Chapter 3 - Hiding The Broken Wrist
I stepped forward with a tray of crystal champagne flutes, trying desperately to steady my trembling hands.
A white-hot throb pulsed through my left wrist every time I shifted my weight or balanced the heavy silver platter.
“Ah, Ryan, I see your little domestic helper is still keeping herself busy,” sneered Arthur Pendelton, a notoriously predatory hedge fund manager.
Ryan chuckled lightly, placing a proprietary hand on the small of my back with deceptive gentleness.
“Evelyn has her uses, Arthur, even if she lacks the sophisticated pedigree of our social circle,” Ryan replied smoothly.
I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, swallowing the bitter taste of rage that rose sharply in my throat.
They thought I was a charity case, a silent accessory kept around to pour drinks and smile on command.
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If only they knew that the venture capital firm funding their latest acquisitions was entirely owned by my family trust.
I managed to pass around the champagne glasses without dropping a single crystal flute onto the marble floor.
