Lenora had sat with that sentence until she could breathe again.
Then she had gone to the gala.
Not to reveal herself.
Not to stage a scene.
Just to stand, finally, in a room that belonged to her without apologizing for taking up space.
And Darnell had given her the answer before she ever had to ask the question.
Now, in the ballroom, Vincent extended a hand. Lenora took it carefully and rose, wincing as pain traveled through her hip. Mr. Wilson remained close, ready to catch her if she faltered. She was aware of everyone watching her body, her dress, her tear-stained face, the chain broken at her throat.
For once, she did not feel small because they were looking.
She felt tired of hiding.
Vincent glanced toward the security team. “Mr. Cole, please secure the exits. No one involved in the assault leaves until we have their statements and the police have been notified.”
