authorized questionable transactions.
She knew they were fabricated.
Proving it was another matter.
The company avoided criminal charges, but Naomi's reputation didn't survive.
Employers stopped returning calls.
Friends disappeared.
Legal fees swallowed her savings.
Then Lorraine became sick.
Naomi stopped fighting for her old life because survival demanded her attention elsewhere.
Cleaning offices wasn't glamorous.
But the paycheck came every Friday.
And Friday mattered.
Naomi picked up the gala invitation.
"Evan Carrington wouldn't recognize my name even if he saw my résumé."
Lorraine's expression changed.
"Carrington?"
"Yes."
"Carrington Industries?"
Naomi nodded.
Lorraine became strangely quiet.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Mom."
Lorraine hesitated.
"Your father used to mention that family."
Naomi stared at her.
"My father?"
Before Lorraine could explain, she began coughing.
Naomi immediately moved toward her.
The conversation ended.
But the words stayed.
Later that night, after Lorraine and Isaiah were asleep, Naomi sat alone at the kitchen table.
She opened the invitation.
Saturday, 7:00 p.m.
The Grand Astoria Hotel.
Black tie.
Naomi almost laughed.
She owned nothing remotely appropriate.
Then she remembered something.
She went to her bedroom, knelt beside the closet, and pulled an old storage box from beneath several blankets.
Inside lay pieces of her former life.
Certificates.
Photographs.
Business cards.
And beneath them, wrapped carefully in tissue paper, was a dress.
Deep emerald green.
She had worn it once, years earlier, to receive the Emerging Financial Innovator award.
Naomi lifted it.
For the first time in years, she remembered the woman who had worn it.
Confident.
Ambitious.
Unashamed of taking up space.
Naomi stared at the dress for a long time.
Then she whispered into the empty room.
"Maybe she isn't completely gone."
Saturday arrived faster than Naomi wanted.
At six fifteen, she stood before the bathroom mirror while Isaiah stared at her from the doorway.
"Wow."
Naomi adjusted one of her earrings.
"Is that good wow or terrible wow?"
Isaiah shook his head.
"They're going to hate you."
Naomi laughed.
The emerald dress still fit.
It was elegant without being extravagant, falling smoothly to the floor with a narrow neckline and long sleeves. Naomi had styled her curls loosely around her shoulders and borrowed Lorraine's pearl earrings.
There was no designer handbag.
No diamond necklace.
No professional makeup artist.
She didn't need them.
Lorraine watched from the bedroom.
"You look like yourself again."
The words affected Naomi more than any compliment could have.
She bent down and kissed her mother's forehead.
"I'll probably stay an hour."
"Stay as long as you want."
"And if anyone treats you badly," Isaiah added, "call me."
Naomi raised an eyebrow.
"What exactly are you going to do?"
"I'll figure something out."
Twenty minutes later, Naomi stepped out of a rideshare in front of the Grand Astoria.
Luxury cars lined the entrance.
Photographers gathered behind velvet ropes.
Women in gowns stepped from black SUVs while men in tuxedos offered their arms.
Naomi nearly asked the driver to keep going.
Then she remembered the laughter.
She opened the door.
The moment Naomi entered the ballroom, conversations did not literally stop.
But enough of them did.
Heads turned.
Evan's friend Tyler Mason noticed her first.
His champagne glass paused halfway to his mouth.
"No way."
Beside him, two men stared.
Naomi recognized them from the conference room.
The amusement they had expected was gone.
She hadn't arrived looking confused or frightened.
She walked into the ballroom with quiet confidence, thanked the attendant who checked her invitation, and continued inside as though she had every right to be there.
Evan stood near the center of the room speaking with investors.
When he noticed Naomi, he stopped mid-sentence.
For several seconds, he simply stared.