Zoe's POV
The ballroom is too big. Too bright. Too full of people who belong and Zoe who doesn't.
She stands in the entrance of the resort's main event space and her chest feels tight. Around her are the kinds of people she's only seen in magazines. Women in designer dresses that probably cost more than her apartment. Men in suits that fit like they were painted on. Everyone is tanned and polished and radiating the kind of confidence that comes from never worrying about money.
Zoe is wearing the emerald dress Marcus sent. It's beautiful but it's a costume. Everyone in this room will know that.
Marcus's hand appears at the small of her back.
The touch grounds her. Reminds her why she's here. Seven thousand dollars. A weekend of pretending. Then everything changes.
"Stay close," he says quietly, and his voice is gentle. Like he knows she's terrified.
